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thelioncourts · 4 years

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title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 4793 for chapter three (3/?); 14856 all together

story summary: If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, Damen and Laurent would have never met. But things didn’t go the way they were supposed to, not at all, and their meeting ended up being the equivalent of skydiving with a malfunctioning parachute. Damen tried not to complain. After all, he was now living his dream; he was travelling with his best friend without having to make sure their “I"s were dotted and their “T"s crossed. And, sure, Laurent was difficult to work with, to work for, but he was also great to look at and they made it work well as long as they were anywhere but in Paris. But when Laurent’s past begins to cause present-day problems, Damen finds out those difficulties Laurent constantly displays were a bit more warranted than he could have ever imagined. And Laurent? Laurent finds out the truth – and finds out how to smile.

It was crazy to think all that could happen in a twenty-four-hour time period.

One minute, Damen and Nik were unpacking their belongings in a paid-for-by-Etoile hotel room, one minute later they were both delving into their own very important research, and one minute after that they were on a photoshoot set, their first photoshoot set ever.

Nik, upon arrival, was certain he was in over his head. Damen didn’t want to say it out loud, but he thought Nik was in over his head too.

In typical Nik fashion, his own researching had been spent going over each paper in the folder he had been given in the meeting. By the end of the day, there had been scribbles in all different colors of ink spattered across the surfaces of the pages, the meanings useless to Damen who had spent the same amount of time Nik had spent going over the folder figuring out how he could tag along to the photoshoot.

During his own research, Damen had discovered that most photographers do, in fact, have an agent that handles their business and, when available, attends photography events with them. Naturally, Damen had concluded, there was no one better suited for that role than he himself and he had told Nik as much in his fifth interruption of Nik’s studies that day. Nik had waved him off and Damen had taken that as a go-ahead to do as he pleased.

It’s how he found himself here, looking around in awe at the everything going on. He briefly wondered if all sets were this busy or if it was more an Etoile thing. Everything about Etoile seemed busy.

The shoot wasn’t scheduled to actually start until ten in the morning and the photographer’s call time had been for seven. Damen thought that seemed really early, but upon getting there and seeing the organized chaos of what was going on, he started to think seven wasn’t early enough.

He whistled under his breath and said so.

“It’ll be fine,” Nik said. He wasn’t looking at Damen, not looking at him at all. His eyes were assessing the room, the people, the lights. “All the photographers are meeting with the designer of this shoot, then the models are going to finish getting ready while we set up, then we’re going to set them up, and then the shoot begins. At least I think that’s how it’s going to happen. That’s what the papers said.”

A woman pushing a wardrobe cart walked by them, the black coverings for the clothing items hanging on it swishing against one another in an uneven fashion, all in contradiction with the one slightly squeaky wheel.

“So, who do you go to first?”

“Photographers are meeting over there,” a voice said from behind them. They both turned to see a woman with a severely cropped dark bob standing by a beverage table. She was watching them with blatant curiosity burning in her eyes. With a jut of her sharp chin, she was motioning over at where a large white covering was hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the gallery.

“Thanks,” Damen said after a moment.

[Continue on AO3]

“You both looked lost. Here, that kind of expression puts you behind the rest.” She walked toward them, a dark red mug steaming with caffeine in hand, and gave them her free hand for a handshake. “I’m Vannes. One of the designers. And you,” she said, pausing as she shook Nik’s hand, “must be one of our dear boss’ lovely photographer experimentees.”

“If that’s how we’re defining it,” Nik said with a purse to his lips.

“And that makes you,” she trailed, eyes moving over Damen.

“I’m his agent,” Damen said. Vannes laughed, the sound bright and loud. No one paid them any mind.

“You said that so confidently, I almost believed you.”

Her eyes kept that blatant curiosity in them as she walked back over to the beverage table. There was something there Damen didn’t necessarily dislike, but he did find unsettling. He and Nik looked at one another, each with one raised eyebrow.

“Shall we?” Damen asked after a minute with a smile on his mouth.

“Yeah,” Nik said. He was biting off a laugh.

It was an adventurous little walk over to where the curtain was. There was a handful of more carts with clothes that rushed by, each pushed by a harried looking assistant of some kind, and what was definitely one of the models, a tall thing with flaming red hair who didn’t see them as anything more than an obstacle needing stepped over in his path all on their journey over. But once there, they were face to face with Nik’s competition.

“We’ll get introductions out of the way so we’re all familiar with one another,” an older and stout man said in heavily accented French. “My name is Audin. I, as well as Ms. Vannes, am one of the assistant designers of Etoile’s gold label line. Charls, Etoile’s head designer, will be in and out as this photoshoot is taking place, but he is also checking in upon the final designs for the Paris Fashion Week clothing so he will be busy.” Audin began to walk, handing out papers to the five photographers. “I am aware that you received paperwork from our very own courageous leader, but you may find some of the information on this sheet extremely useful. Remember for those of you who may not have experience in a photoshoot of this scale, these days can go for well over twelve hours.” Damen and Nik shared another look after Audin most definitely looked at Nik as he said, ‘for those you who may not have experience.’

“Without further ado, I would like to welcome you, Mr. Jeurre from our very own France, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Jeurre was by far the oldest of the photographers, with short cropped hair and a horribly serious expression that downturned his thin lips. “I would like to welcome you, Mr. Guilliame, also from our very own France, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Guilliame was a timid looking young man with fidgety fingers and eyebrows that looked permanently high on his forehead. “I would like to welcome you, Ms. Talik, from Turkey, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.” Talik was a tall and muscled woman, nearly at eye-level with both Damen and Nik, and eyes so dark they could have been black. “I would like to welcome you, Mr. Hendric, from Denmark, and congratulate you on your opportunity.” Hendric was large, broad across the shoulders, and had a mop of red hair and a matching beard that was more orange than red. “And lastly, I would like to welcome you, Mr. Nik, from Greece, and congratulate you on your opportunity today.”

Today is going to be quite busy, but hopefully quite rewarding as well. I am looking forward to seeing each of you work.”

Audin didn’t stay to talk or mosey around. He left, finding his way back to a table where Vannes stood with her severely cropped dark bob, and Damen huffed out a laugh.

“I can’t help but feel like that welcoming was nothing but a show.”

“Yeah, my gut is telling me he just did that so we wouldn’t run out the door before they could effectively suck us in for the day,” Nik agreed. He huffed out the same kind of laugh, looked down at the paper in his hand, then looked up at Damen. Overwhelmed was an understatement. “I should –” he started, a hand motioning vaguely at nothing.

“Right. Yeah, of course, Nik. Go do your thing. I’m going to wander, see what trouble I can get into,” Damen said. “Maybe after I get a coffee.”

“I was going to tell you that you looked like a zombie from that shitty movie we watched last month, but I didn’t want to insult you.”

Damen laughed as he walked away, fighting down the instinct to flip Nik off, and then watched until Nik disappeared back behind the curtain. Then, just as he said, Damen started to take the time to wander.

The photoshoot was in a gallery, one located in the southern part of the city, and its grandeur nearly outmatched that of Etoile’s headquarters. It was an all-white gallery, nothing but perfectly glossy marble and empty white walls. There were statues here that reminded Damen of the ones back home, all white, even their eyes, but they didn’t invoke the same kinds of feelings as the ones home; they felt foreign and cold and yet Damen couldn’t not look at them.

“Big boy.” The pet name was said from somewhere behind him and, once again, he turned to find Vannes looking at him with that same expression she had worn minutes ago. “Need help working the coffee machine?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

“So, if you’re not a photographer, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked, handing him an empty red mug identical to her own.

“I told you, I’m here with one of the photographers, Nik. I’m his agent,” Damen said. The coffee maker hissed, steam rising from where it was pulling a double-shot before filling up with ninety-degree’s hot water.

Vannes leaned an elbow against the table, lowered her head just a smidge, and said in a quiet voice, “You’re not really his agent, are you? Brother perhaps?”

Damen felt his cheek dimple. “Close enough. Best friends since we were in diapers.”

“You two must be the influencers then,” Vannes said, laughing like she had earlier.

“Influencers?”

“You know, those people on Instagram or whatever that have millions of followers and pretty bodies to keep those followers interested.”

“No,” said Damen. “We’re not like that. We don’t sell anything or –”

“You sell yourselves,” she said, the words accompanied by an eye roll. “You’re not so different from our boys. The main difference, however, is that our boys will eat you alive.” Vannes snatched a sleek black stir stick that sat available in a holder before turning and walking back to where the photographers had disappeared off to, her heels clicking. “Take a croissant, you’ll never have one this good anywhere else.”

Damen understood the overwhelmed look he had seen in Nik’s eyes earlier only, for Damen, he wasn’t sure if it was just being here, if it was the strong smell of the espresso in his nose, if it was the dizzying effect the lights that were getting set up over where the main photos would be taken, if it was the shimmering gold of the clothes and makeup and jewelry, or if it was the thrumming feeling that everyone’s smiles were fake and not telling Damen all he should know.

He shook off the feeling by walking again, this time with a steaming cup in his hands. He walked by the table of jewelry, glittering watches, rings, necklaces, earrings, and a few other items he wasn’t quite sure what to make of, and he didn’t dare touch them. He then walked by the clothing. Unfamiliar as he was with fabrics, he recognized the gauzy look of some shirts and he took in its appearance next to the embroidered sleeves, lace trim, and sleek looking fabric of some of the other pieces.

More people were arriving every second. Damen had noticed it as soon as Vannes had left, the constant opening and closing of the gallery doors, the parade of faces, some smiling and some not. In the corner he saw a familiar face. Jord was there, looking serious as always, and his sunglasses from the day before yesterday were firmly in place despite them being indoors. Damen thought about approaching him and then thought better of it. Instead he opted to wander more, letting his feet guide him where they pleased.

Across the gallery, he spotted Nik for the first time since they had separated. He watched as Nik took a few pictures of one of the statues, looked at the LCD screen, adjusted a few buttons that Damen was certain could change everything about a photo, then took another picture. He watched Nik repeat the process and when it became clear that Nik was going to do that for a while, Damen continued on.

In the far back corner was where the magic must be taking place. Magic, in this case, meant changing the models from every day-beautiful to Etoile photoshoot worthy-beautiful. There were more carts of clothes, more jewelry, a changing curtain, and a line of vanity mirrors that were lit up like the Eiffel tower at night. Damen found himself walking there, preparing to perhaps introduce himself to the makeup artists that might already be there, when he suddenly saw a swish of gold; and then Damen saw him.

Damen hadn’t expected the models to have been ready so early. Then again, Damen didn’t really know a lot about fashion so, looking at it now, his expectations were probably way off the mark anyway. Still, whatever expectations he had had going into this hadn’t prepared him for this.

Everything about him was gold.

He had legs a mile long, legs dressed in a loose and transparent gold material that brushed the tops of his bare feet. Across his shoulders was a drape of gold silk that clung to the skin right below his collarbones and then flowed, the holes of the sleeves so low the top three ribs on both sides of his chest showed. On one of his hands, one of his elegant hands, were four rings, three of them simplistic bands with the smallest of gems embedded in the metal whilst the last one held in its center a large citrine stone. On the other hand were three rings, each with equally sized jewels, ones that matched the jewels dangling from his ears. It was only when he turned, assumingly to talk to one of the makeup artists, that Damen got a look at his face and was able to take in the delicately placed gold leaf on his temples, that dusted the tops of his shoulders and the even more beautiful gold of his hair that had gold interwoven through the strands. Then the light hit him, and Damen saw the one piece of him that didn’t match, that wasn’t gold at all. Beyond the gold shadow dusting the inner corners of his eyes was the most startling blue color, brighter and clearer than the color of the water back home.

Even if he had been in a room full of nothing but the most beautiful of things, Damen knew then and there he would have never been able to look anywhere else.

Whatever snippet of conversation the model and the makeup artist had been having must have ended because suddenly he was walking toward Damen. Somehow there was both a determination and a carelessness to the way he walked, as though he was very ready for whatever was to come and felt very above it all too.

“À moins que cette tasse de café ne soit pour moi, il n'y a aucune raison pour que vous vous teniez ici.”

Damen had a lot of reactions to that. The main part of him wanted to laugh, that kind of laugh that comes out as a huff of air from his nose, and say something, something like, ‘This coffee isn’t for you, but my room has a coffee machine that’ll do a great job if you want to check it out.’ The other part of Damen wanted to say something of the same tone as his, something in French just to cause a reaction, something like, ‘Surpris, vous pouvez même me voir ici depuis ce grand cheval sur lequel vous êtes,’ or ask ‘Portez-vous de l'or pour montrer votre personnalité scintillante ou pour cacher votre merde?’ But instead of doing any of that, saying any of that, Damen just stared, taking in the way he walked as though he was gliding, taking in the hard pull of his otherwise full mouth, taking in the single strand of blond hair that had fallen out of his artfully done do and instead was swinging in front of those blue eyes.

It was only when he was standing by Audin, speaking, that Damen noticed Nik, still across the room, staring pointedly right at Damen whilst making the universal ‘Cut it out!’ motion across his neck.

It brought Damen back to himself and he laughed, laughing harder when Nik mouthed, ‘You’re dead to me.’ Damen walked over to Nik, mouthing back as he walked, ‘I’m the only thing keeping you from hanging yourself right now,’ with a noose motion and everything.

“How’s it going?” he asked, taking in the open camera bag and all the lenses scattered. The death stare he got from Nik said it all.

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” He lifted up one lens that was wider than the one already in his hands before setting it back down. “I knew that coming into this. I knew that when they handed me that folder and I most definitely knew it walking in here. But after that?” he said, jutting a thumb where Charls had joined Audin and the model, “I’m going to be lucky to get out of here alive.”

“Hey,” Damen started. “You’re going to be fine. They’re not even going to know what to do when they see what you create.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard what they’re saying about me. About us,” Nik said.

Damen leaned a shoulder against one of the many white pillars. “No?”

“Well half of them speak only French, so I’m sure my translation is off, but Mr. Denmark over there was talking to Jeurre, the old man, about how we’re influencers,” he said, making a face at the word.

“Oh,” Damen with the exact same face, “yeah. Vannes, our lovely friend we met when we first got here, told me that.” He took in Nik’s furrowed brow, took in the muscle clenching in his jaw. “Look, they might think of us, of you, like that right now, but I meant what I said, Nik. They’re going to see what you create and they’re going to realize how below you they all are. I –”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Charls announced loudly, his voice carrying far with the high ceilings. He sounded joyous and genuine, far different than anyone else here had sounded as they spoke. “Many of our models are in the final stages of dress. That means it will be time to begin in the next few minutes. Photographers, please begin setting up over here, to the left. I can’t wait to see what art you envision!”

“See?” Damen muttered. “That guy believes in you.”

Nik rolled his eyes and went to comment when the blond walked by again. He was going back toward the vanities where one of the stylists was beckoning him. Damen watched with rapt attention as the stylist fixed that loose strand of hair that had been one of the many objects of Damen’s focus earlier.

“His name is Laurent.”

“Hm?”

Nik was squatted down, rearranging lenses, but now he was looking at Damen. The look in his eyes was too familiar, a resigned kind of look that Damen hadn’t seen on Nik’s face since Jokaste, and yet he was smiling. The upturn to his mouth made him look more exasperatedly fond.

“The blond. His name is Laurent.” Nik fiddled with two of the buttons on the camera, turning one to the left three times, turning the other to the right once. “He’s Etoile’s top earner and also the nephew of the owner. I would say he only got the job because of his connections, but clearly,” Nik said with a careless motion to where Laurent stood, “that’s not the reason. Or, well, not the only reason anyway.”

“Laurent.” Damen tested out the name. “He’s, uh, something.”

“He’s blond, blue-eyed, beautiful, and, if what I’ve heard is true, a raging bitch so yeah, he really is something. He’s all of your weaknesses wrapped into one.”

Damen ignored the last part. “Who said he’s a bitch?”

“Anyone and everyone that’s ever been in a room with him for longer than two minutes.”

“He can’t be that bad,” said Damen.

Nik shot him another look. “Jeurre over there has worked with him before. Jeurre says that at a photoshoot two years ago, Laurent made one of the newer designers cry so hard that he quit on the spot. I’ve heard one of the current designers talking about how Laurent refused to let one of the newest models, one of the newest signees, be part of this show at all and put down his foot until his uncle gave him his way. I also heard another one of the models say that Laurent gets to lead all the shoots because of his name.”

“Well, I think his face probably has a big thing to do with the last part,” Damen said.

“That’s not the point, Damen. He’s a spoiled, entitled, and, again, raging bitch. If he doesn’t like someone, he can and will make their life a living hell. And in this case, that means that if he doesn’t like me, it’s me whose life will be made a living hell and who won’t get a shot at making it beyond these next three days. But, if what I have also heard is true, he doesn’t like anybody so…” Nik trailed. “Who knows what that means.”

“Come on, who doesn’t like your smiling face?”

“Alright everyone,” Charls said over the noise of the room once again. “We are now ready to do our preliminary shots. Photographers, you will each do some photographs of our entire beautiful group before we start rotating each model with you all individually and in smaller groups, most likely duos.”

“Time to start,” Nik said with a huff.

“You’re going to kill it,” Damen said.

“Or get killed.”

The photoshoot background was nothing but a white backdrop, one that might as well have been the white walls of the gallery. The models were all in place and they looked like the inside of a jewelry box, all glittering and golden and bright. It was evident who the stars of Etoile were; they were placed near the front, shining. The redhead Damen and Nik had seen earlier was there, dressed in an all-sheer gold piece, the only solid bit of gold being the piece around his hips and the line of paint from the center of his forehead all the way down the bridge of his nose and the middle of his lips. Then there was a brunette, curly haired and young with green eyes and a flowing golden top, ones with sleeves that almost touched the floor when his hands were by his sides and a shock of gold shadow on his lids that made his green eyes look full of fire. Toward the back was a slew of other models, all pretty, if generic, mostly with hair in shades of brown and a small handful of ones with brown eyes that reflected the gold and made the eyes look like honey. And there, at the front, was Laurent. That loose strand of hair had long been put in place but Damen couldn’t not remember where it had fallen, how its gold had matched the gold of everything else and how Laurent’s blue eyes were the most startling thing in this entire gallery.

Damen, seeing that it was his time to let Nik do his thing, took a step back.

All five of the photographers had a different set up, had a different way of standing, and all of the models, even in a group setting, radiated a different kind of energy. Damen watched as Nik took a picture, checked it on the screen, adjusted something on the camera settings, and took another. He watched as Nik lowered himself a little, instead of standing at his full height. Then it became clear Nik had found the right settings for himself and his camera. And then Nik became less interesting to watch from his stagnant pose and Damen’s gaze quickly drifted.

Despite what Nik had told him about Laurent, Damen found himself drawn to watching the blond. There was something about him and the way he moved that was so unlike any of the other models, so unique to him and so graceful and elegant. Damen watched as Laurent pressed a shoulder against the redhead’s shoulder, watched as he lifted a single finger, one heavy with a ring, and placed it underneath the redhead’s chin where the line of solid gold paint ended.

It seemed too soon that things changed; Charls, who had been watching it all with bright hopeful eyes, started separating the photographers to different sections. It became clear the sections were random, that some photographers had sections of the gallery with pillars, or another had a section with the chandelier light overtop. Nik was led over to the gallery windows, bright and surrounded by the statues that reminded Damen of home.

The models were sent in groups and duos as said, all except Laurent who was moving around alone. Nik’s first photos were with the curly haired brunette and three of the less prominent models. Damen watched with fascination as Nik rearranged each model a few times, made some changes after taking three photos, and then took more photos, immediately pleased just as he had been with the group photos earlier.

Each group and duo stayed with each photographer for ten minutes. Damen realized it as he found himself watching Laurent move from the photographer from Denmark to the photographer from Turkey. The photographer from Turkey was in the section under the chandelier and Damen couldn’t not see how she moved back and played with her angles so the light from the chandelier created a rainbow effect with the light and shine of Laurent’s gold. Damen would bet money that those would be Times Square billboard worthy.

Damen had just turned to watch Nik ask the redhead to face the window when Charls announced that it was time for them to move once more. The redhead, heels clicking, left with a flirtatious wave. Then Laurent was there.

Laurent didn’t so much as even wait for Nik to mutter a hello or give him any kind of instruction before he was posing himself, the poses mostly just him standing and yet they were captivating in how natural they came to him. Nik went with it, not bothering to speak up, not until they only had another five minutes.

“Could you,” Nik started, his voice quiet in his attempt to not disrupt anyone else, in his disuse of it, “could you maybe pose with the statue?”

Laurent said nothing, only looked at Nik with a cool blue stare before moving to the statue closest to the window. With a gentle touch, Laurent pressed his fingertips against the statue’s own outstretched ones. Nik snapped a photo. Laurent stayed there for another thirty seconds, his eyes staring straight into the statue’s, and then he stayed there, his eyes staring straight into the camera. After that he shifted, turning himself into the open embrace of the statue’s arms, pressing himself against it close, pressing his cheek against its own cold one, soft as a lover. This time he looked ahead, his eyes finding an empty spot across the room, looking at it under his lashes, the look seductive and untrying. Damen’s breath was lost somewhere.

Nik asked Laurent another question, asked him, “Could you move behind the statue?” and Laurent did. Without prompting, Laurent draped his arms over its shoulders, but not before unclasping his shirt and letting it slide off his body so he could place it on the statue. Nik stepped closer so he was a foot away from the statue, so he could get a closeup shot of Laurent’s eyes against the gold of his now-discarded shirt and the white of the statue’s body.

And then Charls was calling again for the rotation to continue. Laurent left without a spare word or glance for Nik. The gold of his shirt, held between two fingers like it was a dirty handkerchief, trailed behind him.

Nik huffed out an unamused laugh. “Still think he’s not a raging bitch?”

#captive prince #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #lamen #captive prince fic #my writing #mannequin gallery 'verse #the mannequin gallery #the mannequin gallery chapter 3

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all-pacas · 4 years

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would you be willing to share some cool danish history facts? your ramblings are always very interresing!

i am glad my entirely useless knowledge of Danish history is finally serving a purpose. I started to write a long overview of the existence of Sound Dues, but you know what? Let’s talk about the pitfalls of Danish neutrality and the rescue of the Danish Jews, one of the few truly heartwarming WW2 stories out there.

This is a map of the Baltic Sea. As you can see, the only way in and out to the Atlantic Ocean if you are Sweden, Poland, the Baltics, Finland, and Russia, is to get within a few miles of Denmark, something the Danes have always been well aware of and used forts to blockade and tax passersby for centuries.

This equally pissed off everyone in Europe at various points, but as time passed and European Powers changed and grew… well, it kind of became a case of ‘the Danes are the best option for this control.’ Everyone hated that Denmark could tax any ship they wanted, but no one wanted the Swedes (who went through a really aggressive conquering stage in the 18th century) or the Russians or the Prussians/Germans in control of access in and out of the Baltic Sea — the Danes ceased to be any sort of military threat long before the 19th century, and so it became a case of “Well, I definitely don’t want X stopping my ships… so, fine, Denmark.”

However, this effectively means that, unlike the other Nordic nations, Denmark was never able to sit out big wars and remain neutral. Because their geography is so fucking powerful, they’re one of the first targets of any would-be conquest: if Napoleon can control the Sound, Napoleon can stop British ships from going East. If Britain can control the Sound, then they can have a naval advantage and possibly attack from two fronts. (Britain, so desperate to keep Denmark from allying with Napoleon, actually… bombed the shit out of Copenhagen? IT KINDA BACKFIRED.)

Flash forward to WW2.

Aside from geography, Denmark is also a big producer of grain and food… and it’s also, you know, right there next to Germany. Unsurprisingly, they were a very early target of the Germans. Unlike the Dutch and other countries, however, the Danes didn’t try to fight or defend themselves against the German invasion in particular — they quickly surrendered and started working with the Germans to arrange their occupation.

This sounds shitty, but it was really just a bit of pragmatism: the Germans were actually really incentivized for a couple of reasons to want the Danes to cooperate with them: first, because of all that grain and food they could be forced to hand over to the Germans, and second, for propoganda reasons. After all… these are the Nordic/Aryans that Hitler was so obsessed with. The Danes could be held up as an example of the good rule the new German order would impose: look how happy they are, look how nice it is to be a protectorate. In turn, the Danes were allowed to keep their government and police relatively intact, and had a much ‘lighter’ occupation compared to other conquered nations. Unlike most other European monarchies, the Danish royals actually stayed put (the Dutch royals spent the war in Canada, for example), and were used as both a sign of resistance and as propaganda for it.

Of course, there was a resistance movement, but for the first few years of the war, the Germans and Danes kind of had an understanding, where both parties agreed that it would be easier if they got along. Notably, the Germans left the Danish Jewish population alone, pointedly avoiding attacks in hopes of keeping the peace with the Danes.

In 1943, however, the war was starting to turn for the Germans, and the ‘model protectorate’ narrative began to fall apart. Worried that the allies would free the Danes and the Danish military would join them, the Germans went and started to capture first the Danish military — imprisoning them and taking their arms — and then planned to take the navy soon after. They seized six ships from the Danes, and in response, Danish Naval High Command ordered that all Danish ships should immediately escape to Sweden or elsewhere, or be destroyed rather than fall into German hands: of the 50-odd ships in the Danish navy, the Germans got hold of 14, 6 escaped, and the rest were destroyed by the Danes.

While a lovely fuck you, this was really all set up for the Germans to take full military control of the Danes, and the occupation stopped being quite so easy-going. As part of this, orders were made to capture and deport the Jewish population. Interestingly, some pretty high people in the German government were still against this — not for moral reasons, but because they knew it would destroy any last dregs of cooperation with the Danes, and they still thought there was value in that… but on October 1st, 1943, Hitler himself signed the order, and the operation began.

LOL JUST KIDDING.

Enter Georg Ferdinand Duckwitz, a German diplomat. He had been assigned to work in Denmark before the war, and had joined the Nazi party in 1932, although by 1935 he was already writing in letters about how much he regretted and hated it, and felt that he had been mislead as to what it was. Nevertheless, he remained the diplomatic attache in Denmark during the war and occupation.

As such, he was informed that the Germans were planning to capture the Danish Jews on September 11th of 1943. He immediately went to Berlin to put in official requests to cancel the plan; when this (unsurprisingly) failed… he went to Sweden, which had remained neutral in the war so far. While in Sweden, he contacted the Prime Minister and asked if he would be willing to take in Danish Jewish refugees; when the Swedish prime minister said sure, Duckwitz then went back to Denmark, and on September 29th, three days before the deportation was due to take place, he informed the Danish resistance and Jewish population not just that it was coming and when, but that he had already arranged with Sweden that they could go there safely.

He’s kind of amazing, you guys. Like imagine. He doesn’t just give advance warning. Oh, no. He fucking arranges with another country that they’ll take you in and then lets the news drop.

The thing about Denmark and Sweden, besides that they have an eternal rivalry that will last until the end of time, is that they are really close to one another. The Sound is only a couple of miles wide in most places, and it’s very doable in any kind of boat. And boy was it. The Danes en masse helped evacuate the Jewish population, along with relatives, using fishing boats, sailboats, kayaks, anything, and while many fishermen did charge ferrying fees, which is gross, the Danish Resistance Movement stepped in and funded most of the fees, along with donations from the wealthy. A lot of people worked together and worked very fast, and the Danish police and harbormasters were often there helping too.

It’s also notable that, while some of the fleeing Jews were captured… a lot of the Germans kind of seemed to… not care much? It’s noted that they tended to not try that hard to find or capture Jews, or were willing to turn a blind eye, whether because they were used to the good relationship with the Danes or what. There are also all sorts of wonderful but probably apocryphal stories of the Danes actively fucking over the Germans during this escape — mixing blood with cocaine to mess with sniffer dogs, etc. It is clear, though, that a lot of people came together and worked very quickly to rescue as many people as possible.

In the end, however, about 500 Jews were captured and sent to a concentration (not death) camp. The Danes weren’t ready to give up, though! Using all their political capital and the advantage of that formerly good relationship and occupation, the Danes managed to get the Germans to promise to a) not send any of them to death camps and b) accept food and medical packages in the concentration camp, along with regular visits from the Red Cross. In the end, only about 50 Danish Jews died in the camp, most of them elderly, from disease, and at the end of the war they were liberated and brought to Sweden: 102 Danish Jewish people were killed during the course of the war total.

As for Duckwitz? Well, after organizing the rescue, he went back to his diplomatic duties like nothing had ever happened. He remained a diplomat in Denmark, served in India for a while, and was made West Germany’s secretary of State in the 60s, working on the Treaty of Warsaw. He retired in 1970, and was named Righteous Among Nations in 1971. Which, frankly, he fucking deserved.

The Danish Resistance Movement was also awarded this honor, but as a group and not individuals, per their own request.

After the war, many Danish Jews ended up staying in Sweden, but many also returned to their homes: there are stories I choose to believe are true of their houses being kept up for them by neighbors while they were gone, pleased to welcome them back. :)

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internalmess3 · 4 years

Text

I was tagged by @amysteryspot <3

Nickname: I don’t really have one so just my name I guess (Vianneyth)

Star sign: Libra

Favorite musicians: Harry Styles, Yungblud, 5SOS, Grandson, Kings of Leon and right now I’m really getting into Cage The Elephant

How many people do I follow: I’m not really sure where to look for that(? But probably more than 1000 lmao, I’ll follow anyone if I found a meme they reblog funny tbh

Tumblr crush: I don’t have one, even if I did, I would feel so awkward to actually mention them :/

Lucky number: 3

Dream vacation: Somewhere in Norway and Denmark for the Viking stuff and London to fulfill my teenage directioner dream lol

Favorite food: I think Spaghetti bolognese and ice cream

Drink of choice: Iced coffee and lemonade

Instruments: 0, I’m pretty much useless with my hands tbh

Languages: Spanish, English and I just made it to the second level of my German classes

Celebrity’s crushes: Harry Styles, Luke Hemmings, Jensen Ackles,Cillian Murphy, Alexander Draymoon, Chris Evans and many more. The girls that I would let step on me anytime even tho I’m straight: Lily Collins and Sophie Turner

Fun fact: I can’t sleep if I don’t take a shower before going to bed at night (because is not a problem when I take a nap) so if I’m not able to take a shower it would take me ages to fall asleep or I won’t sleep at all

Tagging: I won’t let my anxiety win this time by not tagging anyone so @sholomons @hurricanezukka @100dabbo @abusivelittlebunny I really hope I’m not bothering you guys ❤️

#tag game #random #about me

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years

Text

Hjem(løs) - Ivar x OC - Modern AU - Part 12

Hjem(løs) = Home(less)

Synopsis: It’s Juleaften and Silje walks home from a late Christmas shopping spree. On her way back to her apartment, she makes an unexpected encounter.

Word count: 11,5k

MASTERLIST

Part 11 <<< >>> Part 13

The day Ivar flew off to Ireland, Silje was quiet. She was pretty proud of herself for not even crying when she damn well wanted to, especially when he kissed her one final time before hurrying off to board his plane. Quite the deed for someone who usually started sobbing within the first thirty seconds of a cute dog video montage or airport reunion videos.

She half expected the tears to well up during her train ride back home after parting ways with Ivar at the airport. They did not. Her eyes stayed totally dry and she walled herself up in silence the rest of the day. It was still early, barely past noon, and she had yet to eat lunch. Cooking seemed like an insurmountable task.

It was so still and quiet in here all of a sudden. There was no one to talk to. What did she do all alone in her apartment before Ivar moved in? Did she talk to herself? Read? Hum along to a tune? What the hell was she supposed to do all by herself? Chat up her upside-down reflection in her spoon?

She dropped it back into her mug and the clatter sounded louder than usual. Silje glanced at the digital clock on the microwave and groaned, letting her head fall back. Her eyes were trained on the ceiling, and she wondered if she ever took the time to look at it. It was white with light wooden beams. Who even cared about her ceiling? At least she would be back on the benches in a couple weeks, and univeristy would keep her busy enough to stop wondering what to do with her free time.

Ivar had been away for two hours and she was having a quiet breakdown on her couch, slouched in the most unlady-like fashion. Going out was out of the question because she had removed her makeup as soon as she came home and she wouldn't wish her sullen company to anyone.

The loud music of Nicolaj's ringtone nearly gave her a heart attack. She fumbled around to try and find the damn thing. It took her another chorus of Raining Men to find it.

“Yeehaw motherfucker,” her friend yelled into the phone. Was he high? Drunk? No it was too early, even for him.

“Chill out, cowboy,” Silje replied, not entirely sure what to answer to his singular greeting.

“Sorry, I panicked,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Thought you'd be a sniffling mess by now. How's dear Ivar? Catch his flight on time?”

“Exactly. So why are you interrupting my pity party?” she fired back without much conviction.

“We're not interrupting!” Laura's voice came through the phone too.

“We're crashing it baby, and you can't stop us,” Nicolaj kindly informed her.

“Absolutely not, I want to be alone with my dark cloud,” she immediately told them. “Leave me be.”

“Oh I'm sorry,” Ava's voice now spoke. “Did it sound like we were asking permission? Because that's not what's happening.”

Silje held the phone away from her ear and covered it with her hand while she let out the longest sigh she could muster. Then she put it back.

“Alright. But I'll be complaining the whole time. Don't say I haven't warned you!”

It was a miracle none of her friends crashed at her place while Ivar was still there. She should consider herself lucky that they only decided to impose now that he was gone. Maybe it would do her some good to not be alone. At the very least she would be able to speak without feeling like she was slowly spiralling into madness. Seriously, what did she do when she lived alone?

She might have to pick up crochetting just to keep insanity at bay.

“We expect as much,” Laura answered, followed by other people laughing.

The gods knew how many of them would soon crowd her living room. They would have do deal with the empty mugs sitting in strange places and the general mess – she wasn't in the right state of mind to clean up, and Ivar and her had made quite the mess while they packed.

“Oh, we're already here by the way. This was merely a heads up phone call, just in case you were sleeping it off or something,” Nicolaj said. “Open up, bitc-!”

Silje hang up before he could finish his sentence. What an endearing dumbass. She conjured all of her energy to get up and buzz them in, hearing the sound of their footsteps in the stairway.

The entire band was here – Laura, Ava, Nicolaj, Matthias and Asmus. Now she did wish she was still wearing makeup.

“You don't look fresh,” Nicolaj immediately commented, and Silje flipped him off because she wasn't in the mood. “Oh man, sorry. Someone's grumpy.”

“Of course she is.” Asmus pushed his brother aside to hug Silje. Silje stuck her tongue out at Nicolaj while she hugged Asmus, just to spite him. “You're still crying over your ex everytime you hear a Rhianna song playing. She's allow to be bummed about her boyfriend leaving for a year abroad.”

“Excuse me?!” Nicolaj screeched in offense while Ava doubled over in laughter, and Laura and Matthias went off about this being the most shade anyone's ever thrown Nicolaj. “Forgive me for finding Diamonds emotional.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Matthias said. He slapped Nicolaj's back as he walked past him and into the apartment. “Just own up to it, man.”

“Mus, as my brother, you should side with me and not use sensible information against me!”

“What fantasy world do you live in? Of course I'm using my status to dig up dirt about you and use it against you!” Asmus laughed with Silje. “I usually do it just for fun, but today it's to get a smile out of this one.”

“Thank you, Mus. It does lift my spirits to hear about Nicolaj's misery,” Silje admits before letting them all in and closing the door. “It's a mess. That's what you get for coming here unannounced.”

“Ehm, we did announce our coming, technically,” Ava argued. She threw her arms around her best friend's shoulder and held her tight for a moment, until Laura got tired of waiting for her turn and simple joined in.

“I'm feeling left out here,” she said as an explanation. “Do you feel the love yet, Silje? Should we hug longer?”

What a group of nerds.

Silje couldn't sleep. Her bloodshot eyes glared at her alarm clock, staring at the angry red numbers, watching them change. 1:12am.

She blinked slowly. 1:13am. Her alarm was set for 6pm, she had to get some sleep otherwise she would start dozing off in the middle of her presentation for her 8am class. Was it stress that kept sleep at bay? Or the fact that her bed was empty and cold?

All she wanted was a minute in Ivar's arms, to feel warm and safe. A minute was all she needed to finally fall asleep. But her hand stretched up to the edge of the bed and still, there was nothing but her sheets and no Ivar. How much could one miss another person? She felt she would find out soon, because every day she clammed up a little more, what with the eerie silence and stillness of everything in her apartment.

It hasn't been this quiet and lifeless in a long time. Every day when she came home from university only to find the place plunged in the dark and utterly silent, she wanted nothing more than turn back on her heels and leave it. Ivar was missing from the scenery, and from her life.

But even then, life didn't stay on hold because Ivar wasn't there anymore, and she had to deal with her problems alone. Grumbling to herself, Silje threw the duvet away and stood up, quickly wrapping herself in her fuzzy robe to fend off the cold. It was only early October, but Denmark had said goodbye to Summer a few weeks ago already.

In an attempt to think about something else than her dearly missed boyfriend or her upcoming presentation, Silje decided to change her bedsheets. Maybe clean linens would help her rest tonight, and if not then she wouldn't have to change them in two days like she had planned. It took her a while, as per usual, because changing a duvet cover on a queen size bed on your own can be quite the ordeal, especially if you do it in the middle of the night in a zombie state like Silje.

Eventually it was done, and then Silje thought it was useless to go back in the fresh sheets if she wasn't clean herself, and went to take a quick shower, hoping that the smell of her shampoo would soothe her enough to make up for Ivar's absence. He always used the same shampoo as her, she even smuggled one into his suitcase without telling him, so he would have something from home while he was away.

She had never been one to depend on someone else. She never missed not sleeping alone before, she actually liked having a large bed all to herself, but now it just felt a little wrong. Did Ivar have the same issues? Did he lie awake at night and wish he could hold her instead of his pillow?

Mushy romantic thoughts aside, Silje did wish he missed her a little. And perhaps she also wished he couldn't sleep tonight, no matter how selfish the thought. After wrapping her hair in a towel turban, she returned to bed and slipped under her soft, clean smelling sheets, feeling a new person.

But still, she didn't fall asleep, and in a last attempt to get any shut eye tonight, she grabbed her phone and opened her messages. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard a moment, not knowing what to type or if she should type anything at all, but she eventually did and hit sent.

To Ivar: Are you asleep?

A silly question, she knew it. However, even just reaching out to him felt good and made her smile. He probably wouldn't see the message, he must be sleeping. Hopefully waking up to this in the morning would make him smile, even just a little.

Her phone lit up.

From Ivar: No. Watching a movie... [Download file]

Silje's eyebrows shot up, and that's when she realized that she really didn't expect him to answer. She just wanted to reach out. Her thumb slid on the file he sent. It was a picture of his computer sitting on his lap, with Gladiator playing.

From Ivar: Bad choice. Made me cry twice already.

A big smile crept on her face now, and she typed a quick response.

To Ivar: Want me to watch it with you? How far into the movie are you?

From Ivar: You have a presentation in the morning, you should sleep.

To Ivar: You have work in the morning.

From Ivar: Time zones tho.

A second message popped on her screen.

From Ivar: Okay fine, WE should be sleeping.

To Ivar: Why don't you?

The bubble signalling her he was writing appeared, then disappeared. Silje waited a moment. It did it again, and this time she huffed when the bubble went away. The third time she saw it, she began to type too.

Her phone buzzed at the exact moment she hit sent.

To/From Ivar: I miss you.

Her face grew hot even though there was no one to witness her embarrassment, and she couldn't do anything but stare at the identical messages. So, he did share her sleeping issues. She knew it shouldn't make her glad, but it did a little and she couldn't hold back a small, satisfied grin – he wasn't there to see it after all.

Knowing they both suffered from the distance between them was comforting in a way, and she was sure he felt the same.

From Ivar: The place they gave me is very nice, but it's not home.

Upon receiving this message, Silje's mood changed altogether. From smiling to herself she went to fighting back tears. Reading those words tore a hole in her chest and made her feel his absence in her bones. She missed him so much! What follies she would do to be able to see him again right now.

Home. He considered her place like his home, and this thought alone was overwhelming enough, but Silje had to add to it the agony of missing him like a lost limb.

To Ivar: It doesn't feel much like a home without you here.

From Ivar: Are you okay? Do you want me to call you?

If she concentrated a bit, Silje could hear Ivar say these words, she could hear the concern in his voice and see it in his eyes.

To Ivar: No, don't call. I'm fine, just sleep deprived and emotional. I might cry if I hear your voice.

This time his answer didn't come as quick, and she guessed he was trying to find something adequate to say. Maybe he too needed a moment to find the right words and not give in to the urge to get all sappy and romantic at this late hour where their brain functions were at their lowest. After two minutes or so the bubble came back.

From Ivar: I'm 20 min into the movie.

To Ivar: But you said you already cried twice??

From Ivar: I know, don't mention it.

Smiling, Silje grabbed her laptop off the floor and put it on the bed, quickly finding the movie and starting it at twenty minutes.

To Ivar: I'm all set.

Silje buried herself further under her duvet and snuggled her pillow, feeling a bit warmer and fuzzier than before now that she had some company in her loneliness – even if it wasn't what she craved at the moment, it was as much as she would get and she knew it. Knowing that Ivar was holding onto his phone and texting her in the middle of the night on a weekday, even if he was in another country, was comforting.

Her phone lit up again a minute later.

From Ivar: Have I told you I miss you a lot?

Silje stared at her macro-economics assignment with a deep frown on her face, and she was pretty sure that it glared back at her.

Life was going slow these days, as though she just hopped on a carriage after having driven a sports car for months. It was boring. Or maybe she was just done with university? True, she had thought that her classes would keep her busy enough to stop whining about Ivar's absence and how much she missed him – her friends were endlessly grateful for that – but it became harder and harder as time went by.

The truth was that Silje wasn't enjoying herself at all, and it worried her. She was a practical person, who put rational thinking ahead of her other impulses, then why did she feel more and more like she had wasted the last five years of her life doing something she didn't even like?

Anyone would say that no one really enjoys their job, they just have to have one if they want to afford the life they want. She could get behind that, but did it mean that she had to spend her entire life doing the same, boring activities every single day? It got her thinking. But what was more: Ivar told her something shortly before he left, and it had been on her mind ever since.

She had been rambling about Ava's new crush and how the girl always acted like the was the main character of a chick flick whenever she had a boy on her mind ; Ivar was sitting on the kitchen stool, watching her, listening quietly with a smile on his face, until she became self-conscious and asked him what he was looking at so intently.

“You,” he had said. “You're fascinating.”

It had made her heart jump in her chest and the pink rise to her cheeks.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she had denied, looking away now that she was hot in the face.

“But I think you do. You like telling stories. You're good with words, do you know that?” he had continued, grabbing a piece of red bell pepper and eating it.

“So what of it? Want me to become a bard and go from city to city to serenade pretty ladies in big hats?” she had teased him, slapping his hand away from the bowl of red pepper before he could grab another one. “Hands off, these are for dinner.”

“You should be doing something artistic,” he had suddenly blurted out. “I mean, I know you're good at what you do, but sometimes it looks like it's sucking the life out of you. You're always stressed out. I can imagine you studying literature, art, fashion, be at a cooking school, I don't know.”

She had bitten the inside of her cheek and pouted, pondering what Ivar said. He wasn't in the wrong, but she had her reasons for not going off to live the dream and move to Paris, to the left bank of the river Seine.

“These things don't pay, they are fantasy jobs,” she had argued, and Ivar grinned as if he had been expecting her to say that.

“Listen, I know it might sound rich, especially coming from me, but money isn't everything.” Silje had been about to reply but Ivar had kept talking before she got a chance to. “You need to do something that makes you happy and creating makes you happy, I know it. It's an outlet for the emotions you can't voice. You're just good at those things, you make things with love and it shows.”

To this, she didn't have a counter argument, and she still didn't.

Well done, Ivar. He had planted these words in her head and now they grew. There were little sprouts of “what if I dropped out and starting doing art?” growing in her mind. She had half a mind to fly all the way to Ireland only to grab Ivar by the shoulders and shake him like a tree for the way he had messed with her head.

Before he had said that, her life was perfectly clear: she had boring, practical skills that would land her a job at the end of her master's degree, and pay her bills. What else was there to ask? Who even thought about silly concepts such as professional fulfillment? Ivar, apparently.

“Damn you, Ivar!” she cursed him, throwing her pencil away, out of rage.

The fool was right, of course. And she needed to figure out what to do now.

The black cloud hovering over her head dissipated when a friendly hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“Hej!” she welcomed Ava.

Her friend smiled gently and sat down next to her in the library.

“What'd that pencil do to you?” she asked. Silje blinked when Ava placed said pencil on the table in front of her before taking out her laptop.

She had been sitting in the library for hours now, the sun was starting to set and the last rays hit Silje in her face through the blinds.

“Nothing,” she sighed and slumped back. “Just thinking 'bout Ivar.” She distractedly twirled the pencil around, not looking at Ava – she didn't need to, she knew her friend was rolling her eyes.

Bless Ava, she was the most patient friend in times of need. Though, everyone's tolerance to other people's whining had its limits, right? Ava reached hers six weeks and five days after Ivar's departure. Which was two days ago, when Silje called her on the phone while sniffling in front of a kids' movie, crying about how much she wished Ivar was here.

Even Silje knew she was pathetic; she needed to get a grip because soon, Ava would stop being nice, and start smacking heads.

“Colour me surprised,” she chuckled. “So tell me, what did dear Ivar do to get you so frustrated?”

“He told me to do what makes me happy.”

“Oh, I see. Very problematic. Can't imagine where that comes from,” Ava answered.

“Stop being sarcastic, I'm serious!” Silje groaned and shot her a look. “I hate this, I'm overthinking everything he told me because he's gone. Maybe I'm starting to lose it, that would explain it all.”

Ava's laptop made a soft powering up whirring noise while both girls sighed in unison. They had gone over this topic what felt like a hundred times.

“You're not crazy, you're in withdrawal. I don't know exactly how much time you spent with Ivar when you weren't with us, but you clearly don't know what to do with yourself now that he's away,” she stated.

Silje was a bit shocked by how accurate a description Ava made of the situation, and it brought to the forth something else that had been on her mind...

“About that,” she started, fiddling with the pencil now. Ava's eyes darted to the thing until Silje stopped and spoke again. “I think it's time I tell you how Ivar and I met.”

Quite frankly, it had been a bumpy conversation that lasted well past the library's closing hours and prevented any work from getting done that afternoon. It ended at the coffee shop round the corner, and Ava was practically buzzing both because of the amount of coffee she ingested and the shocking revelations Silje dropped on her.

Getting past the part where she had found Ivar, who was homeless, sleeping on a bench, and invited him, a homeless stranger, into her home for dinner and a night's sleep, was hard. Ava kept interrupting her and pointing out all the moments where Silje could have been killed if Ivar had been a psychopath.

Silje hadn't been drinking coffee, she was downing green tea by the liter to calm her nerves and stay open and understanding of her friend's reactions. Only when Silje mentioned Ivar's injury and his getting a job as soon as he was able to eased Ava's worries.

“You are insane. I take back what I said earlier, you've lost it, completely.” She finished her coffee. “I don't even know what to tell you now. I guess we're well past the part where I give you the “be careful” speech because he's just a stranger you picked up on the street. You guys are in a relationship, hell, you've been living together without me knowing! I am kinda mad about that, not gonna lie.”

“I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't approve!” Silje said to defend herself but realized too late that it was a bad point. “Well, I mean... I didn't really know what I was doing in the beginning, I hadn't planned on taking him as a roommate before he got beat up, and then he was there and I was stuck with a hot stranger on my couch, what did you want me to do? Throw away this chance to turn my life into a romance novel? That's how they all start!”

“You're always so down-to-earth, what happened?” Ava cried out in a hushed tone. “For Odin's sake, you sound like me, and it's not a compliment.”

“I get it, I do. But can we rather focus on the now? Everything worked out in the end, don't forget that,” Silje said, pointing her finger toward Ava who fought back the urge to jump over the table and strangle her friend. Silje saw that. “Please, don't be angry with me. I liked him, and once I had introduced him to you all, it became his secret to share.”

“What changed? Why are you telling me now?”

“Because... he's moved on from that now. It's in the past and no longer holding him back, at least I think so. He has a job, a place to live, he'll continue his master's soon. His life is on tracks now, and he can look back and laugh about the past, knowing he pulled through.”

Ava seemed to think about it. Her lashes fluttered a bit and she pursed her lips – a clear sign that she was conflicted. Silje kept quiet because she had been talking for the last three hours, her throat was on fire and she was sweating through her shirt. Was it the air in the coffee shop that was stifling or did Ava's approval matter more than she thought it did.

“You know-” she started slowly, probably for suspens. “I like Ivar. He's a good person, and he's so in love with you that it makes us sick,” she stated as if it was nothing. Silje's puzzlement was evident. “I suppose that I wouldn't have been so inclined to welcome him in our group, had I known his past, so I can't really blame you for hiding it from me. I can also understand that it wasn't your secret to share, I can respect that you wanted to let him come clean when the time was right. But he didn't.”

“Because it doesn't matter anymore.” Silje had jumped in to defend Ivar without thinking. “It's not who he is. It shouldn't define the way people look at him, and that's why neither of us said anything in the end – before now. And this should go without saying, but I'm trusting you to keep this to yourself.”

Now Ava looked very displeased.

“You can't drop this bomb on me to relieve yourself of the weight of your secret and then demand that I keep it for you!” She sounded positively scandalized and ready to storm off.

“You're my best friend, who the hell can I tell this if not you?” Silje replied, equally offended. “I knew you wouldn't be thrilled to hear about this, but I thought you'd understand.”

“I understand that you have lost your mind because of some pretty boy!”

Silje swallowed her comeback and started blankly at her friend. A poor friend, as it turned out. If her closed off expression said anything, Ava must have understood it. The conversation had come to an end and it was time to leave before either of them said words they would regret later.

It was deadly silent and the air had become cool between them when Silje grabbed her bag and stormed off.

She power walked back to her apartment and threw herself face-first on the sofa, screaming into a couch cushion until she felt better. Then she kicked off her shoes, stripped and went directly to bed because it was late already, and she did not want to get lost in her seething thoughts under the shower.

It was a restless night of tossing and turning and angrily crossing her arms over her chest while cursing Ava. Then she thought back to what Ivar told her and cursed him too, for being away and not holding her in his arms after she fought with her best friend, for not being there to talk about her doubts concerning university.

Fuck, now she was crying. She wiped away the tears with such force that her skin burnt under her eyes and she bit hard on her lower lip to calm herself. She had become such a mess in the last few weeks, she didn't recognize herself anymore. Where was the headstrong, independent woman she had grown into? Her parents would be ashamed of her behaviour. And Odin be damned, Ava was right, she had acted recklessly by letting a stranger into her home, she should have sent a safe message to all of her friends the second she invited Ivar into her apartment on julaften.

When she woke up the next day, her face was stiff because of the dried tears and she felt as awful as she looked. Today was Saturday, she had no business being up before noon, especially since she had come to the conclusion that her life was in complete disarray anyway – what was the point of being an early bird for the sake of it? To cease the day? Bullshit.

But a loud banging on her front door made her lift her head from her pillow. What was that now? Couldn't a girl have a breakdown without being interrupted?

“Go away!” she shouted, though whoever was outside her apartment couldn't possibly hear her weak protest through the closed door of her bedroom.

The banging didn't stop, and so Silje grumbled and crawled out of bed, wrapping herself in a robe and combing back her hair with her fingers. She nearly lost a hand amidst all the knots.

“What do you want?!” she asked as she swung the door open.

It was Ava, who looked tired and sorry.

“Hej. You look like death,” she said as a way of breaking the ice after their fight.

“Right back at you.”

“I thought I should rip off the bandaid sooner than later, so I came here to apologize,” she explained with her usual down-to-business voice that she used when she didn't want to get too emotional over something – like when she tried to explain the plot of Star Wars to someone who had never seen them without sounding like an absolute nerd.

“Apologies go well with freshly baked goods,” Silje pointed out, feeling merciless this morning – and hungry: she hadn't had breakfast yet.

Ava knew her well, and she quickly opened a bag to show she didn't come empty-handed. Silje nodded solemnly, granting her access to her home.

“You may enter.” She pushed the door wide open though she refused to smile until she extorted proper excuses from her friend. One should have a minimum of dignity.

“Please, Sil, don't be like that,” she whined.

It seemed that she understood just how badly she had hurt Silje with her hurtful words and obtuse thinking last night. Silje's arms were still crossed on her chest, to give herself countenance even though she wanted to hold Ava in her arms very badly and forget it all.

“I'm really sorry. I was so taken aback, I almost forgot to look at the bigger picture because I was worried about you. It doesn't justify anything, so I brought you this, to make amends...”

She pulled a folded sheet of paper out of her pocket and held it between her fingers until Silje deigned taking it to look at it.

When she did, her eyes widened.

“Go see your boyfriend, Silje. And by all that is holy on this earth, stop with the pity-party. I just want you to be happy, and he clearly does a damn good job of it, so... that's all I, or anyone else for that matter, needs to know about him.”

Silje threw her arms around Ava's shoulders, taking great care of not wrinkling the printed plane ticket in her hand.

If this wasn't the right building, she was truly lost. Her heels clacked on the pavement and the steady rumble of her suitcase' wheels followed her steps. She pushed the heavy oak double doors and walked in. It wasn't dark yet, so hopefully someone would still be there. This wouldn't have happened if her plane hadn't been delayed!

Now wasn't the time to complain though, he would soon be there. Her eyes searched for a sign and fell on a small golden plate on the wall to her left. “Secretary's office” it said. She followed it, happy to see there were arrows painted on the floor to help clueless people like her find their way.

One narrow door stood ajar and soft light came out of there. Gently, she knocked on the door.

“Come in!” A woman's voice called.

Silje pushed the door wide open and stepped in, feeling like she was in high school and being called in the principal's office all over again – it had been Nicolaj's fault, he dared her to sneak into the boys' locker room. Would there ever come a day she wouldn't feel shy and guilty when talking to a figure of authority?

“Hi! I'm sorry for bothering you. I'm a bit lost I think,” she said as way of introduction.

“You're not bothering me at all, dear, come on in,” she gestured her to sit down. “Where are you headed? You're not from around here, you have quite the accent,” she observed with a warm smile.

She seemed to be in her fifties, her hair was already getting gray in some areas and she wore thin glasses.

“I'm from Denmark,” Silje told her to satisfy her curiosity. “I'm actually here to surprise my boyfriend. He works here as a teacher assistant?” she explained, trying to get a reaction out of the woman that would indicate she was in the right place. “His name is Ivar Lothbrok, could you point me in the direction of his room?”

“Oh dear! I'm not allowed to let a stranger wander around school property sadly. You come a bit late.” She looked embarrassed and sorry for Silje. “It's the rules, I'm afraid.”

Silje's face fell. So much for the surprise then. She had pushed off calling Ivar directly because she wanted to surprise him, but nevermind.

“I understand.”

“Wait. What did you say his name is?” the woman asked, obviously feeling sympathetic for Silje who had flown all this way to see her beau. The young woman's face lit up again.

“Ivar Lothbrok. He works here part time as a history teacher assist. You must have noticed him if he's been around here: quite tall, brown hair, blue eyes,” she described. “He should be living on school grounds.”

“Oh I think it rings a bell, let me check in the system.”

The woman pushed her glasses further up her nose and typed on her old keyboard. She was swift and seemed to know exactly where to look. A little smile soon appeared on her face.

“Oh yes, I see,” she hummed to herself. “He does work here, so you're in the right place. However, I see here that he does indeed live on school property, which is why I still cannot let you go on your own. It is technically still a school day, and family and friends are only allowed on school grounds during the holidays, that is, starting tomorrow.”

Silje tried to follow her fast speaking rhythm – she wasn't used to speaking english that much, especially not the irish accent.

“The best I can do is try to call him,” she offered, ever so kindly. “It's the end of the day, he should be back in his quarters if we're in luck.”

“Thank you so much! That would be wonderful! Don't tell him that I'm here though,” Silje exclaimed gratefully.

She sent Silje a conniving smile and dialed the number. He seemed to pick up, which was a relief – she wasn't sure she could hang around here much longer – and the woman made quick work of it, asking him to come over because she needed him to sign a paper. Then she hung up, and Silje took a sharp intake of breath.

“There you go, sweetheart. It's the end of the day for me, so I'll be leaving too. You can wait on the bench outside the office.”

That was a dismissal if she ever saw one. But she nodded and gave her thanks again. This woman had stayed a little longer at her office to accommodate a total stranger who wanted to surprise her boyfriend. She was allowed to shoo Silje out now that her good deed was done.

A grand total of five minutes after the woman locked the office, Silje heard footsteps coming this way and stood up from the bench, her race racing uncharacteristically. It must be Ivar! Her palms became a little sticky and she was more flustered than she cared to admit seeing her boyfriend again. It had only been two months since they parted ways, but on the other hand, it had been two whole, long months that she spent thinking about seeing him again.

She barely had the time to rub her hands against her dress and give herself some countenance before the double doors swung open, and in strutted a nonchalant Ivar, both hands in his pockets, whistling to himself like he didn't have a care in the world. The hallway had been in the dark since Silje sat down because she hadn't moved at all, but as soon as Ivar arrived the automatic light turned on and revealed the presence to his left.

He stopped in his tracks, Silje saw surprise and a bit of disbelief in the way he looked at her and shook his head as if he thought he was having a hallucination, but then he smiled. She smiled back, and her heart leaped at the sight of him.

“Silje?" he asked, his voice fairly cautious but ecstatic still as he already took a first step towards her, a disbelieving smile plastered on his face.

Without saying anything Silje lunged forward and they met halfway, throwing their arms around each other and holding on. The rush of warmth and comfort that erupted inside her when she felt Ivar's arms engulf her in a hug was indescribable. With her head on his chest, Silje heard his chest rumble as he laughed – at least he seemed happy to see her, even if she popped out of nowhere without giving any warning.

“I can't believe you're here!” he sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple but not letting go yet, not even enough to give her a proper kiss.

For now, he just needed to hold her a bit – gods he had craved holding her again for weeks now! At any moment someone might walk in on them, but he couldn't care less, even if it was a student.

“You better start believing it,” she giggled, letting her hands fall down his back and onto his sides. She pulled back reluctantly; she wanted to see his eyes – and maybe his lips too. He smiled so wide and bright she was moved to tears. He really was happy to see her, and here she was worried she might arrive at a wrong time or mess up his holiday’s plans. “Kiss me like you missed me,” she told him.

Silje didn't need to say it twice, Ivar grabbed her face and crashed his lips against hers in a split second, all too happy to accommodate her. They both smiled like total fools in love in the kiss, but they couldn't care less about this somewhat awkward kiss. Silje's hand slid up to his neck and grabbed a fistful of his hair to hold onto and she pulled him down even more, pressing him harder against her lips, urging him to kiss her deeper.

Instead he broke their embrace and placed a quick, feather-like peck to the tip of her nose, startling her.

“I did miss you,” Ivar admitted, smiling fondly at Silje and her rosy cheeks. “Let's go to my place, shall we? We can't be caught making out at my workplace,” he reminded her.

A little laugh fell from Silje's lips when she realized she got carried away so quickly after seeing him again.

“Well at least you won't be able to say I wasn't glad to see you again,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly and turning around to go grab her luggage.

Ivar laughed, shaking his head – he had missed her antics and little innuendos – and he followed her, carried the duffel bag while Silje dragged the small suitcase behind her, and together they made their way to his apartment.

“I wanted to come knock on your door directly but the woman behind the desk said I couldn't go there because it was on school property,” Silje said when they approached a big Victorian-looking building with an impressive number of windows and giant wooden double doors through which an elephant could no doubt fit.

“Yeah they actually gave me the building’s superintendent’s’ apartment, he retired last year so I'm getting his place – and his job too, I have to make sure the doors are locked after a certain hour and signal it to the administration if students sneak out,” he explained, holding the left door open to let Silje through.

“Which happens often?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed. “You'd be surprised how creative these little shits can get when a night at the pub is at stake.” He rolled his eyes and lead her to a door at the back of the hallway, almost hidden behind the main stairway. “Here we are. Me casa es tu casa, you know the drill,” he told her.

Ivar unlocked the door but let Silje step in first, closing behind her and turning on the lights. He sucked in a breath and held it without really thinking about it while Silje silently took in her surroundings, looking around her.

The place was bigger than her tiny student apartment in Copenhagen, and much less stuffed with various unnecessary things such as the unreasonable number of blankets she owns, or the piles of books covering every single square inch of horizontal surface. It felt a little more... empty, but it was nice, clean, and it was Ivar's.

For a week in her life, Silje would be living at Ivar's place, and that was strange in an upside-down kind of way, but also thrilling. She wasn't sure how she should behave because so far, she had been the one 'at home', and for the first time she realized how odd it must have been for Ivar to spend all this time living under a roof that wasn't his, sleeping on a couch, and basically squatting someone else's place.

Now she understood with full force why he needed to leave Denmark, why he needed independence so badly. A tinge of guilt tugged at her heart when she remembered the way she first reacted to his news about leaving.

“I haven't really taken the time to make it mine yet,” Ivar said behind her when the tension became too much for him to handle. This silence was too thick. “I meant to decorate a bit, but I just never got around to it.”

The bare walls and nearly empty shelves did scream 'a man lives here' to Silje, which made her smile. The whole place looked rather old – not in a crumbling way, just as in a historic way. This was an old building and the inside reflected the outside. The walls were a dull shade of forest green, and every piece of furniture apart from the kitchen corner was in dark wood.

“What do you think?”

“I think you miss the Scandinavian minimalistic aesthetic,” Silje teased him, nudging him after they dropped her luggage. “You know, as long as there's a little room for me in your life, I don't really care what it looks like.”

“Oh yeah, I dare hope so, because it was a proper mess when we met,” he reminded her.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and lead her to the back, towards two closed doors. The house tour didn't last long. Ivar opened the doors to show her where the bathroom was, then the bedroom, and that's when Silje decided the tour was over.

She pushed him inside and told him she needed to take a closer look at the bed, because she couldn't possibly form an opinion without trying it out.

Ivar's phone lit up next to them for the third time in a row, making them both sigh. Silje sat upright and climbed off Ivar to go grab it and have a look at who was continuously interrupting their activities. He saw her frown at his phone, which had him on his feet faster that the speed of light.

“What does 'hey man, how's she cuttin'? Don't forget we going out on the lash and mottin' with the lads tonight' mean?” she asked slowly, as if she were reading an obscure foreign language, her brows still knitted together in complete and utter confusion.

Ivar's groan, followed by a chuckle made her turn around, cocking a brow at him while waiting for a translation.

“I completely forgot I agreed to go pub crawling with my friends tonight,” he told her, rubbing his face.

Silje had been here for four days now, and to be frank, Ivar and her and done nothing but walk around town hand in hand, get lost in each other's gaze to the point where they didn't hear the voice of the waiter at the restaurant they were at, and then went back to his place to undress each other with more than their eyes.

He had tried to show her around, had taken her to museums, bookshops and fun attractions, but nothing in the world appealed more to Silje than her dear, handsome boyfriend, and so they clung to one another like their life depended on it, not caring what other people thought of their public displays of affection.

Today, Ivar had insisted on taking her outside of the city and into the gree nature of Ireland. She knew him well and expect as much, which is why she came with adequate shoes for climbing around muddy hills and sharp rocks. They were tired and sore, but not too tired and sore to end the day with a bang. However, the thought of having to go out again really didn't sound appealing anymore, especially now that Silje was here, half naked, and Ivar had a semi-hard on from their heated make out session on his bed.

“I still don't understand anything that's in this message,” she told him, handing him his phone so he could answer.

“It's dumbass for 'hey, what's up? Don't forget we're going drinking tonight',” he explained. “And mottin' means women chasing. Cillian is feeling lonely these days,” he laughed when Silje sent him a nasty glare at the mention of their planned activity. “I'll tell them I can't come.”

Ivar was already typing when Silje snatched the phone from his hand.

“You can go,” she said. “You don't need to babysit me, I'll just read a book or watch a movie while you're out.”

She had taken up so much of his free time already, she wouldn't deny him a night out with his guy friends – the Norns know boys need their boyfriends.

“Nonsense!" he retrieved his phone. “Either I cancel, or you join us,” Ivar said, his tone final.

“But I don't know them, and you had plans. I don't want to intrude on your boys' night or whatever these are called,” she insisted. “Also, it's rude to cancel plans last minute.”

Ivar couldn't hold back his smile when she gave him that motherly glare that meant he had to stick to his engagements.

“Alright, then you're coming.”

“Ivar...” Silje started with a deep sigh.

“No, no, no you need to come. They need to see you're a real person and that I haven't made you up,” Ivar argued, holding onto Silje's hand to pull her towards him. Silje's eyebrow rose at that, an expression of confusion and amusement painted on her face.

“Your friends think you have an imaginary girlfriend?” Silje laughed when Ivar nodded. She pondered the thought for a short moment, leaving Ivar in waiting. “Well, then I guess I have to come.”

Needless to say, they didn't make a quiet entrance. The moment Ivar stepped through the front door of their pub of choice, tailed by Silje who looked around in fascination, taking in her surroundings, a round a disbelieving cheers greeted them. Three boys around their age stood up and raised their glasses, so Silje assumed these were Ivar's friends. By the gods, what have I agreed to?

Ivar did head towards the merry group, and he greeted each one of them while she stayed back, waiting for her turn. She was fascinated by everything around her. It struck her that the place was already filled to the brim with jul decorations, while also having a few pumpkins, glow-in-the-dark skulls and spider webs here and there for Samhain next week.

“Ivar, man! Ya boyo, why have'na told us ya were comin' with such a fine thing?” one of them said, and although the sentence was dotted with words Silje didn't quite catch, she did understand he thought her pretty.

“Shame on ya, Ivar! Don't ya have a mot back home?” another one said, shaking his head in disappointed. Ivar was just about to protest and introduce her when the last one spoke up.

“Shrupp, ya dickbrains, can't ya see the lady's awaitin'?” The third one told them off and stood up to greet Silje.

All three spoke with heavy accents, rolling their r's and using slang Silje had never heard before. Ivar caught her glancing at him for help, looking thoroughly lost. She ended up opting for attack as the best defence, before Ivar had a chance to step in and translate for her.

“Hi, I'm Silje. I'm gonna assume Ivar told you about me?” her Danish accent was a bit heavier than Ivar's.

One of the boys at the table clutched his chest and exclaimed, “I'm in love!”

“Told us? It's hard to make him shut up!” the other one declared dramatically, raising his pint to Ivar who glared at him.

“I'm Dean,” the one who had stood up introduced himself, and Silje shook his hand. “The love sick fool ove' there is Cillian, and that's Caleb.” Each of them waved their hand at her when Dean mentioned their name and Silje returned the gesture with a little smile.

“So you didn'a makeup that story, eh?” Cillian teased Ivar, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Havin' ya girl fly all the way heyar just to prove us wrong is a bit much, innit?” Caleb added.

“Well, you didn't give me much of a choice, now did you?” Ivar snapped back good naturedly shoving his friend in the shoulder.

Dean gestured Silje to sit on the bench next to her boyfriend before he sat down himself.

“Ivar told me I was quite the cryptid around here, so I jumped on the first flight to make a surprise appearance at the pub and freak out the locals,” Silje said, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. Now that she was here she had to make the best of it, and not shrink back on herself while the boys chatted the night away.

“'tis a good thing ya came, ya fella wouldn'a take that puss off his face because he missed ya so,” Dean told her, nudging her gently.

She stared at him with big eyes, then turned to Ivar who wore an amused expression. But he was once again interrupted before he could even start speaking.

“He's telling ya your man missed the heck outta ya, girl!” Caleb said. “Ivar wouldn'a stop sulking and rambling about his amazing girlfriend,” he added with a grin that showed he was quite satisfied with himself for having both supplied Silje with a translation and having made Ivar blush.

“Alright, it was nice seeing you guys, we'll go now,” Ivar declared but Dean sat steady and didn't let him and Silje get up.

“Don't get ye knickers in a twist, man! We're just teasin'. Ya brought us a pretty lash, we're intimidated,” Dean tried to calm him down.

Their exchange made Silje smile, and she rid herself of her coat to get more comfortable.

“De fortæller mig ikke noget, jeg ved ikke allerede1,” Silje told Ivar, placing a hand on his arm. Her words seemed to have an effect on him, though his friends had no idea what she said, Ivar ended up nodding and shrugging off his jacket too.

“It's like she's speaking magic words,” Cillian told the others upon seeing Ivar's annoyance melt like snow in the sun.

“Kan du se hvad du har rodet os ind i ? Fortryder du det ikke?2” he asked her back, if only to bother his friends who didn't understand a single word of Danish – thank the gods for that by the way.

“Nej det gør jeg ikke,3” Silje answer with a triumphant smile. “Should we get drinks?”

Her question woke the others from their fascinated gawking at the couple speaking foreign words to each other and made them snap back to reality. Ever so reactive, Dean raised a hand to call for a waitress from their corner table. The place was packed with people – they chose a Friday night of all days to go out.

Soon as the waitress was there Cillian raised a hand.

“Five pints of brown beer, lovely,” he told her, making the girl smile.

“Oh wait!” Silje called her before she could scurry off to get their drinks. “Make it three pints and two glasses of white wine.”

The girl took note of the change of order and ran off.

“Christ, Ivar! Your mot been heyra for a couple hours and she's leading ya by the nose already! Ordering fancy drinks, eh?” Caleb teased before downing the remaining of his beer to make way for the next one.

Silje blinked in slight confusion. She was leaning on the table with both elbows when she looked at Ivar, waiting for an explanation. He merely shrugged, but he was mistaken if he thought she was going to drop it and make it easy for him. He wanted her to tag along, he would have to own up to it.

“Why Ivar, haven't you told your friends you don't like beer?”

Her question was followed by a round of choked up screeches and a variety of downright offended protests. Meanwhile Ivar closed his eyes and groaned, causing Silje's devious grin to widen even more.

“We're in Ireland Sil, I wouldn't have made any friends if I didn't drink beer,” he grunted unhappily.

Silje nodded. It made sense of course, but she couldn't pass up such an opportunity to tease him in front of his friends. It was usually the other way around since they spent a lot of time with her own friends.

She gave him a gentle smile and pushed a strand of his hair out of his face, effectively making the three boys at the table stop rambling about the beer thing, and start poking at Ivar for being such a sap when his girlfriend was here. He didn't pay attention to them, and instead chose to enjoy the moment. For weeks now, he hadn't had a moment like this, he could only dream of it. To have Silje sitting next to him for a drink, and not halfway across the world, should be something to appreciate to the full, regardless of the presence of his merry group of idiotic friends.

“Jeg kan ikke vente til jeg har dig for mig selv resten af ugen,4” he whispered in her ear, making all three of his friends lean towards them in hopes to catch something even though it was all Chinese to them.

Throughout the evening, whenever Ivar said something only meant for Silje he switched back to Danish both because she wasn't as comfortable speaking English as he was – especially the local slang that was difficult to grasp -, and because it was more private. His friends looked confused as all hell at first but after hearing the tone of their voice and seeing them smile at each other, Cillian came up with a theory.

“Ah, I see! You're speaking that silly language of yours to talk dirty in public! I get it.”

Silje and Ivar both frowned and shared a glance.

“Man, that's not at all what's happening,” Ivar told him.

“Yeah, right,” his friend replied, giving them both a conniving wink as though he was now in on a secret.

“Don't mind him. Han er lidt dum5,” Ivar told Silje, making her chuckle in her glass.

The pub crawl was adjourned due to Silje's presence – not cancelled, never cancelled – and they decided to spend the night here instead. The place became even more crowded if that was possible, to the point where it was impossible to call for the waitress. All the staff was behind the bar, pouring drink after drink.

Silje volunteered to go get their next round of drinks and went to the bar. She hopped on a stool when one became available while she waiting her turn, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the sticky counter top. The waitress from earlier spotted her and yelled over the noise to ask her if she wanted the same. Silje nodded and smiled at the girl.

There weren't many girls here tonight from what she could see. But there sure were a lot of inebriated men, as proven by the one trouble maker who elbowed his way towards her until he was leaning against the counter right next to her. Silje leaned in the other direction ever so slightly.

“What's a ride like ya doin' alone?" he slurred, giving her a once over in an obvious manner, which suggested he meant it as some sort of compliment.

She scrunched up her nose and pretended she didn't hear him over the noise, hoping he would take the hint and go away – though she was positive he wouldn't take a hint smaller than her fist in his face. Maybe she should just do that from now on – hit first and talk later. A thought to ponder.

Silje wasn't one to complain about slow service in any kind of place, be it a pub or a fancy restaurant, but these drinks sure took their sweet time to get to her. All the while the drunk guy attempted to flirt with her with as much subtleness as an elephant in a china shop. How much longer now?

From the other side of the room, Ivar stretched his neck to see where Silje was with their drinks – Caleb grew nasty when he didn't have a cold one in his hand – and what he saw made his jaw clench. Seeing that beefy dude drool over his girlfriend made him glare holes in the back of his head and he stopped listening to the story Dean was telling him altogether.

She said something then, but the gods have mercy it only seemed to entice the guy even more, though she wore her disgust like a pearl necklace and shot him annoyed glances.

He felt his hand tighten its grip on his empty glass. He wished he could read lips because there was no hearing what they were saying over the ambient chatter, and he didn't want to cause a scene for nothing even if he really wanted to get up and teach this asshole some manners. Ivar was left breathless by the force of his urge to mark his territory. Silje would flick his forehead if he ever voiced his instincts.

“Hey man, your mot in trouble?” Dean asked, finally taking notice of Ivar's change of mood and following his gaze. “That chump acting the maggot. Go get her.”

Silje exchanged a few more words with the stranger, no smile in sight as she pulled away slightly when he scooted closer. Then she turned towards the table and pointed right at Ivar. Good. This fucker needed to know she was taken. Happily taken. Now he better back off or the gods have mercy on him because Ivar won't.

He was ready to storm across the room at the slightest hint of distress on Silje's face. But when Silje saw the look of rage on her boyfriend's face her expression softened a bit and she raised her palm discreetly. He blinked, then looked back at his friends and dropped the frown on his face, forcing his rage down.

“Nah. S'all good. She can handle herself,” he told his friends to their utter bewilderment.

A second ago he looked like he was ready to stab the guy in the throat and now he acted like it didn't even bother him to see his girlfriend being hit on. He stared a little harder than he normally would at his empty glass and couldn't help glancing towards the bar every other ten seconds, but he calmed down.

This was her sign. The little hand gesture. He knew it meant she had things under control. He didn't need to come to her rescue - even if he damn well felt entitled to and it itched him greatly to sucker punch this idiot. He trusted her, Silje wasn't overconfident in her skills or reckless at all. If she sensed actual danger coming from this guy, she would call him. After another while of tense silence between the guys where everyone was staring at the exchange except Ivar who glared at his glass like it was guilty of something, his suffering came to an end.

His back muscles relaxed as soon as he felt her familiar gentle hand on his shoulder. She laughed when she felt him literally melt under her touch. She expertly set down the plate of drinks she held with one hand, and joined Ivar on the seat bench, pressing into his side and snuggling him a bit despite the very public space to reassure him.

“Good thing you got rid of that wanker,” one of Ivar's friends chuckled in his glass. “Ivar was about to pop a vein.”

“I would have popped his head like a champagne bottle,” Ivar countered, scowling and leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I know you would have, but I like to try solving situations my way before letting you maim anyone who dares look at me.”

“This is about that guy at the park this summer,” Ivar groaned and rubbed his face. “I thought we wouldn't bring it up again.”

This triggered his friends to ask a lot of questions what exactly went down last summer at the park, and Silje happily obliged them and told the whole story, much to Ivar's despair. It wasn't even his fault; the other guy had started it.

The gang and them were out for the day, enjoying the sun. And some dude at the park kept losing his ball while playing volleyball with his friends and it somehow always ended up at Silje's feet. Ivar's patience ran out after the fifth time and he threw the ball back full force. It hit the guy in the face so hard it sent him stumbling backwards and falling on his butt. Their friends laughed but Silje didn't.

She finished her story with a fond smile on her lips, looking at Ivar with such whole-hearted tenderness that it melted the frown right off his face. She leaned back into him.

“Next time a guy hits on me I'll punch him in the face, promise,” she whispered to in his ear. Then she grabbed her glass and the boys carried on their conversation like nothing happened. “Oh look, they have-” Silje stopped and visibly searched for a word, snapping her fingers as if to summon it. “Ivar, hvad hedder dartspil på engelsk?" she finally gave in, turning to her boyfriend.

“A dart game,” he provided, and Silje snapped her fingers again, this time in victory.

“Yes! A dart game. Let's play darts,” she said, waiting to see if the boys would agree to her challenge.

“I can't accept, it would break me heart to crush ya at a game,” sighed Cillian as if it was a sacrifice on his part in the name of chivalry.

“Can't hand their asses to pretty girls like ye,” Dean agreed with his friend, drinking the last of his beer and chuckling to himself while Ivar's grin grew wider and wider. Silje saw it and smirked a little.

“If you're scared of losing it's alright, I understand you don't want to lose to a girl in public,” Silje said nonchalantly, knowing that they wouldn't be able to let slide this blow to their ego. Boys were so terribly easy to manipulate, it was a wonder the human race survived so long.

As expected from a bunch of young men slightly drunk off beer, they all immediately puffed out their chest and stood up, accepting her open challenge while claiming they wouldn't be held responsible for her crushing defeat. Only Caleb seemed to sense there it wasn't a good idea and remained by Ivar's side.

Ivar leaned back and kept smiling to himself like an all-knowing Cheshire Cat. He followed Silje but declined the invitation to participate – he knew better.

“No mercy, Sil,” he told her with a wink. “I'm going to sit this one out and enjoy the show.”

The two of them watched Silje slowly but surely crush Dean and Cillian's self-confidence with each dart she threw exactly where she intended. The two boys lost their mind – along with a fair amount of people who watched the game, one beer in hand, placing bets – and quickly understood their mistake. That's what they get for underestimating girls.

Silje never lost her grin and she scored more and more points.

“Ivar, ya jammy client6,” Caleb mumbled in his beer, nudging Ivar in the ribs to get his attention.

He had been entranced by Silje's gleeful smile and lethal aim. Yeah, he sure was the luckiest man alive.

It was already time to say goodbye and they both hated it though they knew it was coming. The wind was blowing strong, the sun wasn't even up yet, it was dark and cold and yet neither of them wore gloves because they needed that skin-to-skin contact just a while longer.

Soon, they would be able to wear gloves again as they wouldn't see each other until jul. At least this time, it wasn't a vague goodbye with no idea when they would meet again. Ava's part in their little reunion was much, much appreciated and Ivar would need to thank her, but they had arranged their next meeting ahead of time this time.

No surprise visit, no wandering about on school property to find the right building; Ivar would go two hours early to the airport and wait for Silje with a cheesy note written on a poster that he'd hold very high for her to spot from a distance once she had collected her luggage. She was going to hate it, he thought, amused.

“The bus is coming,” she said, spotting the headlights coming round the corner of the street.

She squeezed Ivar's hand and turned to him, her eyes glowing under the streetlight and looking a bit too glossy for Ivar's liking. If she so much as shed a tear, he wasn't going to let her leave. He didn't care about the consequences, he would pull a proper kidnapping and keep her all to himself, screw Denmark.

“I wish I could come with you,” he said, cradling her face and kissing her softly. Their lips were still swollen from all the kisses they exchanged these last few hours. One would think they were never going to see each other again instead of parting for roughly two months.

Ivar couldn't escort Silje to the airport because he was working today, bright and early; he could only walk her to the nearest bus station and wave her goodbye until she was out of sight.

The bus stopped and the doors opened: it was time.

“Jeg vil savne dig7,” Silje whispered before leaving.

“Jeg elsker dig8,” he answered.

Right before the doors closed on her, he stole one last kiss and felt her smile against his lips.

TRANSLATIONS

1They aren't telling me anything I don't already know.

2See what you got us into? Any regrets yet?

3No, I don't.

4I can't wait to have you all to myself for the rest of the week.

5He's a little dumb.

6Lucky bastard

7 I'll miss you.

8 I love you.

@teenagephilosophersandwich

@marco-hvittyvik

@kenzieam

@captstefanbrandt

@kimskew

@aduncanzombie

@admerxin13

@meikolia

@vikingsmania

@dina-m16

@thinemineours

@didiintheblog

@mblaqgi

@thedorkcitycentral

@hallowed-heathen

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hufflepuff-ish · 5 years

Text

LITTLE MERMAID RANT

Hello, and welcome to my rant about my three racist friends!

So, today one of my friends brought up the casting of Ariel as a POC and at first, I thought she was mainly annoyed with the casting because Halle Bailey isn’t a redhead. I tries to make her and my other two friends ease up by saying that her hair can be dyed and that Disney doesn’t need a necessarily natural redhead to play Ariel. Turns out, I was wasting my time because it wasn’t the REAL ISSUE.

As you can guess, their problem is that Halle is BLACK *dun dun duuuuuun*. Out of the three, the biggest Disney fan, claims that being a white redhead is A PART OF ARIEL’S CHARACTERISTIC. I tired to explain to her that it ISN’T because the color of her skin/her nationality and so on isn’t a part of her story; she can be a Russian mermaid, a Mexican mermaid, an African mermaid and so on, and it won’t make a ANY difference, the story will stay the same as long as it’s somewhere with an OCEAN.

Another friend of mine tried to claim that Moana’s skin color doesn’t matter too but it would still be wrong if a white/Asian would be casted to play her. I replied with saying that Moana’s culture is a big part of her story and therefor, it’s not the same thing.

Then, my huge-fan-of-Disney friend tried to argue that being a redhead is a huge part of being naughty and fun, and a white Ariel is WHAT THEY (my friends) KNEW GROWING UP and it’s legitimate for them to want Ariel to stay the same as animated Ariel, so when they change her appearance, ARIEL’S CHARACTER COMPLETELY CHANGES. (I should have argued with that by saying that redheads aren’t necessarily white but it’s too late to go back to that now).

We started talking about Ariel being from Denmark, to which I told them that I heard Disney were going to make the story happen in the Caribbean, and one of my friends said that Disney are forcing diversity because it’s popular now. So, I got really angry and said that there is SO MUCH CONTENT ABOUT EUROPEAN, WHITE princesses/female characters/male characters in general, but THERE ARE OTHER KIND OF PEOPLE IN THIS WORLD. AND IT’S JUST A FUCKING REMAKE, NO ONE IS EARASING THEIR LITTLE WHITE ARIEL FROM EXISTANCE, THERE’S JUST GOING TO BE ANOTHER VERSION. AND THE ONLY PEOPLE “SUFFERING” FROM THE POC CASTING ARE WHITE PEOPLE BECAUSE A FUCKING MERMAID‘S LOOKS AREN’T GOING TO BE LOGICAL TO HER NATIONALITY. THAT THEY HAVE TO LET GO OF THIS POSSESSIVNESS OVER WHITE CHARACTERS.

(btw, I’m white)

Of course, no one listened to me and they continued to claim that Disney should just stick to the ““““RIGHT““““ facts, and they laughed about how when Tinkerbell will be casted, she’s going to be casted an indigenous Australian or something, not sure it’s what she meant, because there isn’t a character from that ethnicity yet.

The argument ended with my huge-fan-of-Disney friend using the popular “but what if they casted a white Tiana huh? that wouldn't be okay!!!!!!” (I currently can’t argue about Tiana because I never watched Princess and the Frog. I should mention whitewashing being wrong but I’m tired) and saying that if Disney are going to continue casting POCs as existing characters that are originally white she’s going to be PISSED.

I tired, I really did, but it’s honestly useless. They don’t listen to me and as some white people do, they can’t pull their heads out of their asses and see that diversity is actually a GOOD thing. To them, diversity is cool as long as you don’t touch the precious characters that they grew up knowing. If Disney will release new movies with POC princesses and so on it’d be okay in their eyes.

TL;DR - DISNEY PLEASE DON’T STOP CASTING POCs AS MAIN CHARACTERS AND GIVE DIVERSE STORIES AND REPRESENTATION, INSTEAD OF CASTING A BUNCH OF WHITE PEOPLE WHO LOOK LIKE THEY ALL SHARED A WOMB. ESPECIALLY IF IT’S GOING TO PISS OFF ALL THE RACIST WHITE PEOPLE, INCLUDING MOST OF MY FRIENDS.

#there was so much more i could say but they're my only friends #I've never been so angry with them though #I was practicaly shaking #i'm sorry people are trying to take this away from you @ pocs #the little mermaid #rant #personal

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romaniassexdungeon · 5 years

Text

Shattered Romanticism of a God - chapter 10

Pairing: SuFin, side AusHun and EstUkr

Warning: language, adult humour

Hi there! Sorry for the wait. I didn't mean to make you wait this long, especially not after the April Fool's joke, but I decided that I didn't want to upload a pathetically short chapter, so combined the next two together. It's not... particularly long now, but still decently-sized. Anyway, now that my Wi-Fi's stopped being a little bitch, I can upload this!

Gunner - Denmark

Read the whole thing on AO3

Tino spent the entire weekend hiding in his flat, not talking to anyone, and only opening the door to collect his take-away meals, way too depressed to cook for himself. Or wash himself. Or tidy anything up.

He'd messed up. Badly. After sending Berwald an apology text, he'd turned his phone off and moped. His current work in progress lay incomplete on his computer screen, and Tino spent most of his time watching vine compilations into the early hours of the morning, wearing the same pyjamas. He was still working, technically, because the word document was open, even if he hadn’t looked at it for days. He felt like he'd been stabbed in the eyes and kicked in the stomach, and couldn't even muster the energy to cry.

Eduard came round on Sunday, just to see how he was. And if he was still alive.

After listening to him whine for the best part of an hour, Eduard told him to stop being a baby and face the consequences of his actions. Eduard had told him to stop being a coward.

So, he took a shower, changed into pyjamas with no barbeque stains, and turned on his phone.

5 missed calls from Berwald, and a brief text stream before Berwald’s anxiety got the better of him and he gave up. He’d invited Tino over to talk and help him build a new display cabinet, tomorrow, actually. Was it that he wanted to chew Tino out, and tell him to get out of his life? No, the messages seemed concerned. Maybe he just felt guilty about not wanting to see Tino again, even though it was a fair reaction.

He’d go and talk to him about it, get it all over with and go cry in bed for a month. After sending a quick reply, Tino decided to sit on the sofa, eat uncooked noodles, and play videogames.

Berwald answered the door in nothing but a pair of jeans, and Tino had to discreetly pinch himself at the sight. He smiled when he saw him, a small, but genuine, one.

Maybe Berwald really didn’t hate him.

“Hey, Ber, I- uh, I made you a Karelian pasty.” He held up a rather pathetic attempt at baking, but he made it with heart and soul! And tears and a small breakdown.

Berwald seemed to like it, though. He put it in the fridge for later, and Tino crouched down to look at the mess of boards laid out on the floor.

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“Cab’net. Gunner’s first wages. Got too much stuff.”

“Cool, is it for swords or Lego?”

“CDs. We… need a bigger cab’net. Fer those too.” He pointed at a box of second-hand records and player. “From his mum.”

Tino shuffled over to have a rifle. He liked snooping through other people’s things. It was a collection of old heavy metal albums, the iconic, classic ones like Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath.

The kind his dad thought he was superior for liking. Tino liked them too, but had always kept that a secret from him, out of spite.

“Look,” he began, deliberately not looking at Berwald, “I’m so, so sorry about what I did. It was super inappropriate.”

“Forgive ya. Y’tried something, I got uncomf’rtable, and ya backed off.” He got out the instructions and began screwing bits together, like a professional. Tino felt a little useless watching him go.

“And you were so, so nice to me anyway.” Tino held a plank in place for him, whilst Berwald screwed. “You’re just… so, so nice to me.”

Berwald shrugged, blushing slightly, then the conversation moved back to building. Tino did whatever he told him to do, not entirely sure what he was doing. If he ever got new furniture, he was getting Berwald to build it.

Especially if he was going to be shirtless the whole time.

No, Tino! This was the kind of nonsense that made Berwald uncomfortable.

But holy fucking shit, Tino just wanted to cover Berwald in honey and lick it off him like a hungry bear. He decided to not make that known, and just focused on helping him build the cabinet. But Berwald was so close, and so, so warm. He wanted to be held in his big, strong arms.

“Do you have some sort of workout routine?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, you look like you keep healthy. I might...” He gestured at himself.

“I think…” Berwald looked away. “Yer fine the way y’are. But, if y’want, I do warm up exercises - push ups - and run.” He fiddled with a nail. “Lift. Rock climbing.”

“Well, maybe you could teach me to rock climb, sometime? Don’t think I’m built for running, though.”

“Like how you’re built,” Berwald smiled, “squishy. Cute.”

“Why does everyone think I’m cute? I’m not. I’m scary!” He flexed and pulled an angry face. Berwald just smiled.

“Cute.”

Tino flicked his nose.

“Very cute.”

“You think so?” Tino fluttered his lashes. “I guess I could be cute, for you.” Was he really trying to flirt now? Innocent flirting, though. Nothing gross.

Berwald blushed at that. “Thank you.”

At least they were both horrendously awkward.

“I think you’re cute too,” said Tino, “like a… bear. Like a big, fuzzy bear that eats honey and hangs out with a donkey.”

“F’nny thing to call Gunner.”

Tino chuckled, and looked at Berwald. And Berwald looked at him. They smiled at each other, completely at home and safe in each other's presence. And Berwald's eyes were soft, and there for Tino to dive into. And nothing else mattered and everything melted away and before either knew what they were doing, Berwald’s lips were on his.

They could’ve been there for an hour, or even just a moment. Tino had no way of telling, but Berwald pulled away too soon, and he felt robbed of all oxygen. He lingered on the ghost of Berwald’s face, before blinking and shaking himself.

“Thank you,” he said politely, then kicked himself.

Neither of them spoke about anything except the cabinet, even if it was the last thing on Tino’s mind. Did that mean Berwald liked him? Probably, but Tino still doubted it. After all, Berwald was so cool and talented and handsome, and Tino was a mess. Then why was Berwald looking at him like he was the most important person in the world?

The moment the cabinet was finished, Tino made his excuses and scuttled out the door.

Going to Érzsebét Héderváry for love advice was like going to a demon for tips on being a good person, in exchange for your soul. Tino didn’t want to do this, but he was desperate.

Also she was the only cousin he had who liked metal and he hadn’t seen her in a while.

Érzsebét ran a bakery in town with her husband, and Tino could never get enough of the place. He actually got along with her very well, when the subject wasn't dating, and loved spending time at the bakery, getting out of the cold and having a heated debate over the best lead singer of Nightwish. Or who would win Eurovision. The important things, of course.

Tino stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked, face numb from the cold. It was rainy and miserable, and Tino only liked the cold when it was crisp with fresh snow. The rain just made everything grey. The thought of cake kept him going.

Outside the bakery, he spied Eduard leaving with a bag of krémes, glasses fogged up. Tino decided the appropriate greeting would be to try and steal his bag. Which he did. Not really, of course, he just grabbed the bottom of the bag and tugged, but it still made Eduard yelp and punch him feebly in the tit.

“Hey, Eddie, it’s me! Calm the fuck down!”

Eduard stopped, looked at him, and punched him in the arm. “Dick! I coulda dropped my krémes!”

“But ya didn’t. Can I have one?”

“No, buy your own.” Eduard wrinkled his nose. “What are you here for, anyway?”

“What? Can’t I pop in to see my favourite cousin?”

“Yes, but you’re at Érzsebét’s.”

“You’re both my favourite cousin. Anyway, I need some advice.”

Eduard raised an eyebrow. “About Berwald? And the fact that you’re an idiot?”

“Yeah.” Tino winced. “Look, I don’t know who else-”

“You’re going to Érzsebét for dating advice? Are you insane? She’ll want to know everything and make you give her a bunch of details - no problem for you, I guess - and will keep following up about it and-”

Tino narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here, then?”

Eduard looked down, and, in a very small voice, said: “I was asking Érzsi for advice.”

“Well, well, well, how the turns have tabled. What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Érzsebét’s the only woman I talk to regularly. Who else am I gonna ask?”

Tino tried very, very hard to think of another woman Eduard could know, and failed. “Fair enough, but it’s your funeral.”

“Oh I know. She has this whole dating plan mapped out for me, and it involves me being a lot smoother than I am.”

“Just be yoursel- just be less of a twat.”

Eduard rolled his eyes. “Thanks, you’re just as helpful. I’ll leave you to your bad decisions, then.” He walked off, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Tino entered the bakery, instantly met with the most wonderful mixture of smells: freshly baked pastry and melted chocolate and cherry and mint. Érzsebét’s bakery might just be his favourite place in the world, besides his bedroom. Actually, his bedroom didn’t tend to have as much food in it, not good food, at least.

Érzsebét was bustling behind the counter with her husband, hair tied out of her face. Roderich didn’t seem to be the most helpful of employees, though. Unless taste-testing was absolutely vital throughout the entire day. Also who uses a knife and fork on a cupcake? Roderich Edelstein, that’s who.

When Érzsebét looked up, her face broke into a grin.

“Tino! Wow, it’s a family reunion today; did you catch Eddie on the way out?”

“Yeah, poor guy’s fallen bigtime.” Tino picked out the desserts he wanted to try, with a large coffee, and sat at a table while Érzsebét took her break. Roderich took over, giving his wife a kiss before going to serve customers. He’d happily take a million questions about his love life if he could just eat choux buns and mulled wine.

Which he did, whilst his cousin’s eyes drilled into him expectantly.

“Great, as always,” he said, through a mouthful of cream. “You’re still a good baker.”

“Cut the crap, Eddie told me you have someone you like. Spill the beans, I want to know everything.”

“That little snitch! What’s his problem? Anyway, yeah,” Tino wiped cream from his upper lip, “I like this guy, Berwald. He’s in a band and so strong and handsome and kind. Like, a big gentle giant. He's also super quiet and awkward, but he's really nice and genuine underneath. And he has the most amazing muscles! And we kissed-”

“You kissed?” Érzsebét slammed her hand on the table, “I want details! Was there tongue? Did you look into each other’s eyes beforehand? Oooh, did you close your eyes at the same time really slowly?”

“I- can’t remember really. It was… sorta a blur.” Tino slurped his coffee. “I think it was just a little peck. Not super fast, but innocent. But I’m not sure he likes me.”

Even Roderich, from halfway across the shop floor, was looking at him like he was an idiot.

“You’re an idiot,” said Érzsebét to reinforce the fact.

“What do I do, though?”

“Tell him you want to kiss him some more. And fuck.”

“No! That’s scary! And he'd find me weird. Is there anything else I can try?”

Érzsebét rolled her eyes. “I mean, what I’d do is take a strap and smash his booty cheeks in.”

“Okay, firstly, thanks for realising I’m a top; secondly, I don’t need a strap; and thirdly-” He pointed at Roderich, “what booty cheeks? Dude has an ass like a tape cassette!”

Roderich looked at his behind and frowned. “That’s a little inapprop-”

“Smashed the booty in,” said Érzsebét.

Roderich blushed at that, more so when she patted him on the behind.

Tino blinked. “Nice. That the same advice you gave Ed?”

“He was very offended about my implying he was a top, but yeah. He mainly wanted tips on respecting women, and not weirding his new girlfriend out.”

Eduard was generally considered the smartest of the three cousins, and, by that, Tino meant he had three whole brain cells, even if they did nothing but sing “Leto Svet” off-key 24/7. And think about tits. Either way, he was book smart and computer smart, but his people skills were horrendous. Especially talking to women, even though they were regular people with hobbies and personalities, he just hadn't had the chance to learn that.

“His new girlfriend?” Tino raised an eyebrow, “so it’s official, then?" Eduard had started dating before him. Eduard. What the hell was going on?

"Yup. Just let that sink in. Now, are you going to talk to this guy?"

"I'm not sure he likes me, though."

"You kissed, you dumbshit! I think he likes you, and is probably too scared to say, if he's as awkward as you say he is. As Finland's only extrovert, it's your job to step up and ask him out. And then tell him you're madly in love with him."

"Okay, the last bit might be going too far, but... I see the logic." Tino sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll try to work up the courage to ask him out."

"Good!" Érzsebét grinned, "then you can get me to plan the wedding."

"You've already planned it, haven't you?"

"Maybe."

He could do this. He was not a pussy! He could ask Berwald out! And things would be okay and they could go on a date. Or, if Berwald turned him down, he could work on moving on like an adult.

But he was going to do it by text, because doing this in person was too scary.

He typed and retyped his message countless times, editing here and there, trying his best to make sure every word was perfect. And even then, when he pressed send, he just stared at his phone in fear, and disgust:

Hey Berwald. Okay, this is really scary for me, but I’ve wanted to ask for ages, and, even though I don’t know how you feel, I want to try. And I know this could ruin our friendship, but we already kissed and things can’t really get weirder from there, so why not try?

Anyway, what I want to ask, is would you like to go out? On a date? As my boyfriend? If you don’t want to, I totally understand, but if you do, then maybe we could go rock climbing? You could teach me!

So, yeah, let me know what you think XD

Maybe he shouldn’t have signed off with XD.

Maybe he shouldn’t have sent it at all, he decided as he watched those three dots immediately appear, and disappear, and reappear, like his out-of-control heartbeat. He wanted to throw his phone out the window, but his fingers didn’t work anymore. None of his body parts did, and he was stuck there, staring.

He was going to change his name and move to Turkey.

Berwald was letting him down gently, wasn’t he? Typing a whole paragraph about how he thought Tino was sweet, but liked him as a friend. And how he hoped they could still hang out, even though things would just be weird and they’d eventually drift apart and only ever see each other when with mutual friends and just be uncomfortable the whole time.

What Tino wasn’t expecting were the ten words he got in reply:

Dear Tino,

I thought we were already dating.

signed, Berwald

#sufin #aph finland #aph sweden #aph estonia #aph hungary #APH Austria #Hetalia fic #HETALIA FANFIC #shattered romanticism of a god #aushun #estukr #aph denmark #hetalia #aph

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cureformigraine3-blog · 5 years

Text

Which are the Causes Of Migraines?

natural remedies for headaches Just what are migraine headaches?

Those who have never had problems aren't understand the absolute self applied endured by those who all suffer by migraines strikes. And there are several repercussions to be included to the actual suffering!

natural remedies for headaches

Headaches are pathologies. They are generally extremely underestimated for that basic reason that the ache it brings cannot possibly be noticed and that that is considered -- almost all of the time : to be minimal although it can generate extreme and unending suffering. Many individuals suffer from migraines in a regular basis.

Modern-day medicine does not realize the reason behind migraines!

Migraine headaches remain some sort of mystery regarding science as well as medicine. Experts are always ashamed while they are asked in order to explain the true causes.

Current medicine can't explain the particular reason for this hurtful headaches, are they a new full-blown illness? Mere indicators between many others? Carry out migraines have a very psychological aspect or bring about? Are these people hereditary?

These concerns and also many others can't become answered from your scientific or perhaps medical point of view. When a person suffers from headaches, pharmacists or physicians accelerate to be able to counsel or suggest analgesics (painkillers).

A obscure classification for an unknown situation

The difficulty of comprehending migraine headaches can be located usually written inside medical dictionaries, which discover it tough to define what headaches are.

Migraines are normally thought as forms of head aches (? ) (this explanation is unusually vague) in which can manifest by themselves by way of periodical attacks.

Actually , possessing a migraine is definitely not only incredibly trying however migraines typically return rapid sometimes quite regularly instructions in spite of typically the paracetamol-based medications or remedies using other chemical materials.

Headaches are not merely symptoms!

The most effective proof this migraines are generally not merely signs and symptoms, or put simply, the effect of any other dysfunction, especially lies in often the fact that current medicines are incapable of defeating the idea!

In fact, in case a migraine have been a illness, those who experience from it need purge of it by having treatment.

Yet, as particular previously mentioned, migraines usually express their selves through attacks, which will means they will come backside - usually routinely -- and torment individuals enduring from them. Most usually, that they come on instantly, within a matter of minutes.

Useless medication

Many studies include long shown that chemical compounds such as paracetamol usually are extremely beneficial to suppress the actual pain.

So, when paracetamol is used as the migraine relief when anyone have one of course, if the particular pain connected to migraine headaches afterwards resurfaces, this implies there are reasons for typically the outbreak of your headaches and that the compound medication approved has not really treated the exact trigger!

Therefore, if the cure according to aspirin, paracetamol or maybe something different does not entirely eliminate migraine symptoms yet simply alleviates the problems for a moment, it indicates it is either useless as well as that migraines tend to be not health problems but often the consequence of yet another ailment that has not also been neutralized by the element substances.

In the head connected with someone who is affected with migraine headaches!

This is where simply no one wish to be!

Nonetheless, take a little bit for you to imagine - unless you actually have experienced painful headaches after or several periods - which...

All associated with a sudden, the problematic veins inside your temples begin enticing a lot more quickly, bringing considerably more and more unpleasant sounds to your head! Soreness quickly spreads to the actual complete brain, which tends to make you feel just as if any vise were securing your current head a bit much more as time passes by means of and as you hold out and simply wait before consuming a remedy, no matter what the item may be.

In a lot more serious circumstances, when migraine headaches last longer, you can even possess trouble focusing, burst open directly into tears because of the particular discomfort you feel along with even be beneath the feeling that you are typically the sufferer of an true mental torture that will becomes your head upside lower!

It could even sometimes acquire worse once you stop carrying out anything to relaxation or even take care of often the pain due to the fact, when a person rest, you emphasis actually more on the soreness in which ceaselessly hammers throughout your head and this looks to grow in depth!

This starts amplifying in addition to you look ahead to the instant when it finally disappears completely. Even after having obtained drugs, you must often wait for time just before the migraine pain reduction you are hoping to manifests itself!

Additionally , as I actually already mentioned, it will be not as the anti-migraine remedy prescribed have been effective the moment that it will stop you from suffering from other headaches within the mid- or long lasting. This specific disorder is certainly not yet recognized.

This is usually the paradox linked to help migraine headaches: a migraine is definitely considered to be any small ailment compared to various other problems reputed to end up being much more significant nevertheless the fact remains which it can have serious effects.

Without a doubt, in addition in order to the nearly unbearable ache that migraines can result in, they could also have serious repercussions.

Hence, researchers just lately claimed this successive headaches could cause head injury over time and have got the influence on the actual psychological equilibrium of these suffering from them!

These kinds of instances are of program the particular worst. Some folks suffering from migraine headaches although not to that degree mentioned before may be influenced by nausea, be sick or perhaps suffer from photosensitivity or maybe in other words, locate it hard to carry artificial light or also sunshine!

In some conditions - such as headaches with aura - they could be preceded by altered ideas such as visual as well as even illusions!

Nobody is actually safe!

Moreover, if a number of kinds of migraines are usually hereditary - which many scientists claim is typically the circumstance - no one particular is safe. Every person could possibly one day experience these types of terrible headaches and possibly oftentimes on several situations through the same day or even within a lifetime!

In vengeance of the many scientific studies conducted for decades, right now there don't have been many advancements around the topic, even in the event that the different correctly empowered scientists to better learn how migraines are triggered.

The most up-to-date research refers to inadequate the flow of blood in the mental and other anatomical elements but this could not permit them to find out there more about the actual will cause of migraines!

The nearly all considerable studies have reviewed migraines by magnetic resonance imaging (RMI) with cutting edge devices.

Of course, they produced it possible to check more into the process which lies behind the causes of migraines, their advancement and the consequences many people have nevertheless they haven't aided in finding their particular specific origin.

An obstacle to be able to the transmission of details!

Permanent magnet resonance imaging possesses shown that folks suffering through migraines on a frequent basis tend to be the subjects of irreparable damage since far as the brain's white matter is involved.

Here is the name given for you to the stressed tissue that will carries the details between often the two cerebral hemispheres with the brain where mental operations take place : this all occurring in the actual grey topic. The whitened matter comprises long "cables" or axons that hook up the neurons of the particular matter, also called gray matter, to each different.

Thus, a report conducted through physicians within Copenhagen, Denmark, and posted in typically the Neurology journal inside 2013, showed that people being affected by migraines displayed lesions from the white matter.

The horrible consequences of this deterioration make slowing down or perhaps impossibility to help transmit often the information between the various parts or hemispheres of the actual mind!

Loss of human brain volume as well as intelligence

Continue to according to the very same study, it seems in which not only will be the tranny of information affected as a result of repetitive migraines but the particular head volume is furthermore said to be changed by this ailment, major to some sort of decrease throughout intellectual capabilities.

Scientific studies taken out on migraines and the effects enabled scientists to spotlight the unknown role played out by the white issue, that had long been recently disregarded!

Axons, these very long "communication cables" connecting typically the different hemispheres (some could also be found with the spinal cord), are generally essential for the appropriate functioning on the two objetivo hemispheres, the proper and often the left.

Also, need to these kinds of axons be broken simply by lesions, this would stop the information from circulating widely or quickly. The particular person damaged would lose their very own racional faculties, their potential to purpose or swiftly sort the knowledge.

This qualified prospects to a loss regarding autonomy, of the power to learn, but in addition in order to a lack of handle of emotional capabilities ending in... a loss in brains!

Migraines that retain all their cards close to their own chest!

In many instances, you may experience migraine headaches or risk affected by these people... without your realizing!

For that reason, pay careful attention for the "signs" below.

If an individual knowledgeable or are suffering from the following signs, this is highly likely this - without your understanding rapid you suffer coming from migraines! You'll probably have headaches in the approaching weeks, even weeks!

If the mental is aching, no make a difference what the problems anyone feel is, and in the event this increases when at this time there is noise who are around you or maybe when you are within a brightly-lit environment instructions notably together with artificial mild... If you feel made worse pain on one aspect with the brain on a new regular basis... If you actually feel agonizing sensations quickly occurring inside brain and also that last for a long time...

In these three situations, you could experience migraines with no knowing that!

Indeed, all these three major signs usually are not always attached to migraine headaches but the fact stays that they are alert signs that you may possibly endure them.

Pay focus to these indications along with detect them whenever they take place.

Prevent and reduce the cause of migraines

Migraines are incredibly frustrating and quite frequent disorders, issues from which usually nobody is sheltered given that modern science features difficulty understanding and healing these individuals.

However, many studies have indicated that some factors may trigger, exacerbate or lengthen the pain and hazards connected to migraines!

So, inside order to minimize in addition to counter sudden sparks as well as the persistence of normal problems, it is encouraged to try to steer clear of extreme fatigue and fatigue, keep away from anxiety and sleeping enough thus you feel relaxed.

Furthermore, food plays an important function in preventing as well as lowering the risks of enduring severe migraine headaches.

Thus, it truly is advised to keep away from eating or even drinking also much. Drinks and also food items containing a lot involving glucose are top connected with the ranking, like dark chocolate, cakes, wines along with solid alcoholic drinks, that you simply really should avoid.

Here is a different piece of advice: commonly speaking, to avoid headaches, it is preferable to be able to have a well-balanced in addition to varied diet.

Still perhaps though these precautions are very important and although it will be better to adhere to them for you to the letter, their particular effect on the triggers associated with migraines may vary based upon on the individuality, health and fitness and physical condition regarding each personal.

In actuality, even following these kind of parts of advice has never ever guaranteed anyone migraine severe headaches would not occur all of the sudden. Neither do they protection anyone from the typical returning of migraines!

Since a result, in order to avoid or perhaps get rid of this specific trouble, it is well-advised to count on the attack of a migraine somewhat than be forced to help treat it as it can certainly strike anyone whenever!

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