#Resplendant possibilities sound fun

[katfreaks-hidyhole]

[mielwriting]

My thoughts on the 5.0 livestream

Disappointed Mavuika appears to be another pyro claymore. Was really hoping for a 5 star pyro sword. Would also help make connections to Bennett, since he's the only other pyro sword.

Props to those who predicted Il Capitano would be a cryo user!

Also props to whoever predicted the Archon Quests would follow the pattern shown in the Mond prologue: that is, first we learn about the Abyss Order as enemies, then we focus on the Fatui for a while, then the Abyss Order comes back into focus closer to the final showdown. It seems they’re getting a much bigger focus in the Natlan archon quest!

Also, wow, so we already know Natlan and Mondstadt have weird connections - Now we know they have another one: Natlan and Mondstadt are the only 2 nations the Abyss Order is interested in. 

Hey look a pale npc with dreadlocks

Love the greater focus on the Mandarin language! Very nice for a learner

Furina wasn’t biologically an archon, so her hair didn’t glow - she had that glowy fabric in the back of her outfit to kinda hide that. Mavuika is a really nice contrast - her entire head of hair glows very bright! Not just the tips like previous archons

Was noticeable how they reframed the player feedback: “everyone’s very interested in our inspirations for Natlan” as a corporate translation of everyone’s anger over the whitewashing and Spirit Halloween-ifying

Still disappointed in the pyro archon’s leather biker suit

Someone more familiar with Genshin’s music look into this - but around 34:10 when they started answering the question “will someone be resurrected” does the music resemble more the music from La Signora’s funeral video?

Wonder about the original Mandarin titles for the Archon Quest acts - Because “Flowers Resplendent on the Sun-Scorched Sojourn” sounds so cool - and then Act 2 is “Black Stone under a White Stone”. It’s just comically simple compared to the big words that are usually in genshin titles

Also really interested in the Ancient Names thing. I’m almost certain it’s something taken from a real-life culture, and should really research more into that. 

Did I understand that right? They’re gonna give us Kachina for free, just like we got Amber and Kaeya and Lisa back in Mondstadt? 

All 3 of the new 5.0 characters mark regional specialties, and also have additional exploration benefits!

Wow you can really see the effect that Wuthering Waves had on Genshin

And Test Run finally lets you test out the effects of the characters in an open-world environment!

Traveler will not get the pyro element this update - but it sounds like that’s a possibility for once the Archon Quest has finished?

So I noticed that the 2 new Geo characters we’ll get - Kachina  and the tall lady - both come from the same tribe - the one associated with rocks and such. Makes me wonder if it’s possible to even get a vision that doesn’t correspond to your tribe’s element. 

Really seems like the cultural elements here are more simplified “everyone in this tribe loves music” “everyone in this tribe loves extreme sports” “everyone in this tribe loves mining” where’s the complexity. 

I shall add capybaras to my teapot!

Yay another Dodoco event! I really enjoyed the one last year

They’re also giving out extra rewards for completing archon and story quests within the 6 week release - including giving us a lot of the ascension materials to get to level 60!

Did find it funny when one guy was explaining all the new benefits and the other is like, “wait, this is Genshin Impact? All this cool stuff is in Genshin Impact?” Like yeah Wuthering Waves bred innovation!

FREE STANDARD FIVE STAR EVERY YEAR

I already have Tighnari, Dehya, and Keqing. I don’t really want any of their constellations, so my choice is between Qiqi, Mona, Jean, and Diluc. I don’t want Qiqi, and I don’t need Mona since I already have Furina. It’s down to Jean or Diluc. Jean’s ability to push people away looks really fun, and I can certainly think of places where I would’ve loved to have that skill. However, I have wanted Diluc since the very first time we played him in that trial run during the Mond archon quest. I also already have Kaeya, Rosaria, and Venti, so completing the Angel’s Share team would be cool. My only hesitation is that his gameplay will probably be outdone by Mavuika. But leaks have said she might not release til January, when I was expecting her in November (however leaks also said Emilie was part of Hexenzirkel they aren’t always right).

Love that Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale made it into the stream

BEFORE Khoi Dao repeated that phrase, I did not know he spoke French. But I could hear his actual good French-speaking accent when he said it, and turns out he does indeed speak it! Cool!

Yippee!

Zach Aguilar and Khoi Dao are a great comedic duo

LOVE to hear Brittany Lauda talk about relating to her character, Chiori, for both being seen as intimidating - I specifically relate to Chiori for her basic facial expressions, her bluntness, her acceptance of her quirks, and difficulty making friends because of those traits. Just really glad to hear I’m not the only one. 

The English voice actor for Lumine actually has a twin brother?! 

Amber Lee Conners appeared at the end of the stream, so this is a good place to say how AMAZING her voice acting as Furina is. Just listening to her voice lines and hearing the difference between her acting confident and her actual, recovering-from-depression self is a clear display of talent. Always a treat to listen to. 

Jenny Yokobori (Yoimiya VA) having worked as a pyrotechnician! Cool! 

And her sharing the bond with her character for their dads. So sweet.

Let Erika Harlacher-Stone sing as Venti more!

The Clorinda VA Crystal Lee also loves Tabletop Games!

[weneverlearn]

Mary Weiss, me; outside Magnetic Field, Brooklyn, 2008 (photographer unknown)

Mary Weiss, R.I.P.

It was 2005, and I'd lived in NYC for less than a year. I somehow finagled my way into a listening party for the incredible new Rhino Records box set, One Kiss Can Lead to Another: Girl Group Sounds Lost & Found. It was at some small event space in midtown, I don't remember what it was called. Cool joint though...

I felt a bit overwhelmed in this packed room of esteemed scenesters, aging industry big wigs, and the incredible original performers from the box set they were able to round up and sing a few songs.

Luckily the ever-fun couple of Miriam Linna and Billy Miller (Norton Records) were there, scanning the room with eyes as wide as anyone's, and the two introduced me to a few heps, like Richard Gottehrer -- the amazing producer/songwriter who sprung form the Brill Building and ultimately produced some of my faves, like Richard Hell, the Go-Gos, and Marshall Crenshaw, among many.

Then I saw Sune Rose Wagner, singer/guitarist of the Raveonettes, one of my newer faves of the moment, and he was crying. I'd interviewed him over the phone a couple years earlier for a Cleveland mag, so I re-introduced myself and asked what was wrong. We hugged. He said that earlier in the week they'd played and had all of their instruments stolen afterwards, and he was so distraught he was thinking about quitting music. I told him no way, maybe they'll find the stuff, etc... He kind of perked up, and then once the women started singing with a live band, his teary eyes started shining from the glow of the stage taking over the pretty dark room. These women -- and I can't remember which acts they came from, but they were all on the box set -- were resplendent in glittering dresses, hair done big, and smiles wider than 5th Avenue.

I saw Billy and Miriam again, and they were chatting with Mary Weiss lead vox/face of the Shangri-Las -- arguably one of the top three acts of the whole mid-60s "girl group" scene. I was introduced quickly, but I let them get at their convo as I assumed the Norton nabobs knew Mary from way back.

However, Billy comes up to me later and tells me he had never met her before, that she was his first female musical star crush, and he absolutely sounded like a 16-year old trying to cram his melting heart back into his chest. I was pretty floored myself -- I always loved the Shangri-Las from first hearing them slip out of oldies stations growing up to when I first started diving into girl group sounds as a record-amasing teen. They, the Ronettes, and Darlene Love were the cream of the dreamy crop in my book.

The whole night was not unlike making your way through a Shangri-Las compilation: every emotion possible heaving up and down, surrounded by sounds lilting, swelling, crumbling, but always with that Big Beat bubbling, ready to shove you out of the sadness...

After the news of Mary Weiss' sad passing yesterday, of course many acknowledged her teen stardom of the mid-60s; the influence of the Shangri-Las' street-tough image and emotions on the New York Dolls (who used Shangri-Las producer, Shadow Morton, for their second album) and much of the early new wave of the mid-70s; the respect of her keeping a singing career going through the years, and the glorious third act she had in the late 2000s with the help of Norton Records and the great album, Dangerous Game, where Weiss, in excellent voice, was backed by the rulers of garage pop of that era, the Reigning Sound.

No, it wasn't some top 10 album, but it just oozed with a kind of vintage-to-ever cool that is so rarely captured in a "comeback." (And it definitely got her press and new young fans.)

In fact I think that album, and especially that incredible Rhino box set, brought back that '60s malt shop-meets-back-alley girl group ouvre to a whole new generation.

This was not front page news. Nevertheless loads of acts like King Khan & BBQ, Peach Kelli Pop, Shannon & the Clams, Hunx and His Punx, the Vivian Girls, Baby Shakes, Black Lips, A Giant Dog, and even the re-emergence of Nikki Corvette and Ronnie Spector to the stage brought the cloud-bound reverb and scruffy riffs of vintage girl groups back to prominence in the underground garage rock scene. And again, due to their sounds and looks, the Shangri-Las and the Ronettes were the template.

It has since dawned on me many times that Mary Weiss -- and the Shangri-Las as a whole -- have a nearly singular place in R'n'R history. Considering the admittedly limited catalog of songs, their outsized influence has spread from radio hits in the '60s to the underground proto-punk not ten years later; to the CBGB scene; early '80s new wave and power pop shadow-pep (like Blondie, Go-Gos, and many more); Aerosmith covered "(Remember) Walking in the Sand," and others of the big coif/high dramatics of hair metal had some Shangri-Las DNA in the hair spray; from transgressive filmmakers like John Waters to drag queen blueprints; to 2000s female neo-soul hitmakers -- arising at the same time as the aforementioned garage pop underbelly -- and even up to the recent talk/sing busted romance stylings of mega-popsters like Taylor Swift.

I saw Weiss at a couple shows over the next year or so. She was always so excited and grateful for all the accolades and thanks people laid on her. She played a remarkable show in Brooklyn that Lee Greenfeld booked, at the Atlantic Antic street fest in September, 2007 -- right outside Greenfeld's madly-missed club, Magnetic Field. We felt the Antic gig would be the first of many, but there were just a few more local gigs, if memory serves.

Somewhere in 2008, at an A-Bones / Yo La Tengo show at Magnetic Field, I chatted with Weiss for a bit afterwards. I can't express enough how inspiring was her love of music and hanging out at a small bar with a bunch of music obsessives knocking back cheap beers. At the 1 a.m. chime, she kissed my cheek, I laid one on her's, I walked home, and I will assume that if there is a Heaven, that moment should get me into the meetings where they discuss how to improve Heaven. It's a cinch it's improved today.

Variety obituary here.

From obituary:

The group’s tough-but-vulnerable New York City teen image was genuine. “Overall, the girl groups had very sweet images, except for the Ronettes and the Shangri-Las, who had a tougher, harder attitude,” Greenwich told the website Spectropop in an undated interview. “By today’s standards, they were as innocent as the day is long. Back then, they seemed to have a street toughness, but with a lot of vulnerability. Mary Weiss [had] the sweetest long straight hair, an angelic face, and then this nasal voice comes out, and this attitude — the best of both worlds.

“In the beginning, we did not get along,” she continued. “They were kind of crude, with their gestures and language and chewing gum and the stockings ripped up their leg. We would say, ‘Not nice, you must be ladies,’ and they would say, ‘We don’t want to be ladies.'”

From Chapter 33 of The Downtown Pop Underground — order online, or from a local independent bookstore

THE SHANGRI-LAS’ INFLUENCE ON PUNK LOCATION Brill Building The Shangri-Las were one of the common musical denominators that Blondie shared, and Clem Burke explained the Shangri-La’s proto-punk appeal: “They had their black leather vests and their tight black leather pants, and they sang ‘Give Him a Great Big Kiss.’ They sang about dirty fingernails, wavy hair, and leather jackets, and things like that.” The Shangri-Las cast a long shadow over glam and punk rock. The New York Dolls’ “Looking for a Kiss” borrowed the spoken word intro from their “Give Him a Great Big Kiss,” and another Dolls song, “Trash,” copped the campy “How do you call your lover boy?” line from “Love Is Strange,” a catchy 1956 hit by Mickey & Sylvia. The group’s final album, Too Much Too Soon, was produced by Shadow Morton, who had crafted the girl group classics “Leader of the Pack” and “Remember (Walking in the Sand)” for the Shangri-Las. As Burke recalled, “Bubblegum rock was part of the roots of the New York music scene. Some of the old-school guys like Richard Gottehrer or Marty Thau—who had some money and success in pop music—they understood the music because they were coming from that Brill Building mentality.” Thau was the New York Dolls’ first manager before McLaren took the job, and he had previously made a living as a record promoter for late 1960s bubblegum groups the 1910 Fruitgum Company (“Simon Says”) and the Ohio Express (“Yummy Yummy Yummy”). Thau recorded the Ramones’ first demos and released Suicide’s debut album on his independent label Red Star, and also formed the production company Instant Records with the old-school industry hit maker Richard Gottehrer. “Richie was part of that whole Brill Building rock thing,” Leon said, “which had a lot of nostalgia for us because we grew up with it on the radio when we were kids.”

[bbgtech-9000]

*Finger guns with a crooked grin*

Happy to know my science pun caused such a “reaction.” I only use them when all the other good jokes “Argon.”

But aNyHoO, now that I have garnered your attention, I have a small inquiry for you. If you so wish to disclose of course.

*looks down over glasses at a page full of notes*

It says here that you are touch adveresed at times? Am I understanding that correctly? Is it with all individuals or is it different with people you’ve built up a rapport with? How do you feel about handshakes or high fives as greeting from a stranger?

Just asking for some research for a possible snippet I'm planning in the future and wanted to go to the source to check my facts and what not.

I hope you have the most splendiferous of days and that all inspiration flows for your many projects.

Thank you again!

Oh, now I'm the subject of research for a change?

// Chuckles lightly. //

Sounds like fun.

// He approaches to look over the 'notes', scanning each line. //

Hmm...

I don't mind casual friendly acts such as "handshakes", even from strangers. More affectionate actions like "hugs" tend to warrant my permission and trust first, naturally. There are certain conditions that such authorization is not needed [ i.e., close friends and family are granted cuddle authority by default ].

My main problem is when people touch me out of nowhere while using sudden movements [ i.e., tackling when I'm unaware ].

// He bites the end of a nail and smiles. //

You're welcome though. I hope your days and...plotting are just as resplendent, if not more so.

[aenaxes-moved]

soirée

[cody x gn!reader] sometimes, commander cody, diplomatic duties can be set aside. otherwise known as living, if only for a brief moment, with the golden boy.

warnings: none

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: i just think dancing with cody on a lakefront at sunset would be infinitely nice. and y/n is gender neutral! they could be read as more feminine coded because of their gown and heels but there are no explicit pronouns/gendered references.

"Have you ever danced for a gala, Cody?"

"I can't say I have, senator," Cody responds as the Theelin representatives pass by. Some tenuous balance of concern and mild amusement playing over the arch in his brow, he watches you lift the long hem of your gown to rub at your ankles.

"I would recommend you avoid it if possible," you say, grimacing when your fingers brush over a sure blister come dawn. "Nasty business, dancing."

Were he but a newly made acquaintance, as he had been when he had known you by name and Fox's fond regard alone, he would most certainly be on his highest guard. But after Obi-wan had very inconspicuously assigned him to your escort detail, placing you through a grand total of one assassination attempt and two stolen frigates, he allows himself a sort of relaxed regard that only comes by a bond forged in the belly of a ship under heavy fire.

Camaraderie, he had called it breathlessly as you wiped engine grease from your robes, collapsing against him after you had finally toggled the hyperdrive online.

Friendship, you had countered with the firm clack of your wrench on the helm. You recall with brilliant clarity that his hand had been warm when you had gripped it tight, illuminated the ghostly blue of the streaks of light flooding the viewport.

Comrades were bound to duty; friends, something much more. So he allows himself to stand back at pause to admire how the setting sun gleams over your skin, how your nose scrunches just slightly as you fuss at the sheer inconvenience of your heels, as if you are not as radiant in his eyes as the fading light sparkling and rippling over the water.

"Truly, an unfortunate part of the democratic process, y/n," Cody chuckles.

Without the presence of other senators to demand the formalities of titles and decorum, you watch his shoulders slacken from sharp attention as he calls you by your name. The cool neutrality of his gaze as a soldier softens into a warm amusement meant for a dear friend, and you are happy to bask in its glow despite the groaning ache in your feet.

"If I knew there would be this much dancing in politics, I would have listened to my mother and taken her speeder shop," you groan.

"And deprive the Senate of your voice?" Cody asks, and his smile, as discreet and small as it may be, is irresistible.

"You have to actually convince me, Cody."

"Fair enough. Then, deprive the 212nd of your acquaintance?"

You hum, your fingers suddenly still over your heels as he watches you genuinely contemplate his words.

"Just a bit closer," you prod, a playful gleam in your eye.

"I thought you said you didn't like 'fawning sycophancy,'" Cody snorts. "You and your politician language."

"I don't like groveling politicians. I won't turn down flattery if it is from you, my dear commander," you respond, unable to hide the bright smile high on your lips.

"Then, say you'd taken the speeder shop. Would you deprive me of your acquaintance?" Cody relents with a huff. It's nothing but a puff of breath exhaled soft, but it's a welcome sound close to the rich warmth of his laughter, the sound of the poorly concealed joy glimmering in his deep brown eyes.

"If you help me to a quiet place where I can simply sit for the rest of the evening, I might just tell you if that was enough," you tease, offering your hand to him with a haughty flourish as if you were the queen of Naboo herself and not a common voice of the people of Coruscant. Cody rolls his eyes, breaking into a brief grin that flashes over his expression as brilliant as the sun.

You're already in a bit of a secluded spot a few paces away from the swelling quartet music and bureaucratic chatter, giving you the space to break your level-headed courtesies and poke fun. But more than anything, you simply want time alone with the commander in all the impeccable neatness of his uniform dress. Besides, while you think you make quite a pair—the clean press of his formal whites and the shimmer silk of your ivory gown shimmering in the sunset—the old senatorial farts have little regard for the handsome soldier in your company (and it's, really, their loss).

"Are you suggesting I help you escape from your very important diplomatic duties?" Cody asks, a low gasp light on his lips. How many times have you played this game, knowing damn well that the both of you would much rather die in a firefight than sit through a foggy senator raising toasts? It's become close to second nature, now.

"I absolutely am, commander," you nod firmly. "As I always say, sometimes, commander Cody, diplomatic duties may be set aside. This is one of those dreadful times."

He rolls his eyes again, but this time, he takes your outstretched hand, complete with a low bow as he plays along with your theatrics. You rise, only to wobble on your heels, but Cody is there to gently grasp your arms, ever steady. The consternation that flashes over his eyes for a brief moment is deep, more than simple concern, and while you cannot exactly label what his expression betrays, it sets your heart fluttering in your throat all the same.

What Separatist arguments and militaristic rebukes could not rile in your unflappable calm on the Senate floor, Cody effortlessly awakes. It's his power, you think as you regain your footing. The man spun from gold.

"There's a place over the water by the back of the villa," you say, falling into step beside him as the din of the party recedes behind you. "I think we should find some peace and quiet there."

"So you already had an escape route planned out?" Cody laughs. "I guess you never needed a security detail in the first place."

"Well, 'needed' isn't exactly accurate. Maybe 'strongly preferred?'" you offer, and Cody laughs a bit brighter. It's funny, how you barely feel the ache in your feet as contentment blooms triumphant in your chest.

By the time you sneak past the serving droids, stifling soft laughter when you hide from a few stray representatives, the sun is a slim arc curved over the silvery waters of the lake. In the moments of approaching dusk, you stand far from the treaty talks and ulterior motives before an old gazebo, its curved arches heavy with flowering vines like verdant curtains awaiting your arrival.

You look to Cody with bright eyes and squeeze his hand.

"We only have a few minutes of light left," you say in a hushed, excited whisper as the the purpling darkness of night begins to chase the sunset light. With little but the soft lakefront winds breezing through the blooming pavilion arches, there is no need to whisper. But your time with the commander is a precious, fragile thing, so easily burst by the sudden arrival of your colleagues or his men. A whisper is only a savoring tribute to this rare moment. "Dance with me."

"I thought you said dancing was 'nasty business,'" Cody chuckles.

"With you, a dance is a pleasure," you say, the whispers of laughter on the tip of your tongue.

"All due respect, but this is the first time we've shared a dance y/n," Cody teases as you tug him to duck under the creeping trellis vines and onto the sun-kissed stone of the little pavilion. "What makes you so certain you'll enjoy this one?"

"Dancing at these," you wave your hand with a sigh, "little parties are nasty, only if by virtue of the other senators with whom I am obligated to dance. They see me as a rival or a signatory to be won over or fought, and dance is little but a means to an end. But with you..."

The words fall back on your tongue as Cody emerges from under the low-hanging leaves, immediately awash in the glimmering gold light of the sun. He is a kind of breathtaking awe in the cresting cold of dawn, chin held high and proud. But in the resplendence of the waning sun, as he tugs his gloves from his hands, he is the warm and steadfast comfort of home.

In his relaxed posture and soft, dark eyes lies the kind of beauty that you ascribe to an ancient sun rising from behind a waking planet. A star brimming with ageless wisdom and forgiving light, as the sunlight dances over the commander's even, tawny skin, he is nothing short of life breathed into pure gold.

"With you, even a dance can be something I hold dear," you finish as he catches your wide-eyed wonder with a wry smile.

"Very well, senator," he says, a smooth, diplomatic cadence that's sickly enough for you to laugh. He extends a hand to you with a flourish, and you relish in the pure joy. "May I have this honor?"

"With pleasure," you grin.

Although he claimed to never have danced, Cody fluidly assumes a regal sort of poise, moving your hand to his shoulder and settling his free hand light on the small of your back. You have seen him heft his brothers over his shoulder; you have seen him cast aside his blaster for raw strength; you have seen the firm hand he carries wherever he goes. And yet, he is gentler than ever as you step close and meet his eyes to share a smile.

With a soft inhale, you begin a simple waltz over the warm stone.

For the first few steps, there is form. You quietly nudge him to take your lead, step by step, and he is a diligent student as he follows. But where political waltzes have always kept rigid time, space between your chests and guarded caution to the orchestral suites, you quickly fall into something sweet, unhurried and soft as your steps become slow sways in the fading light.

Wordless, brimming with joy, you are free. Cody lifts your hand above your head, laughing with you as you tiptoe through a spin that gently flares your dress, and a few dizzying turns and careful dips later, you can't help but wonder if Cody's heart is racing as fast as your own.

Too enraptured by his steadfast composure (even with the warmth in his eyes), you do little to mask your surprise when Cody shifts his hand higher up your back and tugs you close, pressing you flush to his chest under the emerging starscape above.

Shock, then saccharine goodness, sweet on your tongue, floods you as you slip your hand from his. After a beat of hesitation, testing, careful, you slowly reach up and rest your arms over Cody's shoulders, waiting for the bashful regret to overtake you when he might gently let you down. (It's unbecoming of you, you think shamefully, no matter how closely you may regard him as a friend.)

But the rejection never comes.

Instead, as the sun slips below the lake horizon, Cody simply fixes you with a soft smile and clasps his hands behind your waist, pulling and keeping you close while he continues to sway with the lake breeze. He does not need to speak for you to know his presence bared to you, not as a soldier or as your guard, but as a humble man to bear witness to the starlight in your eyes.

Heart beating wildly in your throat, you press a bit farther, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder. You have all but stopped your lazy waltz, simply swaying in place with the cool night winds fast approaching. In the stillness, you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against your ear, a steady, reassuring rhythm that quells the giddy excitement from your chest. Yet you still start when he lifts one hand from your waist to the nape of your neck, raising delightful shivers as he strokes his thumb over your skin.

"Cody," you murmur.

You are certain it is no mistake that when Cody turns towards your voice that he presses close, his lips ghosting over your brow. You are no stranger to his closeness in harrowing blaster battles and narrow escapes from certain death. But this is new, the tenuous gossamer of intimacy not yet shared, as you reach for him and he reaches back.

"Yes, cyar'ika?"

(Cyar'ika? You do not recognize the sound, but it floods heat over your cheeks all the same.)

"My answer. About whether it was enough to choose the Senate over the speeder shop," you begin, reveling in how close Cody stands, cradling you so close that you feel his soft breaths over your skin. "Sometimes I wonder if I would have been happier outside of the politics."

"I hear a 'but,'" Cody muses. But instead of any teasing bite to his words, there is only patience, fond and warm.

"But if I had stayed in the lower levels; if I had never come to the Senate, I would have never left the surface. I would have never come to call a jedi general a friend, nor would I have known your men. I would have never met you. And to meet someone like you..."

You pause, sighing deep as your heart begins to pound anew.

"It is beyond enough."

Upon your last word, you hold your breath close.

You had only intended this to be a part of your teasing game of lighthearted chase with the commander. What was meant to be a quick and breezy escape from the politics of gowns and frivolities (even if you could not deny your affections for the commander) has brought you here, wondering if your words might be a push too far. Truths they may be, but they open you to uncharted waters. And you tremble in the falling night at the vague possibilities and consequence.

"Cyar'ika." Cody's voice, still as the lake stretched behind you, rumbles above your ear. "Do you know what that means, y/n?"

You shake your head slowly against him, only to meet him with eyes wide in surprise when he gently takes your jaw in his hand and tugs you upright.

"It means," he says quietly, sliding his palm from your chin to your cheek. "Sweetheart."

You're too stunned to do anything but blink when you feel his lips on your forehead.

"Darling."

Another touch, this time, pressed to your cheek as your eyes slide shut. You wait, anticipating with blooming wonder the promise of more lingering on his tongue. But when he does not return, you open your eyes, and Cody is waiting for you, dark eyes and soft smile radiant even without the glow of the setting sun.

"Beloved," he says at last, and tips your chin to press one final, dizzyingly gentle kiss to your lips. He may not meet you in vivacious energy, but Cody holds you close, pressing unhurried, luxuriant touches over your skin as you hold tight. His touch is chaste, stolid restraint holding him to only slow, deliberate motions, but you savor every fleeting moment in the evening calm.

When you part, you open your eyes to dusk in its clear, cold darkness, bejeweling the lakefront with scatter of stars high above. Yet all you can see is Cody before you, his soft smile and beating heart glowing brighter than any constellation in the inky black of night, his own radiant sun, spun gold.

Enchanted, you reach one hand up from its place on his shoulder and slowly, trembling, touch one finger to the scar carved around his brow. And he knows that you mean nothing but adoration as you trace the dark ridge of his scar beneath his eye, then lower, over the proud line of his cheek to cradle his jaw in your palm.

"I am only a soldier," Cody murmurs, nuzzling close into your touch. "Cyar'ika," he calls, leaning close to kiss your cheek. "Will you have me all the same?"

The cooling wind rises across the water, brushing stray petals from the trellis vines as your gown flutters around your feet. You wonder if this is what it feels to fly through the aftermath of a supernova, the silence of what was and yet the promise of what might yet be, glittering dust and neon gas diffusing into the ever expanding possibility of the universe. You wonder if this is right where you were always meant to be, aching feet and politics and shared breaths with a simple man with eyes full of light and heart like the sun.

"Only if you will have me," you reply, and the smile that breaks over Cody's lips is brighter than any sunset light you have seen, golden and alive. "Cyar'ika."

[calaofnoldor]

Fake It ‘Til You Make It

Characters: Sam x Reader (gender neutral), Dean

Words: 3,295

Summary: Dean and his lady of the night are being obnoxiously loud, so you and Sam devise a plan of retaliation.

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, wee bit o’ language, mutual pining and other fun tropes

A/N: thank you for all the love and support on “Dean, Don’t” (there will be a sequel due to positive feedback!) tbh, i’m not sure how i feel about this one, but every single like, comment, and reblog is always super-duper appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Another hunt for the books, another bar tab for your fake credit card. Another leggy blonde for Dean, and another evening spent harboring your secret yet ever-growing crush for Sam Winchester. This was becoming a pattern lately.

You'd decided to join the brothers on their last several hunts after bumping into (and nearly decapitating) Dean in a vamp-infested warehouse in Colorado. That night, you bought him a beer to recompense, but he was rather swiftly distracted by the busty barmaid, and you ended up talking to Sam all night instead.

There was an instant chemistry between the two of you, what with your shared passion for monster lore and college dropout histories, conversation always flowed easily and often without end.

Tonight had been no different, from the moment you walked into the rundown bar in Iowa, and immediately placed a bet on the fate of Dean's evening entertainment.

"Twenty bucks says he goes home with that blonde in the red dress over there," you jerked your head towards the woman in question.

"Oh, you're so on L/N. She's way too classy for him. My money's on that short one over there with the space buns."

"Deal," you shook on it, while struggling to ignore the spark his touch ignited.

Three beers in and you had almost completely forgot about your bet, until Dean swaggered over with one arm draped casually around the shoulders of his blonde conquest. "We're gonna head out for the night, see you guys later."

You waited until the front door closed behind them before turning to Sam with a triumphant grin. "Pay up, Winchester," you held your hand out expectantly.

“How are you so good at that? I’m the one who’s been watching him my whole life.” He shook his head with amiable amusement while digging out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

You shrugged a little, “You learn to read people fairly quickly on the job.”

“Y/N, we have the same job.”

You pretended to ponder this fact for a moment, your brows furrowing, “I guess I’m just a better hunter then?” It was an obvious jest, and you both knew it, as evidenced by the wide, matching smiles that broke out across both your faces.

God, how you loved his smile, especially the genuine ones that brought out his dimples and lit up his eyes, but even more so, you adored any smile behind which you were the cause. Those you stored amidst your most cherished memories and replayed in your mind a hundred times over on nights when the insomnia hit… Oh no, had you been staring for too long?

Abruptly, you turned towards the bartender, waving the newly acquired bill in your hand, and proceeded to order the next round.

Fortunately, the night carried on with its jovial tone, and you were almost able to disregard the desire to touch Sam’s veiny forearms when he rolled up the sleeves of his plaid, or the need to run your hands through his luscious locks whenever a wayward strand fell before his glimmering eyes.

“I guess we should head out soon. Dean’s probably gonna want to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Right, yeah.” At this point, you were feeling a little woozy from the alcohol, and Sam’s hands were suddenly grasping your biceps as you rose unsteadily from the barstool.

“I’m OK,” you laughed it off, but instantly missed the warmth of his palms that seemed to seep through your clothes and set your skin alight. Sam simply smiled at you, yet something in his eyes was so resplendent you felt goosebumps replace the fire along your arms. You must have been staring again, for Sam looked away somewhat embarrassedly and asked if there was something on his face.

Ugh, why did he have such an effect on you? You’d been around plenty of male hunters in the past, some nearly just as attractive, but you’d always managed to keep your wits about you. Indeed, your unrelenting rationality was usually a subject of pride for you, yet here you were, a blubbering mess after a mere touch on the arm and that stupid smile.

Looking down, you grumbled a quick apology and a senseless explanation that involved blaming the booze before you took off.

Sam followed after you, but not before double checking that you had grabbed all your belongings. There was a strong and instinctive urge to look after and protect that stirred within him whenever you were around, and he couldn’t neglect it if he tried.

It wasn’t that you were weak and needed someone to look out for you. Sam knew you’d been more or less hunting on your own for years now, and could certainly roll with the best of them, himself and Dean included. No, Sam knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, yet he still could not brush the nagging need to keep you safe and by his side whenever possible.

At times, he felt as if a spell had overcome him and he was no longer in control of his senses when it came to you. It was annoying, really.

Tonight, for instance, Sam could have sworn he spent the better part of your time at the bar glaring down any man who came within three feet of you, foolishly daring to try their chances with you. He was sure you’d notice his strange behavior at some point, but you simply talked the night away with him, smiling that stupendous smile, the one that made him lose his breath.

Everything about you enchanted him, and Sam often found himself wishing he could just dive in and kiss you, hold you in his arms and never let you go. He was sure you could read it all in his eyes by now.

To his disappointment, however, you never gave any indication of reciprocation, always treating him in a strictly platonic manner, whether intentionally or out of ignorance, Sam didn’t know. But he never dared make a move, and he convinced himself that he felt fortunate enough to have you as a friend.

The walk back to the motel wasn’t long, although Sam took deliberately small steps to prolong your time together. When you reached the brothers’ room, your eyes fell upon a grey sock dangling unceremoniously from the doorknob. So Dean had taken Blondie to his motel room.

“How’s that for classy?” you looked up at Sam with a small smirk.

He let out a huff of a laugh and shook his head while staring at the sock. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he spent a night in the Impala.

“Hey, why don’t you just come over to my room,” you suggested as you motioned next door, “We can chill in there for a bit, wait it out?”

Sam’s eyes shot up to your face. All he had to hear was “come over to my room,” and his brain immediately began imagining all the potential scenarios those five little words could lead to… if you felt even an inkling of what he felt for you. He gulped and tried to reel his thoughts in, meeting your gaze with a dreamy look.

“Um… yeah, OK, sure, yeah. That sounds good. I mean, you sure you don’t mind?” he stumbled out.

You laughed that brilliant laugh, “No, I should probably sober up a little before I sleep anyway.”

Sam nodded, afraid of what words might escape if he opened his mouth again, and the two of you made your way towards the adjacent motel room. He watched as your delicate hands worked the key and instantly took note of the angry red scrapes and cuts along your palm when you turned your wrist to unlock the door.

Brows knit with concern, Sam silently berated himself for failing to take better care of you. He remembered you took a nasty fall when the ghost had thrown you aside to get to the brothers as they burned the necklace that tethered it to this realm. You must have landed on the concrete and braced yourself with your hands.

As you both stepped into the dim and modest room, Sam was about to ask for your first aid kit when you suddenly brought your arms overhead and stretched out your lithe body with a soft, satisfactory grunt. When the hem of your shirt rode up, Sam had to look away to stop himself from staring at the anti-possession tattoo that peeked out above your hip bone. Just that sliver of skin was so alluring to him; he really was in deep.

When you lowered your arms back down, you sent him a small, apologetic smile, “Sorry, it just always feels good to do that after a hunt and a night out in town.”

Sam nodded again, still finding it difficult to come up with the right words, but then he remembered his previous mission. “Give me your hand.”

“W-what?” you stuttered, dumbfoundedly. It was your turn to wonder if you’d heard right.

“Your hand, let me see it.” He repeated, and this time he simply caught your wrist and took your hand gingerly in his, turning it such that your palm faced up, so he could examine the extent of the damage.

“Oh,” you breathed out, slightly relieved, “It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.” You tried to pull your hand out of his intoxicating grip, but he held on quite firmly.

“Y/N, we need to clean these and bandage them so they don’t get infected.”

He had pulled you rather close to him, to the point where you could feel his body heat emanating towards you, and you hated to admit the proximity was really messing with your mind. All you could think about was the deliciously muscled torso that surely lay beneath those layers of cotton, and what it would feel like to run your hands across it.

Sam took advantage of your lack of response and led you to sit on the edge of the bed. As he went to look for the first aid kit, you couldn’t help but admire his backside, especially when he bent over to rummage through your duffle bag in the corner.

When he returned to your side, you quickly closed your jaw and reached over for the cleaning supplies, but he held it out of your reach and grasped your hand again instead. Your eyes met for moment, and almost as if on cue, a loud, lascivious moan came through the room’s thin walls.

Sam felt his cheeks heat up, and hastily averted his gaze. He mentally cursed his brother’s wanton ways, but when he heard your giggling, all was forgiven.

“I guess someone’s having a good time.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think this’ll be quite as enjoyable for you.” He motioned to the alcohol in his other hand with a sheepish smile, “I probably don’t need to tell you this is gonna hurt.”

You shook your head slightly, but still winced a little when he poured the disinfectant over your wounds.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Sam sounded truly remorseful and you chuckled.

“What are you sorry for? It’s not like you threw me to the ground, and besides, you’re helping me now,” you murmured softly.

“Well you did get in it’s way to protect m- us. And I don’t like to see you in pain.”

He meant ‘people’ of course, you told yourself in vain. He’s obviously a nice guy and he doesn’t like to see anyone in pain. That’s why he’s a hunter. Duh.

You were trying, unsuccessfully, to slow your heart rate when another emphatic cry came from the direction of the older Winchester’s room.

“Oh! Oh my god!” The high pitch had your eyes widening.

“You can call me Dean, sweetheart,” came the muted reply.

You and Sam both rolled your eyes before he continued to treat and bandage your hand. His fingers, though rough, were improbably gentle against your skin and frequently sent shivers down your spine. It was all making you quite jittery and you really weren’t sure you could take it much longer. To exacerbate things, Dean and Blondie managed to vocalize their passions on at least five more occasions by the time Sam completed his work.

It was becoming rather aggravating, particularly because you found it extraordinarily hard to look Sam in the eyes or maintain a normal conversation with him when you were constantly getting bombarded by the sounds of his brother and his lady of the night copulating next door.

You stood as soon as Sam let go of your hand, needing to release some energy. “You know what, we can’t just let them dick us around like this all night!”

Sam laughed at your word choice and looked up at you, a fond curiosity shining through his eyes, “OK, but what could we possibly do to get back at them?”

You paused your pacing for a minute, racking your brain for an answer to their impudence. Sam watched as a gleam appeared in your eyes and a mischievous smile took over your features.

“I’ve got it! My friend and I used to do this back in college when our roommate brought dates home and they got a little too carried away. It’s basically a game of chicken.”

Sam raised his brow in question so you continued, “If they’re gonna be obnoxiously loud with their fornication rituals, then we can go at it too.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s simple. An eye for an eye. We don’t even have to make it sound real, just as long as it’s equally loud and disturbing.”

“Y/N, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? That we pretend to have s-sex?” Sam was feeling considerably dubious about your plan, as he couldn’t imagine himself holding back if you were to act in any way sensual around him, even if it was all make believe.

Just then, another resounding squeal of pleasure travelled to your ears and before Sam could stop you, you took the opportunity to show him what you were talking about.

“Oh! Yes!” You exclaimed salaciously in return.

Sam’s eyes grew as he stared at you in disbelief. Your own eyes were closed and your face contorted to an expression of intense pleasure that Sam had only dreamed about. He couldn’t stop fidgeting in his place on the bed, thankful that the first aid kit still sat on his lap as he adjusted his trousers a bit.

“Y/N, I don’t-“

“Come on, Sammy, join me! Trust me, it works every time.”

Sam didn’t have time to contemplate how much he loved the sound of his childhood nickname rolling off your tongue because a second howl came from the next room, this time lower in pitch, though you were there to answer regardless. “Oh my gosh, yes! Right there!”

If Sam thought the effect that you had on him normally was overwhelming, he was undoubtedly unprepared for the way his body responded to you making ludicrously pornographic sounds not two feet from him. Everything seemed to disappear around him until only you remained and held the entirety of his focus.

“Ooh, faster! Harder, Sam!”

Fuck. You said his name. And you said it with lust in your voice. It was as if all his fantasies had come to life before him in some twisted and desperately maddening form. Something in him snapped, and before he knew it, he was standing across from you, staring fixedly at your face, as you shouted in unison.

“Ungh! Oh god, Y/N!”

“Yes, that’s it! Don’t stop!”

Sam’s deep voice compelled your eyes to snap open. He was already looking straight at you, and you could almost taste the tension.

“Oh, baby! You feel so good!”

You didn’t join him this time. You couldn’t. He had you in a trance, his lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, the way his chest moved towards you when he inhaled, the sheer size of him. It was all too much. So you simply stared, feeling your breath come and go faster than you were used to.

There was a split second, or perhaps it was a lifetime, in which the two of you stood still, eyes locked in a fiery exchange, but in the next instant you both lunged forward, lips and teeth and noses and bodies clashing in a passionate, long-awaited display of carnal thirst.

But the kiss ended far too soon for your liking. “Wait, wait, Y/N. I really want this, but you’re probably still drunk, and I don’t wanna take advantage of you or the situation.” Sam panted hurriedly.

You smiled at his chivalry yet shook your head in disagreement, “Sam, don’t be an idjit. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sober, and I definitely haven’t wanted anything more than this, right now.” Your voice was just as breathy.

Sam moved his hands back to your face and that glorious, dimpled smile returned, “Baby, are you sure?”

The nickname brought a flutter to your heart, “Yes, I swear to heaven and hell, if you don’t kiss me again, Sam Winchester-“

His lips cut yours off in another bruising yet completely satisfying declaration of need. Your back arched and he brought one hand down to pull your waist flush against his solid form.

“Mmph,” you moaned against his mouth.

God, Sam couldn’t handle the sounds you made. A man could only hold back for so long. His enormous moose hands frantically grabbed at your ass, hoisting you into his arms in no time and carrying you back towards the bed.

Let’s just say Dean and Blondie truly had no idea of the spectacular and thunderous show they were in for.

The next morning, Sam awoke with a warm weight on his chest. He looked down to find your slumbering form nuzzled against him, head tucked beneath his chin and legs messily intertwined. A fond smile crossed his face as he subconsciously tightened his hold on you and pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. The feeling of elation didn't fade as he closed his eyes to rest again, but it did recede ever so slightly to the backburner when the door clicked and his brother came barging in. “Alright, rise and shine, lovebirds! That was quite the show you guys put on last night, hope it didn't-“ “Shhh! Dean, shut up!” Sam shushed his brother with a stage whisper whilst scrambling to cover your bare back with the disheveled sheets surrounding you, but Dean had already glimpsed the evidence. “Sammy, you sly dog!” He wiggled his brows, grinning proudly at his little brother, "And here I thought I was the only one who got laid last night." “Dean, get out.” "Yeah ok, I'm gone," he raised his hands in assent. "But tell your sweetheart we're leaving in twenty," Dean added before he finally let the door shut behind him.

His sweetheart. Sam sure liked the sound of that. The corners of his lips struggled not to raise with glee. "Mm, was that Dean?" you mumbled against Sam's chest, fingers tracing the ink of his anti-possession tattoo with half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, just came to tell us we're leaving in twenty." He gave your hip a gentle squeeze "He knows, doesn’t he?" You rubbed your eyes with a yawn. Sam chuckled at your adorably sleepy state. “Yeah, sorry…” he trailed off, unsure of how you would respond to the news.

“Well, don’t be. That just means I get to do this whenever I want.” You lifted your head to kiss him hard, and his hands instinctively cradled your face, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap and completely awake.

“You know, I think we still have about 15 minutes.”

“I like the way you think, Winchester.”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! i’d now like to apologize for this obligatory self plug, but there’s new stuff available at lexicolor.redbubble.com, just fyi :)

[feralphoenix]

NO ONE IS HAPPY WITH THIS: Leitmotif & Sound Palette In “Sealed Vessel”

whats UP hk fandom i am back with—“more picante takes?” WOW YES HOW DID YOU KNOW!!!

CONTENT WARNING FOR TONIGHTS PROGRAM: today we are discussing the hollow knight boss fight, and all that entails for all the characters involved. relatedly this post does not have anything nice to say about the pale king, so if you’re very protective of his character, you may want to skip it.

FURTHERMORE, i would like to iterate that this essay is working from a place of compassion for ghost, hollow, radiance, AND hornet, because every single one of them is miserable at this point in the game and doesn’t want the events of this boss fight to be happening at all. this post is not an appropriate place to dunk on ANY of them. if you want to do that, please do it elsewhere.

thanks for your understanding.

ALSO, AS USUAL: if youre from a christian cultural upbringing (whether currently practicing, agnostic/secular, or atheist now), understand that some of what i’m discussing here may challenge you. if thinking thru the implications of radiance and the moth tribe’s backstory is distressing for you, PLEASE only approach this essay when youre in a safe mindset & open to listening, and ask the help of a therapist or anti-racism teacher/mentor to help you process your thoughts & feelings. just like keep in mind that youre listening to an ethnoreligiously marginalized person and please be respectful here or wherever else youre discussing this dang essay, ty

NO ONE IS HAPPY WITH THIS: Leitmotif & Sound Palette In “Sealed Vessel”

A while back @grimmradiance​ made a lovely essay about comparing and contrasting Hollow’s moveset in their Hollow Knight and Pure Vessel boss fights and using what can be gleaned from the differences to speculate about their psychology. (This essay is currently their pinned, but I’ll attach a link in a reblog.) It is extremely good, and it made me want to look at the Hollow Knight boss fight my own self through one of my own areas of expertise, meaning music!

As we are all well aware, Christopher Larkin's soundtrack to Hollow Knight rules ass. There are two specific ways in which it rules ass that are relevant to this essay: Leitmotif, and sound palette.

Quick rundown for folks who aren’t familiar with these terms: A leitmotif is a melody associated with a character or event or mood that's incorporated into songs in different ways based on what's happening in the story. Undertale is an example of a game with an incredibly strong use of leitmotif that’s really only possible because Toby Fox is both the composer and the game creator, so he can synchronize the subtleties of the writing with music and scene scripting too.

The phrase “sound palette” can have a lot of meanings, but in this case I’m using it to refer to specific instruments or groups of instruments that are associated with certain characters. If you’ve watched Steven Universe and seen interviews/production commentary by its composer team Aivi & Surasshu, you’ll hear them talking about part of their approach to scoring episodes being how each main character is represented by certain instruments: Steven with the triangle wave, Pearl with jazz piano, and so on.

Hollow Knight is a small team project rather than a one-person show, so Christopher Larkin can’t go quite AS over-the-top with leitmotif integration as Toby Fox can on simple virtue of Team Cherry having to communicate what they want to him. But Larkin is Hollow Knight's sound designer as well as its composer, so he folds leitmotif and character sound palette together with striking use of stems to create a very immersive and cinematic musical experience that enhances HK’s story and gameplay.

This brings us back to the track Sealed Vessel, which has EXTREMELY tight and cinematic sound design and uses leitmotif and sound palette to not just sock players in the feelings during a charged and dramatic boss fight, but also tell us a lot about what Hollow and Radiance are experiencing emotionally, especially with the gameplay in mind.

So, let’s play the soundtrack version of Sealed Vessel (and some other stuff) and talk about what’s going on in the game during it!

You may want to get out your copy of the OST or visit Christopher Larkin’s Bandcamp page so that you can listen along.

LEITMOTIF & SOUND PALETTE

Before we actually get into analyzing Sealed Vessel, let’s talk about the involved characters’ leitmotifs/sound palettes so we know what we’re listening for.

Both of these things are easiest to identify when characters have a distinct theme song. Ghost does not. However, the main theme of Hollow Knight (see: the title track, Hollow Knight) is used as a leitmotif for the vessels as a whole. Most pieces involved with a vessel character include this leitmotif somewhere. For instance, you can find this leitmotif and variations on it in Broken Vessel’s boss theme. The Vessel leitmotif is led by a cello solo here, so we can identify that the cello is the central part of Broken Vessel’s personal sound palette.

When the Vessel theme is associated with Ghost in specific, it tends to be performed by viola and/or piano, as it is on the title track and in other places like the opening cinematic.

Moving on to Hollow, their specific sound palette is established not in Sealed Vessel but in Pure Vessel, their pantheon boss theme. (Sealed Vessel was composed first, since the Godmaster DLC didn’t drop until over a year after HK’s initial release, meaning Pure Vessel was reverse-engineered/extrapolated from relevant parts of Sealed Vessel. But we’ll get into that later!)

The major instrumental fixtures in Pure Vessel are choir and tubular bells (i.e., those dramatic vertical fellas that sound like church bells or a carillon), with some soft background instrumentation: bass drum, woodwinds (appropriately led by flute in the main melody’s “falling motion” - flute is the centerpiece of TPK’s sound palette), strings, and high/mid brass. Hollow’s overall sound palette has a very Christian choir-esque sound (in the Pure Vessel theme this is very idealized and saintly: soft and slow and tragic) and the beginning of their leitmotif has a very distinctive climbing melody that mirrors their ascent from the Abyss. The Unbearable Vesselness Of Being leitmotif is absent from the Pure Vessel track.

Meanwhile, Radiance’s boss theme is a very fun expression of her character upon which Larkin evidently went ham. Her sound palette is expressed through full orchestra (plus choir and pipe organ) that has a special emphasis on the bass part of the brass section, which does not see much use in the HK soundtrack. Her leitmotif has also got cute and distinctive touches: It’s full of triplets to match her tiara-looking antennae, and also has a repeated “fluttery” pattern of background sixteenth notes as countermelody, often spiraling downwards.

The majority of the piece is loud and bombastic and in a minor key to play up the “resplendent and terrible” wrathful aspect of herself Radi is pushing during this section of gameplay, a very quintessentially moth intimidation tactic: Try to look as scary as possible to keep your enemies from messing with you, since you’re not built for fighting. These blasts of intensity from the brass section match Radiance’s strategy of Overwhelm You With Bullet Hell Spam To Make Up For Lack Of Battle Experience/Poor Aim. But in between said intensity spikes you can hear traces of softer instrumentation and major key, little glimpses of a gentle warmth we can otherwise only infer from her backstory and the implications of Moth Tribe lore.

0:00 - 0:41 - OPENING AMBIANCE

The Sealed Vessel track begins with the ambiance of the Black Egg Temple’s interior: The faint tones of the glowing seals we hear when we pass by them, the only light in a pitch-black world besides the floor lighting up under Ghost’s feet.

Then a slow string tremolo fades in, slowly growing louder. In the track new notes join the tremolo progressively, while in-game a violin joins the anticipatory chord every time you snap one of Hollow’s chains. Which, may I say: A+++++++ sound design!!!!!! Rules ass!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The tremolo reaches a peak in dynamics - all three characters present are extremely tense - and then cuts off to allow for Hollow’s boss battle opening, i.e. Radiance screaming. Team Cherry kindly demarcates each phase of the battle with a Radi yell.

0:43 - 1:39 - PHASE 1: HOLLOW ON AUTOPILOT

Phase 1 opens immediately with Hollow’s leitmotif in bells, but with brass, piano, and percussion backing them up; grand and tragic. In the background the bass section of the orchestra's strings flutter in a repetitive pattern of 16th notes, i.e. Panicky Radi Noises. The violins harmonize with Hollow's leitmotif as it climbs, but then join the rest of the string section in fluttering 16th notes, transmuting what in Pure Vessel is the flute leading Hollow back down (8th notes) to a slightly louder “a” from the backseat.

In actual gameplay, the only attacks Hollow uses are their basic nail skills. Building on grimmradiance’s analysis of the window their attacks provide to their psychology, and pairing that with the Pure Vessel leitmotif booming over the metaphorical loudspeakers, we can tell that this is Hollow reacting automatically to a threat the way that their father trained them to. Their conscious mind might still be making dialup noises at Ghost’s sudden reappearance jumpscaring them with murky childhood guilt and trauma, but that’s only let muscle memory take over. Slash, parry, charge and thrust. Their time spent at bee bootcamp (which we can assume because Hornet was trained at the Hive and Hollow’s form while nail fighting is identical to hers on their shared moves) has served them well.

Radiance, meanwhile, has frozen completely for this combat phase, and contributes nothing here except the anxiety of the string section.

As the strings continue to go “a” the piano (Ghost) and woodwinds harmonize on something between Hollow’s personal leitmotif and the Vessel leitmotif in the backdrop.

However at around 1:29ish, the key changes, building into an overall color change for the Sealed Vessel piece.

1:39 - 2:15 - PHASE 2: SHE’S AS SCARED OF YOU AS YOU ARE OF HER

In actual gameplay, the part of Sealed Vessel used for phases 1 and 2 of the Hollow Knight fight is the Entirety of 0:43 - 2:15, possibly because there’s no easy transition spot like there is between phase 2 and phase 3. But the changes to Hollow’s moveset are clearly tied to this specific part of the piece.

Phase 2 is where Radiance pushes herself past her freeze response and starts trying to hit Ghost. Hollow gains two attacks here, which we can tell are Radi because they’re often accompanied by her crying (a softer and more abbreviated sound than her full scream): These two attacks are the Infection blob blast and the Light/Void pillar attack that hits for a full 2 masks damage (which appear to be Radi’s take on Hollow’s Pure Vessel-exclusive moves, their grabby tentacles & silver knife pillars respectively).

In the Sealed Vessel track, this part of the piece is almost entirely Radiance’s fluttering. The strings start by following the descending motion of Hollow’s leitmotif but in 16th notes, then ratchet up to start spiraling down again while straying further from Hollow’s leitmotif. This section ends in a back and forth between hard blasts in a one-two-(rest)-one-two-three pattern and gasps of fluttering between, with piano and low brass building behind it. Eventually the nervous fluttering of the strings becomes less frequent between the blasts: Radiance is inexperienced with fighting and very very afraid, but she’s also FUCKING PISSED and prepared to defend herself.

The OST version of the piece punctuates the break between the first half of the piece and the second with Radiance’s scream.

2:16 - 4:04 - PHASE 3: “I’M HELPING! :)” SAID HOLLOW; “HOLY SHIT PLEASE DON’T,” SAID LITERALLY EVERYONE

Phase 3 opens with Hollow stabbing themself repeatedly, a movement pattern they repeat throughout the phase. It is shocking the first time you see it, and never stops being horrible and sad no matter how many times you do this part of the fight.

Here, Hollow’s mind has finally come back online after their own freeze response, and they choose to destroy themself and bequeath the duty of sealing Radiance to Ghost. Even if they can’t be the one to make their father proud, they can still make sure their directive gets carried out.

Radiance knows exactly what they’re up to and why, and she reacts to this by completely losing her head and mashing buttons in a panic. This is something we see out of her at the ends of her boss fights too, where she’s feeling too threatened and afraid to do anything but spam optic blasts. In the Hollow Knight boss fight this manifests in two horrifying-looking but easy-to-avoid new attacks: The Infection blob sprinkler and the ragdoll.

Ghost does not react visibly because we're in gameplay, but their horror and grief at their sibling’s choice is echoed in the BGM. The Sealed Vessel piece goes soft and sad, with Ghost’s associated viola leading the bass strings in the Unbearable Vesselness of Being leitmotif. At 2:51 the violin comes in with Hollow’s leitmotif, and gradually the choir appears in the backdrop. The ensemble’s overall dynamics build in a slow crescendo, and at the very end of this segment the other instruments begin to join in.

This segment of the piece is also used in phase 4, which occurs if you don't have Hornet’s help or miss your cue to Dream Nail Hollow. Phase 3 ends when Hollow reaches 0 HP; in phase 4 they are for all purposes already dead. But Radiance manifests an extra 250 HP out of terrified, unadulterated FUCK YOU FUCK THIS!!! even though all she can do is get Hollow to fall on their face trying to slash and ragdoll them around. The BGM continues to play as Ghost absorbs Radiance from Hollow and Hollow’s body loses its shape and dissolves into liquid Void.

And there’s one other place in gameplay Sealed Vessel (Unbearable Vesselness of Being) is used: The Path of Pain, the completely evil kaizo-level obstacle course which presumably featured in Hollow’s childhood training, and behind which the Pale King has hidden his last and most terrible secret—that he had realized on some level that Hollow was a kid with feelings who loved him and wanted to make him proud, and condemned them to death despite it all by using them to imprison and torture Radiance as he’d always planned.

The OST version of Sealed Vessel includes the music for both normal ending cinematics, so we’ll be looking at them too.

4:05 - 4:35: ENDINGS 1/2: NO ONE IS HAPPY WITH THIS

In the BGM for The Hollow Knight and Sealed Siblings endings, the Vessel leitmotif is played by violin, viola, and choir while the cellos and contrabasses—and then the brass bass section too—play a slower version of Radiance’s downward spiral. But once Ghost is pierced by the Black Egg’s chains and Radiance’s struggle to free herself ends in failure, the soprano and bass sections harmonize. The animation zooms out of the temple and the seal reforms. They are stuck together now until the end of Ghost’s life. Hooray.

The OST version of the track immediately segues into the BGM for Dream No More.

4:36 - 5:45: ENDING 3: THANKS, I HATE IT

Here, Hornet’s associated instrument, the violin, plays one long sustained note with a few notes of Ghost’s piano alongside as she wakes up.

TPK’s goddamn flute comes in at 5:00 with his leitmotif overpowering the backdrop Vessel leitmotif on piano while Hornet surveys the carnage: The temple has been destroyed, Radiance is dead, and what’s left of Ghost’s corpse is smeared across the floor. The Void may have taken umbrage with his horseshit and unceremoniously vored him, but the motherfucker still got what he wanted in the end; the Pale King has ended the Infection by completing his genocide of the moths, using the children he abused and abandoned as his proxies, and wasting two of their lives. Can I get a hearty THIS SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! in the chat.

Given that Hornet herself is canonically unsure if bringing the fight to Radiance is really a just course of action, one can only imagine how she must feel when she sees the cost of that decision.

Our only real moment of catharsis is in this shit situation comes in at 5:13, where the flute gives way to a solo from Ghost’s associated viola, playing the Vessel leitmotif as the Siblings curl up and sink back into the mountain of their corpses. Goodnight, kiddos. You deserved better, and so did literally everyone involved in this whole stupid boss fight.

This is where the OST version of Sealed Vessel ends. Even without the gameplay and story context it slaps, but now that we’ve taken a look at how this 5:45 piece is wall to wall misery and fear on the part of literally every involved character, hopefully it will have even more impact!

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Linzin Week 2021: Day 5 - Satomobile

Linzin Week 2021: Day 5 - Satomobile

Here’s another one of my late contributions. This was quite fun to write. Hope you enjoy it too.

One-shot, AU Lin x Tenzin Note: Set in the same universe as my other stories – Contentment and The Airbender’s Wife.    You can read this in AO3 as well.

Lady Lin Beifong and Guest

You are cordially invited to the unveiling of the latest luxury model of the Satomobile.

The next lines were on the event details.

Tenzin flipped the invitation close; he had read enough.

Lady Lin Beifong and guest indeed.

If he did not know any better, he would have thought that the invitation was harmless enough. Just the standard generic invitation a local company was sending out to the influential people of the city.

Unfortunately, he did know better. This was a smarmy way of Hiroshi Sato to remind him how insignificant the airbender was to modern society.

“Well?” Lin’s voice cut through his internal monologue that was all about disparaging thoughts on the industrialist. “Are you free on that night?”

“Oh, are you asking me to join you?” Tenzin feigned ignorance. “Do you mean to say, Lady Lin – I will be your lowly guest for the night?”

Lin flicked a small pebble to this forehead. “Don’t be daft, Tenzin. Of course, you’re my plus one. There was never a doubt about that. So, how about it?” She took back the invitation and envelope from him.

She grabbed the pen that he had on his office desk and was poised to respond to the RSVP.

Tenzin pretended to go through the calendar and the planner his assistant had on this table. Lin flicked another pebble at him, knowing his tactics. Despite being engaged with each other for more than a year, Tenzin still regards Hiroshi Sato as a sore spot in his and Lin’s relationship.

He huffed when he confirmed from his calendar that the night of the launch was marked free.

Of course, he had some misgivings. Hiroshi and Lin had dated before they had and had been engaged for longer than they were.

Well, if he, Tenzin, had his way, they would not be engaged for longer than Lin and Sato. He would make sure to seal the deal soonest.

Plock!

“Stop with the pebbles, woman. Where are you even getting them? I’m free to attend the Future Industries gala.”

 ---

Tenzin had to acknowledge that Sato had pulled out all the stops in his latest press event. The venue was spacious and shiny, with overhead lights that sparkled. The food spread and drinks were lavish and decadent. The people were colorful and elegant, reeking of affluence and influence.

However, none of these people held a candle to the Lady Lin Beifong.

All eyes and all cameras were on them when Tenzin softly airbended them down Oogi, assisting Lin to alight as gracefully as she possibly can from the sky bison.

He knew that Lin had several formal dresses in her wardrobe (all part and parcel of being a Beifong lady) but tonight’s dress was one of his favorites. It consisted of a form-fitting silken bodice that tapers off to a flowing tulle skirt. The sleeveless canary yellow top with blue embroidery accentuated her figure and her toned forearms. And, to his chagrin, the slits of shimmering tulle skirt of yellow and sienna highlighted Lin’s smooth legs when he bended them down the bison.

While he was proud to arrive with her on his arm, he was feeling a bit awkward now as he stood by while Lin talked shop with a visiting high-ranking detective from Omashu.

The airbender excused himself by offering to get a refill of Lin’s drink. He extricated himself and went off to the bar, trying to recall which one was Lin’s drink.

“…She looked lovely, didn’t she? Resplendent and I bet that gown of hers is worth a fortune.”

“I agree. Such a pity she needed to get transported about with that beast.”

“Oh, come on now, darling, there’s no need to be rude using the term beast.” The speaker paused. “And the sky bison didn’t add to their overall charm either.”

Tenzin felt his face heat up as the guests from a nearby cocktail table gossiped and tittered.

Another guest piped up. “Well, who knows, maybe Lady Beifong will put in an order for latest satomobile tonight. No doubt she is capable of buying one.”

“Indeed.” A snooty-sounding foreign man agreed. “However, we do have to take account of that monk of hers. Don’t they have a vow of poverty or aren’t they against worldly comforts?”

The first guest, the one who talked about the dress being expensive, spoke up again. “Probably, I mean, he probably only has that one set of formal robes that he wears on every occasion.”

“Lady Beifong wouldn’t have to stand for all that inconvenience and disgrace had she not broken up with Hiroshi Sato.”

There was a chorus of murmuring agreement.

“Well, until they are wed – it could still change…”

Tenzin decided he had enough of eavesdropping and selected the brightest fruit punch before hurrying back to Lin’s side, keen not to be seen by the snobbish group.

To his dismay, while the Omashu detective had left Lin, it was Hiroshi Sato himself who was now conversing with his fiancée.

“Here’s your refill, dear.” Tenzin thrust the glass in between them, drawing a startled reaction for both Lin and Sato. “Hope it hasn’t gotten tedious; I’m sorry for taking too long.” He stared pointedly at Sato, who took a step back.

“Don’t worry about it, Tenzin.” Lin thanked him and took a sip. “Hiroshi was just telling me more details about his latest model.”

Sato cleared his throat. “Yes, Master Tenzin as I was telling Lin, this model is a little bit more environmental-friendly than the earlier model. The cushions are likewise more comfortable and would offer more protection in the event of an impact.”

Tenzin simply nodded with disinterest, subtly taking Lin’s unoccupied arm and hooking it around his. Sato was droning on more features and the airbender decided to tune him out. Until he heard…

“…In fact, let me offer you a large discount, for old time’s sake.”

“I can afford your satomobile!”

It took Tenzin a few seconds to realize he was the one who blurted out the last statement.

Lin and Sato looked at him oddly, as did four people within hearing radius.

“Yes, dear, we know you can.” Lin leaned forward, placing a hand on his chest. “But this is about the bulk purchase order for Headquarters. The contract made between RCPD and Future Industries has lapsed so we were talking about drafting a new one.”

“While I’m sure you can buy a satomobile,” Sato had the gall to poke his nose into his faux pas. “I don’t suppose the Air Nation would be pleased if you bought a fleet for the police department.”

“Of course, I knew that.” Tenzin bit out, then took a swig out of whatever swill he had chosen for his drink. “I was just saying -.”

“Oh, Hiroshi – I think that’s your master of ceremonies calling for you?” Lin suddenly pointed towards the stage, where, true enough, a man in bright blue formal wear was scoping the crowd.

Sato immediately excused himself and asked them to enjoy the libation.

“What was that?” Lin untangled her arm from his and turned him so that they were face to face. “Do you really want to purchase a satomobile?”

“Don’t you?” Tenzin threw back at her. “You seemed pretty fascinated by all those add-ons and features -.

“I was being polite.”

But Tenzin continued as though Lin has not spoken. “–And then, maybe at least you won’t have to arrive at fancy gatherings on a large hairy beast.”

“I’m fine with Oogi. He grew on me even if, I do agree with mom, that sky bison tends to smell during long trips.”

“Oh yes but this satomobile – it has all the works. It’s fancy, it’s rich, it’s comfortable, and it’s accepted by the upper-class. Not at all shabby, an embarrassment or out of fashion.”

“Hold up,” Lin raised a hand and wave the glass of fruit punch. “What is this really about? As I’ve said - I’m fine with Oogi and I barely need to transport myself around the city unless it’s for work.”  She tilted Tenzin’s chin so he was looking at her. “Are we still talking about satomobiles?”

“Of course.” Tenzin could be stubborn too, and he does have his pride. He did not want his woman to be ashamed of him. He can provide for her, after all.

“Oh, Tenzin. Dear.” The earthbender’s lip quirked up to the side, revealing her amusement, but Tenzin refused to drop his serious countenance. “Well, true – this satomobile might be a bit more comfortable, it might even have more amenities and yes, it is quite showy.” Tenzin shifted uncomfortably. “But – with Oogi, he’s a beloved sky bison. I’ve known Oogi since I was a child. I trust Oogi with all my heart and I know that Oogi will not let me down. Ever.”

Tenzin did not even think twice and leaned forward to capture a quick kiss on Lin’s lips.

She always did know what to say to assuage his doubts.

“Thank you.” Tenzin murmured, his forehead on Lin’s.

Lin pulled back with her eyebrows raised. “Why are you saying thanks? Shouldn’t Oogi be the one doing so?”

He swallowed Lin’s laughter with another kiss.

He did not even mind the sudden camera flash to the side, knowing that this would be part of the double spread in tomorrow’s news feature on the satomobile launch.

Oogi would definitely receive a double helping of the special hay from the Fire Nation tonight.

 ---

Present day.

“…And that is why, Korra, I’d rather that you do not accept the satomobile that Tarrlok has sent over.” Tenzin finished his retelling at the Avatar who looked non-plussed.

“Or I could simply say I don’t feel right about taking something that luxurious coming from taxpayers’ money – assuming of course that he did charge it to city hall.” Korra drummed her fingers on her cheek. “Or that it’s not right accepting something that expensive since it would be misconstrued as a bribe.”

“Huh.” The airbender blinked at the teenaged avatar. “You’re right.”

“Yep,” Korra grinned, eyes crinkling. “I do read the materials you told me to, even if it was so boring. That constitution and by-laws of Republic City is one snooze fest. But I figured I need to be familiar with it in case Chief decides to land me in jail again.” She added cheekily.

Tenzin stood dumbfounded as Korra excused herself to head on to training.

“Oh, by the way, thanks for telling me that story, though honestly, I could do away with your descriptions of Lin’s ‘figure’, ‘toned forearms, and ‘smooth legs’.” Korra used air-quotes and hurried off with a laugh at the airbending master’s reddening forehead.

[gureishi]

I had spam and eggs for breakfast

XD though can I request 20 with zen, fluff please :D

Truly thank you for telling me, breakfast is everything

Yes, of course! What a sweet prompt for lovely Zen—I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you enjoy it!! ♡

twenty: fall in love all over again

ZenXReader, T, words: 1988

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The big analog clock on the wall tells you it’s long past sunset. In the studio, there’s no indication of day or night—there are no windows, and the high-ceilinged room is lit for mid-morning. As far as you can tell, it’s been mid-morning for over ten hours.

You slip out of the soft, low-backed chair, and wander over to the craft services table, mostly for something to do. You pour yourself some decaf coffee (because you really want to sleep tonight) and hover near the obnoxiously large snack platter, stretching your stiff arms.

A youngish man with a beard appears beside you. You shoot him a sideways glance; his badge identifies him as a PA.

“So you’re his manager, huh?” he says. You follow his gaze across the expansive room; it falls, of course, on Zen, who is resplendent in a black mock neck sweater and blazer. He’s getting his makeup touched up, perched delicately on the edge of a stool. You smile at the sight of him: he sits perfectly still, his face tilted up obediently. His hair glitters under the studio lights, like it’s been adorned with ice crystals.

“Yes, I am,” you say politely, because you don’t know this man, and what are you supposed to say? Yes, and also we sleep in the same bed?

“Lucky you,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. You sigh. Like you, he’s just looking for a way to pass the time. “He’s crazy hot. Any good stories? Drama?”

You laugh. You seem to have fallen head-first into an impossible situation. You have plenty of drama, you suppose—that morning, Zen had accidentally put berries in his yogurt before remembering that their sugar content is too high for a filming day. You doubt this is the kind of drama the PA is looking for.

Before you can say anything, a script assistant who you vaguely know from another set drifts over to the table, croissant in hand.

“You idiot, they live together!” she interrupts, face alight, evidently thrilled to drop this particular bomb. The PA gawks; the assistant speaks in a low voice, filling him in on the more public details of your relationship.

You slip away as discretely as you can, stifling a yawn. Seeing people make the connection, put together the pieces of your relationship—this was thrilling, once. Nowadays, you feel like there’s no crazy, misconstrued version of your relationship that you haven’t already heard. Today, you really just want to go home, crawl into your warm bed, and sleep for as many hours as humanly possible.

You collapse back into your chair, pulling out your phone out of habit. It’s useless—there’s no service in the studio. 

You watch idly as they do a few more takes. It’s not a very exciting shot: Zen turns a corner and walks toward the camera. Then he does it again. And again. It’s boring, but you don’t really mind—you love watching him work. He’s so serious when the cameras are on and so enthusiastic between shots, bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation. You’d never know, from looking at him, how many hours you’ve all spent in this chilly, windowless warehouse. He’s practically radiating zeal.

Finally, finally, they wrap for the day. The director whispers to her assistant and the call is repeated, echoing throughout the huge room. Suddenly, there’s a bustle of activity. You draft a quick text to Zen’s agent and another to his publicist; they’ll go through when you get out of this cellular data dead zone.

You linger as people start to disperse. It’s chaos as the crowd moves and shifts, packing up and yelling goodbyes across the room. The first day of filming is always this way: long, boisterous, draining.

You’re drafting a longer email when he finally approaches you, his tall figure casting a shadow over your phone screen.

“Ready to go home, babe?” 

He’s in full anti-paparazzi gear, a baseball hat and a mask and a giant scarf. His eyes—the only part of him that’s visible—glimmer, and he winks at you.

“Please,” you sigh, tossing your phone into your bag.

He doesn’t take your hand, because his publicist has repeatedly asked him to please stop doing that while on location. He nudges you with his shoulder, though, offering you a little bit of his warmth.

He’s tired, too—you can tell, though you’re sure no one else could. You see it in the way he walks, his strides just a shade shorter than usual—and in the way his voice sounds, a little bit deep, a little bit muted.

You’re quiet as you walk to the car; he waves goodbye to everyone, calling them all by name—the actors, the assistants, the hair stylists and set dressers and boom operators. It’s just like him to have learned all of this already, you think.

You make your way down a bafflingly long hallway and—at last—into the parking lot. It’s fully night, the moon high in the sky. You take a deep breath, relishing in the feeling of fresh air in your nostrils.

Your phone buzzes repeatedly as a day’s worth of texts come in. You ignore them and shoot a quick text to the driver. Zen throws his arms up over his head and breathes deeply.

It’s routine, you think, as the car pulls up, as Zen tosses another goodbye over his shoulder at a departing electrician. All of it: waking up together, going to work together. Leaving work together, riding back home.

As soon as the door is closed, Zen slumps against you, his head on your shoulder. You lay a hand on his knee.

“How do you think today went?” you ask him. He can be tired, now that he’s alone with you. He’s always acting when he’s at work, even when he’s not on camera.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into your neck. “I’m not sure. I didn’t even say any lines yet.”

You giggle. “Yeah. It was mostly you walking back and forth, huh.”

He laughs his sweet, breathy, sleepy laugh—the one that never fails to give you butterflies, even after all this time.

You fall into silence. You feel the tiredness in your bones: the hours of sitting have made your butt a little numb, and your eyes burn from the studio lights. You remember, vaguely, the way you felt the very first time you came to a shoot with him—like the world was unfurling before you. You wish you could rekindle just a little of that naïve enthusiasm.

You almost don’t notice the car pulling up in front of the apartment. Zen lifts his head off your shoulder and presses a feather-light kiss to your cheek.

“We’re home, my love.”

You thank the driver and follow Zen—out of the car, down the steps, through the door.

“Okay.” He turns to you, tossing off his hat, his mask hanging from one ear. He’s grinning like he has a secret. “Please wait in the living room, darling.”

“Why?” He shakes his head and kisses you swiftly on the lips, darting away before you have time to respond.

Puzzled, you hang your jacket and flop onto the couch, finally catching up on the messages you missed all day. Almost everyone is in the RFA chatroom; you check in, tell them about the filming. They are amused that Zen was just being filmed walking around all day; there’s more to his character than that! you want to yell at them.

Just then, you notice an unexpected flowery scent drifting into the room—roses and lavender. You sit up, sniffing the air. What on earth could he be doing right now?

As if on cue, Zen appears in the doorway in a cloud of perfumed air. His hair’s untied, splayed artfully over his shoulders. He holds out an arm for you and you scramble to your feet. He laughs gleefully—it’s a beautiful sight to behold; he’s all sparkles and unbridled joy.

“Where are we going?” you ask, laughing as he dramatically sweeps you down the short hallway. It’s not a big apartment—there isn’t really much of anywhere to go.

“Ta-da!” He opens the bathroom door with a flourish.

You inhale sharply.

The overhead light is off and he’s lit every candle in the house—they’re on the sink, on the floor, on the edges of the tub. Through the warm, flickering light, you see light, faintly colored steam rising—you peer down and see that he’s filled the tub with hot water and bubbles in numerous pastel colors. There are rose petals and tiny sprigs of lavender floating on the surface.

“Zen!”

He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it ever-so-gently.

“You gave me nearly twelve hours of your precious time today,” he says, and his voice comes out a little too fast, the way it does when he gets excited and his mouth can’t keep up with his mind. “I know how exhausting it is sitting in the studio. I can’t bear thinking about you feeling cold and tired and sore, all for my sake.” He pauses; caresses your cheek with one long finger. “You’re my whole world. I just want you to feel warm.”

You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him enthusiastically; he stumbles a little, caught off guard, and then catches himself against the doorframe, kissing you back with surprising energy.

You pull away just slightly, your lips centimeters from his. His breath tickles your nose.

“You’re the sweetest, kindest man to ever live,” you say.

“And the most beautiful,” he reminds you, lips just grazing yours, making the bottoms of your feet tingle. “But in this case, all I’ve done is fill up the bathtub. I can do a lot more.”

Your breath catches in your throat. His large hand is at the small of your back.

“C-can I tell you something?” you stammer, before you’re completely swept off your feet.

“Anything, my love.”

“Do you ever feel…hmmm.” You pull back and he lets you, swiping a hand through his perfect silver hair. “Do you ever feel like we’ve sort of fallen into a routine? Like we live together and work together and…do you know what I mean?”

He tilts his head to the side, as if considering it for the first time.

“I suppose that’s true,” he says. “We are together a lot. Which is the only thing I’ve dreamed of since the day I met you, by the way.” 

You laugh. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I was just thinking…our lives feel so normal nowadays. You know? But then you go and do something sweet for me like this and…”

“You fall in love with me again?” He winks at you, his red eyes glittering. “That’s exactly what I was just thinking. Sometimes when I’m feeling tired or out of it I look over at you and I just fall head over heels. So much I can’t even bear it.”

“You’re not already head over heels for me?” 

He throws out an arm and catches himself on the doorframe just above you, pressing you body into his chest, leaning over you. You’re wrapped up in the intoxicating, fresh scent of him.

“I am crazy about you,” he says. “I am crazy about you today and I’ll be crazy about you tomorrow and I’ll be crazy about you in one hundred years.”

You breathe in deeply. He still makes your head spin.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!” he sings, his voice high and sweet. “Now go take a bath while the water’s still warm, my darling. I’ll be waiting for you when you get out.”

So you do.

And of course he will be.

[ymiwritesstuff]

Hi hi! How are you? Hope you're doing okie dokie! Could I request some angst where the reader is a vampire and will testimony DIO's death by Jotaro's hand and tries to avenge him but cannot and the crusaders are forced to do something since they cannot let anyone off the hook?

Hello there! I’m doing alright thank you! This request was really really fun and painful to work on and I really hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for requesting!

Fruitless Vengeance

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders

Dio Brando x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Summary: A certain vampire had a special effect on you but when your cherished relationship faces a horrifying threat, a thirst for revenge consumes you.

Notes: Angst, SPOILERS FOR PART 3

Having lived for literal centuries, blessed by the gift of eternal life you had come across many kinds of people as well as other ethereal beings of the dark. As the long years went by and events occurred, you witnessed the changes in how people acted, how inventions were invented, and how your kind slowly vanished from the face of the Earth, either by a misplaced step into the deadly sunlight or by those pathetic humans who feared vampires.

When you encountered him after wandering around in the streets of Egypt, the moment stuck to you and remained within you even months after it had occurred. It was clear to you from the moment you set your (E/C) eyes on Dio’s resplendent form that he was something special. He only had to look at you with those piercing amber eyes to make you realize just how much power he possessed. Yet at the same time, that fierce gaze had a strange alluring effect on you as it pulled you in and made his presence that much more captivating.

You had met many others of your kind but something about him radiated a totally foreign type of energy, something you had never experienced before. Dio was special, one of his kind, unlike any other vampire you had ever faced. And the reason for that strange power was revealed to you when the Lord told you about Stands, the powerful energy that manifested into a spirit, you finally understood what made him emit such strength. The concept fascinated you, to the point where Dio was willing to assist you in awakening your own fighting spirit. And thus, with the help of a certain arrow, your stand awakened.

The admiration you held for him was genuine, and you soon found yourself willing to do anything for him. A part of this was due to his natural charm that had completely taken over you, but in the end, it all came down to the fact that he was the only other vampire you had encountered in years, and as you spent more time with him, and he told his story, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Even though his exterior was as tough as a mountain, you could see cracks in it, and it made you appreciate him even more.

~

Your heavy panting and your fast heartbeat were the only things audible to you as you ran towards the direction you had seen the two fighting figures head to. For the first time in the centuries of being alive, you were afraid. It felt as though even with the superior speed of a vampire, you weren’t fast enough, and the rare fear that plagued your heart made you doubt. Doubt everything. Every time stop his stand produced, you felt them. And they were strangely growing weaker. And that made your core tremble with anxiety.

Another one. You weren’t certain how you were able to sense the times he used his stand’s overwhelming power, but it was clear as day that what you felt was indeed The World’s time stop. As you ran towards him, you focused on the sensation, counting the seconds that had become significantly longer. Dio had moved at such a fast speed as he was battling Jotaro you couldn't keep track of him. You weren’t even sure the direction you were heading was the correct one but that underlying fear poisoning you was fueling your being and demanding you to find him. Because something inside you told you that everything wasn’t alright.

Suddenly, a sound that could only be described as something massive hitting the asphalt surface of the road pierced through the air. This immediately caused you to pick up speed and head towards the sound even quicker than before, still feeling like it wasn’t enough. Whatever had just happened, you were certain it had something to do with the ongoing battle of the stand users, and it worried you.

As you ran, every possible worst-case scenario entered your mind. Despite knowing just how powerful Dio was, you couldn’t help but think of the possibility of him losing this fateful battle. No, he had to win. He was the strongest being you had ever met, surely, he would be able to best this human teenager that had caused him so much trouble. Your panting increased the more you ran but your eyes quickly notice two figures. One is standing while the other... Is on the ground. No. 

They’re too far away for you to identify them but you pray for whatever higher power there was that the one on the ground wasn’t him. Your growing exhaustion plants itself onto you and your whole body succumbs to it, feeling as if it’s on fire. However, you kept on running, desiring but also dreading to get a better view of the possibly alarming situation.

As you got closer, however, something happened. A set of quick movements by the two figures caught your attention and you could finally tell that the person on the ground was indeed the Lord and the other person, Jotaro, was standing in front of him awaiting his next move. Everything seemed to happen in an instant, and before you even knew it, Dio had gotten up and aimed a powerful kick at the now vulnerable teen. This gave you hope. Finally, after all the struggle and trials, he was about to put an end to the petty group that so foolishly tried to oppose him.

But he didn’t.

All your movements and seemingly the entire world came to a halt. The World’s leg came in contact with Star Platinum’s fist and for a moment, it looked like the battle would end in the blonde vampire’s victory. However, everything collapsed. The stand’s leg cracked, and that painful crack traveled all across the left side of the stand, but most horrifyingly, its user. Dio yelled in pain as his entire being began to disintegrate, his entire body being torn in half.

“NO!” A scream ripped out of your throat as your eyes helplessly watch the horrifying sight. His amber eyes lock onto you, a shine of desperation and fear shining in them as his body gets ripped apart in the most merciless way you could have ever imagined. Your body begins to tremble, your eyes fill with burning tears and another, gutwrenching screams escapes your mouth. It all happened so fast, and now, he was gone. And all that remained was his soulless body, brutally ripped in two.

Then, your eyes turn to Jotaro, whose own were on you, with no pity in them. Your grief quickly turns into rage, a spark of fury igniting within you. With one swift movement, you lunge at the black-haired teen, summoning your stand in the process in hopes of avenging the one you love.

In the heat of the moment, you fail to remember all the warnings you had received regarding Jotaro’s stand and receive a grim reminder as Star Platinum’s fist comes in contact with your body, knocking you on the ground. The impact most likely broke a couple of bones as a cry of pain leaves your mouth. You stay strong and lock your eyes on Jotaro again, unwilling to give up. “Y-you... You’ll pay for what you did!” The tears that form in your eyes feel like glass shards, the pain traveling to your entire being.

You attempt to get up, determined to kill this pathetic child, the sadness roaming inside mixing with undying hatred. The effort is in vain as you collapse on the ground again, your broken bones that would eventually regenerate screaming in pain. “Don’t try to get up. You’ll only end up on the ground again.” His voice was cold, unphased by what he had just done. And that only fueled your anger.

“I-I... Y-you... How could you..” A sob escapes your lips as your fury quickly gets overpowered by the sadness. How could he be so... So unaffected by this? Your entire world was crushed and he didn’t seem to care. You felt your injuries slowly healing, and Jotaro seemed to notice this.

“So you’re just like him. Fucking hell...” He sighed in frustration and for a moment the cold stare he gave you frightened you. But at the same time, he looked unsure. His turquoise eyes had a strange shine that seemed to be unsure about what to do next. Jotaro had never killed any of Dio’s minions, only injured them enough for them to retire, but with you, being a powerful vampire like Dio and trying to avenge your Lord, the teen wasn’t sure what to do.

“Good grief...” The uncertainty plastered across his face gave you the perfect opportunity to strike, but you couldn’t. In the end, no matter what you did, nothing would bring him back. Your hands clench into fists, your tears falling onto the hard ground as the sight of Dio being obliterated is still freshly planted within your mind. And that sight didn’t allow you to give up as the last of your injuries quickly healed.

You lift your head up to look at your loved one’s killer into those cursed eyes and wait for him to make his move.

“Whatever you decide do, Jotaro... Know, that I won’t give up...”

[seasonsofeverlark]

Family Prayer

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: Buttercup and Diwali are not things that go together. So even though Katniss dosen't like him much, she and Peeta try to make things easier for Buttercup on that day. [submitted by @everlurked​]

Rating: Fluffy G

Author’s Note: This is a story about Diwali and wouldn’t have been possible without @cadsingh77​ who spent weeks allowing me to ask all sorts of questions about Diwali and what it means to her. I patterned it on her descriptions. She read it, as well, to make sure there were no cultural faux pas. I apologize if there is anything amiss. Also, I’m remiss if I do not mention @norbertsmom​ who at the eleventh hour betaed this story. She’s my rock my bestie, and I would be nothing without her.

__________

Peeta glanced at his suit in the closet. His hands shook. 

In a few hours he was going to meet the family of the love of his life. 

He looked at the phone in his hands. He was lying in bed researching everything Diwali. His girlfriend Katniss had gone over the topic. She explained that just as sunset happens an elaborate puja, a prayer ceremony is done in a temple to begin the holiday. But to most Trinidadians or Trinis, as she called herself, like her family, they said little personal prayers in front of Laxmi, Saraswati and Ganesh and then they would light the diyas, little clay lamps, that they were going to placed in all of the rooms of the house. 

Katniss made it all sound so simple. Diwali was a celebration of light. A victory over darkness. A day to wear new clothing, beautiful jewelry, sing, dance, pray, and light diyas. Katniss said any other guests would arrive after the prayers and they would have a ton of food and everyone would eat and hang out, kids would light sparklers, and there would be singing and dancing too. 

Curious, Peeta watched every Bollywood movie on Netflix. Movies, however, never really explained everything. He put the phone down. He had to  be honest with himself; Katniss’ assurances aside, he was a fish out of water no matter what he did. He was going to meet the most important people in Katniss’s life, her family.

In contrast, his parents were Dan and Cindy from Port Jefferson, Long Island. They owned a bakery near the ferry. They were dull people, they were like the parents of Ian Miller from My Big Fat Greek Wedding. But a lot colder and more dysfunctional, dressed in tans and beiges. Peeta constantly questioned why they would own a bakery that matched the color of bland. They never veered from the menu. Never introduced a new seasonal baked good. Peeta was stuck in that rut until he met Katniss and his entire world changed and color was introduced into his life.

Katniss was the electric jolt that kickstarted his dull heart to life. 

The first time he tasted roti, the buttery tasting flat bread he literally cried. 

From the pictures that Katniss shared of her family, he could tell they were a riot of awesomeness. 

Katniss and her parents hailed from Trinidad and Tobago. Her family moved to Long Island from Germany. Her father was an engineer and physicist. He worked at the superconductor in Germany and then came to Long Island so that he could work on a project at Brookhaven National Laboratory. Her mother worked at Stony Brook University. She ran the nursing department. 

Peeta and Katniss both attended Stony Brook University. He was on his way to a yoga class and she was in her Pink boxing class. From the glass covered room Peeta watched her hit the punching bag like Joe Fraser, and he was a goner. Peeta had a thing for strong women. His first middle school girlfriend bossed him and made him carry her books to and from class and he was a sucker for her, but she broke his heart. She told him she was only using him to get to his older brother Ryan. Peeta battled so much darkness in his life and what he needed was to chase the darkness away and to let the light into his heart. But he couldn’t deny he liked strong women. 

There was something about a strong alpha woman who knew how to get things done, unlike his mother who was passive aggressive, and banged the pots in the kitchen and slammed refrigerator doors. 

He sighed as he worried about tomorrow. He googled Diwali’s greetings and butchered the language as he tried to speak in Hindi. 

Peeta sighed heavily.

Katniss’s mother invited him over the phone. She wanted him to come over before the prayers began. It was an honor because he was Katniss’ boyfriend, someone she chose despite her father trying to get her to date the son of a friend of his. Katniss put her figurative foot down and claimed she was dating Peeta. Her father didn’t want to meet him, but he knew of him. 

So the pressure was on to be perfect. He didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing, especially in front of her family. His hands shook, this was important. He wanted to make a good impression on Katniss’ family, even if her father didn’t like him or the idea of him. Peeta wanted them to like him because, truth be told, his own family didn’t like him. 

Peeta loved his family, but ever since he was little, he knew he didn’t fit into the landscape of his family. He was labeled as the emotional one. He was too irreverent for them. Peeta liked color. He loved to paint. He enjoyed the change in seasons where his family loved one season, summer, because they generated the most money then. 

His family liked one or two flavors. Peeta loved all flavors, spicy ones, bold ones, subtle ones. They hated that he was always pushing to change the menu at the bakery. His childhood room was always the one his parents never showed off, because as a teen he painted the walls of his room every shade of orange. Peeta knew they sighed in relief when he decided to stay in the dorms at Stony Brook. His football scholarship allowed him to have that opportunity. He trained hard, studied hard, and loved hard. 

“Katniss,” her name escaped his lips like fervent prayer and a wish. He loved her, was consumed by her, and he was so overly happy that she invited him to meet her family for Diwali. And now he had so much pent up energy he couldn’t sleep. 

His teammates made fun of him, because he got a goofy lopsided I-got-my-hippopotamus-at-Christmas type grin, whenever Peeta thought of Katniss. He closed his eyes picturing her olive skin, thick straight dark hair braided into a rope, small pert nose, and silvery eyes that were breathtaking. Though it wasn’t her physical parts that made him fall in love. It was the woman who lay beneath the surface.

What made him sit up and take notice of Katniss after he saw her box, and he was out of the yoga room, was that there was a blonde girl at the gym working out. There were these idiots guys making fun of her, calling that poor girl fat, just because she was full figured. Katniss walked straight up to the guys and gave them a scowl full of fire and brimstone, called the girl hot and told her that if she were gay she’d do her in an instant. Then she told the guys that they could jackknife themselves off the roof of the building. Peeta had never seen anything sexier in his life. Katniss was full of fire and she was resplendent more so than the sun. 

His phone buzzed drawing him away from his memories as the message came in.

KATNISS: Why are you still up?

Peeta grinned, his phone betrayed him. In some phones a little dot showed up next to the person when they were on their phone. Katniss must have noticed. 

PEETA: Stalk much.

KATNISS: LOL

Peeta could see those three little dots moving as she wrote a reply. 

For the most part Katniss wasn’t a talker. Unless she was passionate about the topic and then she was a chatterbox.

KATNISS: FUNNY. Seriously, tomorrow is going to be a long day. You need to sleep.

PEETA: Because tomorrow I am going to meet your family.

Peeta could see her rolling her eyes even through the phone.

KATNISS: You don’t have to be nervous. 

PEETA: If you tell me all I have to do is be myself, I swear I am going to come dressed as Buddy the Elf.

KATNISS: Dork.

PEETA: Yes, but I’m your dork.

KATNISS: They’re going to love you.

Peeta sighed. 

PEETA: This is important. I want to make a good impression. Your family is important to you and given that my family…

Peeta sighed. He’d brought Katniss to the bakery to meet his family because they didn’t have time for him. His father was pleasant. His mother, however, spoke loudly and slowly as if Katniss didn’t speak English. Katniss spoke various languages and was extremely intelligent. Her mother wanted her to be a doctor, but Katniss had a passion for the environment. Her major was environmental studies, with a minor in geology. She was brilliant and he felt like the dumb jock.

KATNISS: Your family is fine, well except for Ryan. Someone needs to examine him.

Peeta chuckled. His brother Rye stared at Katniss as if she was Christmas, Easter, and summer vacation all rolled up into one. He then proceeded to flirt with Katniss, by using every campy movie line known to mankind. In typical Rye fashion because he’d done it before to their other brother Lyle. Unfortunately in that instance the girl in question dumped Lyle to go out with Rye. 

He sighed. That was his dysfunctional family. Family gatherings were uncomfortable events. They weren’t exactly nice to one another.

PEETA: I have no excuse for my brother.

Peeta decided to follow his text with a self deprecating joke. A truth, his family thought him the odd one in the family. 

PEETA: But Ryan isn’t the bad apple. I’m not sure you know this, but I am the black sheep of the family.

KATNISS: You mean the sexy one.

A grin spread on his face at her compliment. 

Katniss’ family was conservative, and by extent, so was Katniss. He respected her boundaries and her values.  Family was everything to her and he loved her because of it, Katniss would lay her life on the line for her family. 

PEETA: Have I told you today how much I love you.

KATNISS: No, but I do love to hear you say it.

Peeta pressed the little microphone and recorded his voice, which sounded rougher to his ears than normal.

PEETA: (a voice email) I love you Katniss. I love your mind. I love your kindness. I love how you always talk about your sister Prim. I love the way you adore your dad. I love the way you look up to your mother. I think you are the most beautiful soul. And I am nervous because if you are wonderful, then your family has to be just as great.

He meant every word. 

They’d been dating for the last few months, but they’d been friends for two years. They weren’t easy years because of their schedules in school and the fact that her father had a mild heart attack right after they met. Peeta put himself in the friend zone because that’s what Katniss needed. He didn’t want her to feel pressure to feel romantic toward him when her dad, the most important man in her life, was ill. 

In the end, the bonds of friendship grew to a love so sweet and pure, that it shined out of her silver eyes. The first time she realized the love she held for him was more than friendship left him breathless, like stepping into a world filled with brilliant colors, light and joy. 

KATNISS: (a voice email) I love you too.

Her voice was breathy and filled with her heartfelt emotion.

Peeta couldn’t help but sigh contentedly.

KATNISS: Now as for tomorrow, don’t worry. When they see what a great guy you are, they will love you.

Peeta sighed.

KATNISS: NOW GO TO SLEEP, MELLARK!

PEETA:  Yes ma’am.

He grinned and would have followed her directions, but instead he stood from his bed and went into his suite kitchen. He needed to bake. It was the only thing he knew that would calm him down. He decided to make chocolate using the vegetarian items he purchased in the store. Come the morning he would make the Laddoos he planned to bring with him. In Hindi they were called Laddu but in Trinidad they were known as Laddoo.

Making the chocolate eased his nerves, so he actually got some sleep. In the morning, he showered and set to work on making the Laddoos. By three o’clock he was done, and all he had to do was wrap up the presents. Taking a red ribbon, he tied each box the way he’d done so many times at the bakery. 

His suitemates were gone. No doubt causing trouble somewhere on campus, which gave Peeta the time he needed to get ready. He took out his new suit. Even though Katniss told him he could wear a nice pair of slacks and shirt, Peeta bought a suit that was on sale for the special occasion. 

Taking a deep breath he took the small presents he had for her family. They weren’t necessary, but he wanted to make a good impression. He gathered up the Laddoos, the chocolate, the flowers - marigolds he sourced at the local home depot, and the paintings he made of her family made from the memory of the pictures she’d shown him. 

He drove, heading to the Everdeen home in Mount Sinai. The cottage-like house looked like something out of a movie or TV show: warm, inviting, like a real home, one filled with love, and not pretend.

As he walked up, he could hear laughter, genuine laughter, followed by singing and joy. Running a hand through his blond wavy locks he took a deep breath. “Okay Mellark, just be yourself,” he whispered, as he stood in front of the door.  

He raised his hand to knock on the door and his breath caught at the man standing there looking more like a navy seal instead of a physicist. This was Katniss’ dad. His chrome eyes were hard and they took him apart, much the way a defensive end could read a play and pick it apart while holding their defense line.  

“Happy Diwali.” Peeta tried to say confidently but his voice cracked. He could feel himself sweating.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “You are Peeta Mellark.”

Peeta nodded.

“Rahul!” A statuesque woman with blonde hair and pale blue eyes swatted Katniss’ father’s arm. He watched her sneak around him, dressed in a traditional red sari with gold thread. “Please behave.” Mrs. Everdeen quietly gave her husband a look. Her golden bangles clinked as she placed her hand dramatically on her hip. Peeta was glad Katniss had gone over the different fashions. He studied each one because he would do anything for Katniss. 

Peeta watched as her father’s hard analytical eyes softened the moment he beheld Katniss’ mother. Peeta could see how Katniss’ parents were a unit of one. They were in love and either one would fight the shadows and all of the evil in the world for their other half.  “Anjali.”

“I am Katniss’ mother, this is her father,” her pale eyes sparkled. “Please come in, we were waiting for your arrival. Come in,” she ushered him.

The home was two stories, to the left a halfway with rooms, to the right a living room, dining area, and a den to the far back. The house was decorated with warm rich colors, but everything was tied around the family, as pictures dotted the walls. There were lights everywhere hanging from the walls, the clay diya’s sat on the mantel.  Peeta stood in front of a picture of Katniss on her father’s shoulders, her twin braids flowing, her eyes crinkled in pure happiness. 

“Ohhhh you’re cute,” a younger, but deeper voice than Katniss’ said with impish mischief. 

Primrose took after Katniss’ mother, with the flaxen hair and the pale blue eyes.  Katniss explained that her mother was of British descent, while her father’s family, although sporting a European name, was from India. His great-grandparents came to Trinidad, fell in love with the island and stayed. 

Her mother walked away from her very wealthy family back in Trinidad to marry Katniss’ father. It was a little like they were the original Romeo and Julliet. 

His parents got together because his dad knocked up his mom.

“Primrose!” Mrs. Everdeen admonished. 

“What,” Prim said. Her pale blue eyes were inquisitive as she walked around him. The way Katniss talked about her sister, Peeta had expected a little kid, but Prim was as tall as he was. Her loose  pajama-like trousers that narrowed at her ankles, called shalwar, swooshed around as she made her round. Her red kameez, a flowing tunic with intricate gold patterns reminded Peeta of the pattern Mrs. Everdeen wore on her sari.

Prim was everything Katniss was not. She was a bold bright bubbly girl, who at this moment was making sure he was the real deal and not some mindless jerk. He stood, letting her because it was important that her family liked him. He wanted to be accepted. He felt his face flame up under the scrutiny. 

“I understand why my boring sister is constantly sighing.”

Peeta grinned, then he said, “Oh these are for you.” He gave them the presents. The flowers, the chocolate, and the sweetened chickpea Laddoos he made by hand for them.

“Oh these are fragrant, where did you purchase them?”

“He made them.” The soft voice that came behind him made his heart rate triple.

Peeta turned around and there stood Katniss wearing an emerald green lenghas. She had explained what it looked like, but at this moment, his brain that was always filled with words was momentarily empty, vanquished by her beauty. He swallowed, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes darted from the perfection of her face with those silvery eyes that captivated him, and the peek of dark hair that was hidden by the sari. 

Katniss held a shiny brass plate, she called a Tarrier, but in Hindi it was known as a Thali, containing coconut, almonds, and other sweets. Katniss told him the plate belonged to her great-grandmother Veronica. When her mother married her father, her great-grandmother gave it to her insisting it should go to her first born. He swore for a second he could see a miniature Katniss with his eyes staring up at him and holding the Tarrier. 

“He made them?” Primrose asked, Peeta could hear the intense curiosity in her sister’s voice. 

“His family are bakers, and Peeta is an amazing cook.”

“Really,” her father said, and his voice, the way he said that one word snapped Peeta out of his hazy fog. 

“Ah,” he nervously said. “I made her cheese buns,” Peeta felt the heat rising from his neck and caused those red splotches that his brothers made fun of. 

“Cheese buns,” her father repeated. 

“When you were in the hospital, daddy,” her eyes did not hide the pain of recalling those days. “Peeta noticed I wasn’t eating and cajoled me into eating cheese buns,” Katniss words were so soft. “He was the friend I leaned on for support when…” her voice trailed.

Peeta watched her father’s face take a look of adoring tenderness at his eldest, and when his eyes turned to Peeta they weren’t as frosty as they had been. 

“He even took me to temple to pray,” Katniss whispered.

“In Selden?” 

“Yes, daddy,” Katniss quietly said.

“Rahul,” Katniss’ mother chided. She cupped his cheeks, “Such a nice young man. Did you make the chocolate as well?” 

Peeta nodded, his eyes went back to her father. He couldn’t mess this up. 

Her mother smiled serenely, then her eyes lit with happiness as if she made a startling connection. “Oh! Pundit Sharma was right; they were destined in the stars.”

“Star crossed lovers just like you and mom,” Prim said. 

Her father cut his eyes away. 

“Oh my, these chocolates….” Prim moaned. 

“Primrose!” Her mother admonished. 

“What, he said they were for us,” Prim shrugged, plopping a chocolate in her mouth. “I’d say he’s golden. So what does a cheese bun taste like?” 

“Primrose, really, must you think only of your stomach?” Katniss shook her head. 

“Girls,” their father said in a stern tone of voice. “It’s near sunset. Upstairs with the lot of you. I swear corralling a dozen baby ducks would be easier.” 

The women headed upstairs. Peeta wasn’t sure, but her father swept a hand for him to follow him upstairs.

Peeta wasn’t sure what he was expecting, hopefully like something out of Khabi Kushi Khabi Gham. They had a small altar where he watched all of the women present the offerings and began to bow their heads. He stood behind quietly observing, but when Katniss began to pray it was like a song and her words that he didn’t understand wrapped around his heart and his lashes fluttered closed and a single tear fell down his face. Song after song her voice combined with that of her father, her mother and sister caused him to realize just how much he wanted to be part of this family, to be loved and accepted. 

He too prayed for a family to want him, to be needed. 

Peeta was so wrapped up in the moment when it was over he opened his eyes to find her mother standing before him with trembling lips, and watery blue eyes.

“Bend down son,” her father said with warmth in his voice. “She’s going to honor you by putting the sindoor on your forehead.” He pointed to his forehead, though his eyes had completely lost the frost. They were filled with admiration and the same warmth he had in his voice. Her father looked at Katniss and nodded as if giving her his blessings. 

Unsure if what he had just seen was real, his eyes went to Katniss,  but Prim said, “Go ahead Peeta, my father has just fallen for you too.” Her voice squeaked with that enthusiasm only a teenager could have. She wiped the tears from her face as well. 

Peeta bent down slightly. Mrs. Everdeen’s hand slipped to the Tarrier and with her ring finger she pressed it into the red dust Katniss’ father called sindoor.

The press of her finger was light. “When my daughter marries you. You will sprinkle this sindor over the part in her hair to symbolize her marriage to you.”

Peeta’s eyes flew to her father who nodded. “Welcome to the family son.” He clasped his back and said. “Now let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

Peeta couldn’t help but grin. He gazed at Katniss who came to him, her smile shy. He was going to follow them, but katniss put her hand on his, then stepped up and placed a small peck on his cheek. Then winked sassily. “I told you they would love you.” 

And like that, his prayers were answered; he now had a family. 

Years later, when he stood in the same position watching his little girl singing the puja, holding the brass tarrier, alongside Katniss. Just as in that memory from years ago he listened to Katniss voice blend with their daughter. Their voices blended in with his father-in-law Rahul, Primrose and her soon to be fiancé. Peeta was grateful that his prayers were answered, the darkness was swept away and light filled his soul.  And he was granted the family he always wanted.

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: three words 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: minagi tsuzuru/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.4k words

𝐚𝐧: In this house we love Tsuzuru, always~ This one’s shorter than what I’d usually write but even so I hope you enjoy! To my fellow Clockwork rankers make sure to get some well deserved rest soon!

You could say with utmost certainty that Minagi Tsuzuru was the perfect boyfriend. As a man he’s hard-working and capable of many things, as a friend he was considerate, kind, and protective; as a boyfriend, he managed to deliver all of those things and more.

Him being attractive didn’t hurt either.

A gentle squeeze on your left hand took you out of your thoughts, but you couldn’t be bothered to focus on your surroundings with Tsuzuru still beside you.

“We’re here already, huh,” you tried not to sound disappointed at the sight of the familiar dormitory, but you must have slipped up somewhere based on the way Tsuzuru looked at you.

“Pfft, we’ll see each other again on campus next week,” he laughed,  turning to face you completely as his unoccupied hand found its way to yours.

“I’m sad our date ended so soon, though,” you replied, looking into his eyes as you swung your arms together, “I just wish we got to spend more time together. I really had fun today.”

His eyes softened, fingers locked more tightly with your own. “I enjoyed today, too.” Silence took over the conversation, and while it wasn’t uncomfortable per se it was clear to you something was missing. Filling in the awkward gap, you leaned in to peck him on the cheek.

That seemed to do the trick— no matter how many times you’ve kissed him the pinpricks of red still appear on his cheeks. You don’t bother stifling your laughter, slowly unclasping your hands as you step backward.

“Let me know when you get home, okay?” With only your fingertips left touching, you reluctantly let go, already upset at the loss of his warmth. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he said quietly, offering up one last smile as he watched you disappear into the building.

As soon as you entered your room you quickly threw yourself onto your bed, groaning in frustration as your face plants itself onto a pillow. Really, practically everything was perfect with Tsuzuru, but lately, you’ve found yourself wanting more.

From the texts exchanged on a daily basis, to the time spent going over his scripts together, to the deep conversations at night going on for hours— you weren’t so dense or insensitive to not realise that his actions reflected the same feelings you have for him.

Actions did speak louder than words,

but somehow, that wasn’t enough.

It slowly ate you up on the inside, from midday daydreams to late-night thoughts on your desire to have him say those three words. Were you making a big deal out of nothing? Was it simply too soon in your relationship? Was it selfish of you to feel so upset?

You flipped around, now lying on your back as you stared at the white nothingness of the ceiling. As the questions continued to float around you shut your eyes tight, willing them to leave your mind.

A buzzing sound coming from nearby rendered you awake, and with sleepy eyes, you gave your bed a pat-down to find the misplaced device. It didn’t take long, your hand coming in contact with a familiar shaky motion.

One look at the caller ID had you smiling instantly. Despite the emotional wreck, you were a while ago, talking with Tsuzuru made those doubts and insecurities vanish. Without a second to spare for hesitance you quickly answered the call.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted, a yawn soon following your words. “Sorry, were you trying to call for a while now?”

Tsuzuru audibly sighed, and for a moment you could almost imagine him rubbing his temples. “A few minutes. Also, it’s technically evening now, actually- did you fall asleep?”

You sat up, hand reached out to pull away your curtains. True to Tsuzuru’s word, the window framed what made for a beautiful painting— an ombre of crimson, orange, and gold as the sun hid from the moon once more.

“I guess I didn’t realise how exhausted I was until I got home,” you said with amusement, “have you seen the sunset today?”

He hummed, your ears picking up on the subaudible crinkling of a paper bag. “I had to run an errand, so I’m walking home just now.”

You continued watching the resplendent sky. It brought you comfort, knowing that he was watching the same sight as you were. Soaking in the peaceful glow, your previous worries began to wash away. You could always just…

“The sunset’s especially beautiful today,” you said, voice less raspy from your slumber but still soft-spoken. “It’d be nice to watch the sunset together sometime.”

“Okay… we’re doing that now, aren’t we?” He chuckled as soon as he heard you huff. You resisted the urge to retort, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t tease him back.

“The sunrise would be nice too… shouldn’t be that hard with how often you stay up, right?” 

Tsuzuru scoffed. “For me? Oh, sure… if you fall asleep before it happens don’t blame me for not waking you up, okay?”

You snorted, wondering if he’d be able to hear the grin on your face somehow.

The two of you entered quietude again, everything still save for the background noise from Tsuzuru’s side of the call. For being only two or three hours apart, the vibe was somewhat different to the same silence as before.

“Tsuzuru?” you waited for his response with bated breath, gathering up all the courage possibly contained in your body. It was a lot harder than you expected— the indecisiveness of how to go about saying it; the uncertainty of his response.

“Yeah? Is something wrong?” Your heart fluttered; he sounded a bit worried all of a sudden, even though nothing in your conversation could have possibly hinted at anything off.

“It’s nothing,” you trailed off for a moment, letting out a shaky breath.

To push through with it or not? If it was too soon, it would make things a bit awkward for a few days; if it wasn’t, then-

“Tsuzuru,” you interrupted whatever he was going to say, resolving your fears and doubts. “I love you.”

Tsuzuru’s breath hitched, yet he didn’t say anything. Seconds pass and you found yourself growing more and more anxious, until the line dropped.

What the fuck?

You dropped down on the bed again, unsure if you were more shocked or frustrated. You just told him you loved him for the first time and he dips? Sure, you understood the possibility of him not responding in kind, or telling you it was too soon— definitely not hanging up on you.

You probably should have said it in person because he wouldn’t be able to escape then.

Minutes pass of you trying to wrap your head around the whole situation, completely and utterly silent until you heard the rapid-fire rapping on your door. You sighed, dragging yourself up and preparing to berate whichever dorm mate of yours was making so much noise.

Instead, you were greeted by Tsuzuru, flushed to the roots of his hair and out of breath. Even though you were still frustrated with him for leaving the call with no explanation, you were still concerned by his sudden appearance.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, letting your annoyance s into your tone. “You can’t just hang up and then-“

“I’m sorry,” he panted out, hastily setting aside his things. “I just had to see you immediately.”

He whispered your name softly, present with more adoration and awe than you’ve ever heard your name pronounced before.

“I was nervous about saying anything. I thought it might have been too soon, I didn’t want to freak you out. Instead, I hurt you in the process.” He stepped inside your room hesitantly, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or angry. When you don’t push him away, he takes one of your hands, holding onto it lightly as though you were fragile.

“I love you,” Tsuzuru said, confidently as though he had never been more sure of something in his life. “I love you more than words could say.”

Your shoulders shook, body quivering slightly as you held back the overflow of emotions you felt. All the anger and insecurity and doubt trickled out of your system until only your affection for Tsuzuru remained.

“Could you say it again? I’d like to hear it in person this time.”

“I love you. I’m in love with you, Tsuzuru.”

Pulling you by the hand he wrapped his arms around you tightly, he replied, “I’m in love with you, too.”

want to order again?

[kandyrezi]

Could I request Yandere headcanons for Satanick and Fumus? Please. I adore how you write.💕💕💕💖💖💖💖

(a/n: thank you so much, nonnie! I’m going to put up the fumus headcanons in another post!)

[ ♡ / ♢ ] yandere!Satanick hcs.

- : - : - : - : - : - : - : - 

(tw: suggestive themes)

» Satanick is a semi-delusional and an obsessive yandere. Although he might have had numerous short-lasting flings and bed warmers in the past, he has never been the type to fall in love easily, but when it does happen, the person at the receiving end of his obsession is in for chaos; he becomes nothing if not devoted in his affections. He considers himself grandiose, he is and has everything anyone could ever want, he’s sure you’ll fall at his feet in no time.

» He would put more effort into wooing you, everything would be carefully planned out. He makes a grand appearance at the doorstep of your residence; wearing an expensive striped suit, a bouquet of purple roses in hand, treating you to the most exquisite of places to introduce you to, later he will take you back to his palace to show you around and really get ‘acquaintanced’ with one another.

» But his plan backfires miserably. You instead throw the flowers back in his face and make your bloodthirsty familiar chase him off of your property. His suit ends up having been torn to pieces, a bite taken out of his leg, and he’s fallen into a puddle, hair soaked in muddy water.

» It’s taking everything in his power to not go back and force you down and put you in your place for what you just did.

» …but not to worry, he’s a patient man! He’s got all the time in the world to pursue and win your heart. If one doesn’t at first succeed, then try again - as those trite words of wisdom go. He likes that you’re making it a challenge for him, it only makes things all the more fun.

» He tries to flatter you a lot, majority of the time with flirty or suggestive one-liners. He loves to trap you into a narrow space with him to make you blush and fidget, seeing how nervous his presence makes you, no matter how many layers of stoic disposition you put affront, he can see it clear as day.

» He doesn’t really like the thought of sharing you with anyone else trying to court you. It’s not that he’s jealous or anything of the sort, he wants all your attention on him before anyone else can get to you. He’ll most likely intimidate and threaten any other rivals with a terrifyingly cheery voice, saying it’d be a shame if he had to toss them over to his subordinates to torture as much as they pleased to get them out of his way. It’s not like they ever stood a chance against someone as resplendent as himself, but it doesn’t hurt to take extra ensure of reassurance.

» Satanick writes you poetry under an anonymous sender, most of it erotic of all the things he’d like to do to you.

» He would obsessively look through your personal belongings to find out anything you might like; he wants to know all there is to know about you. After finding out about the things you like, expect to find many gifts left for you. He might or might not have snuck into your room at one point during his search at night and pause his little quest just to watch you sleep, but shush… your sleeping face is simply beautiful, that’s all there is to it!

» Nothing would be quite as romantic as feeding your lover chocolates while rehearsing words of adoration to one another, if only you would allow him to.

» “Love isn’t a choice, won’t you understand my feelings for you are genuine~?”

» The only response he ends up getting from you is you slapping his hands away, “Get it through your head once and for all: I despise you, you disgusting, twitchy little pig of a man.”

» Ouch, there he is, pouring his heart out to you and you decide to start name-calling him, what a naughty little thing you are. If he had any less self-restraint, he’d punish you right then and there. He feels his walls of patience beginning to crack inch by inch.

» It starts raining in the pitch black world more frequently.

» Satanick’s less likely to kidnap you if you’re a person of higher or divine status, but if you’re one in the masses of less significance, then it’s unlikely anyone will even remember you existed at all once he takes you away to live with him. It’s not like there’s someone more important to you than he is, you’ll see~

» The more you play hard to get, the longer this little game edges on, the more infatuated he becomes. As well as enraged. He feels sick to the point of the taste of vomit convulsing from the back of his throat, stains of purple coat his fingers when he wipes it off of his mouth.

» He looks a bit… different the next time you see him. Gone is the jovial demeanor, the irises glowing purple in his eyes seem eerily too bright to contrast the haughty pouching of his lips. A dark, duller purple cape around his shoulders hooked on the front with a red button. When you try to leave without another thought, he only lurks after you like a shadow and threatens you.

» “You never seem to notice how my heart beats for you. I’ll carve you open and make yours beat for me too if you keep ignoring me.”

» You aren’t so fazed by his menacing presence nor words. If you make the mistake of trying to hit him again, he’ll catch your wrist in a vice grip and push you against the wall, the room darkens until it becomes pitch black and your eyes can’t adjust to anything other than the one in front of you.

» You’ve had your fun shoving, snarling, and spitting at him, now he’s the one cornering you, relishing in the fear with the way your body trembles and eyes widen.

» “Where did that bold bravery go all of a sudden, little rabbit?” he mocks you, pressing himself even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, he has his other hand around your throat – not squeezing, but it’s a warning of what’s to come.

» “When you said you despised me, well… you’re either going to love me now or you’re about to despise me even more, depending on how long it takes.”

» It no longer rains as much in the pitch black world after that encounter.

» There is no begging or bargaining with him once you’re in his grasp. He takes what he wants when he wants.

» Punishments are one of a kind with Satanick, he likes to get a little too creative sometimes, but for the most part favors sexual punishments. He knew he could break your snooty little facade, now that he has your face adorned with ecstasy whilst he holds your thighs close to his sides as he fucks you senseless with you laying beneath him.

» You sometimes swear you hear the sound of someone else when he speaks, and see another person when you look into his eyes, as the trite law goes, being the door a person’s soul, maybe this time quite literally. You wonder if there could possibly have been someone else influencing his sudden, volatile behavior. You don’t surmise you’ll ever find out before he ends up killing you… whoever ‘he’ might be.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Reflections

“Do you think I should change?”

Crowley glanced up from the hotel bathroom mirror where he’d been putting the final touches on his new hairstyle. Aziraphale stood beside him, studying his own reflection.

“If you want, I suppose,” Crowley said slowly, turning back to his work, adjusting the way his red locks fell around his new dark glasses. His hair had finally passed from the awkward stage between “short” and “long,” and to celebrate he’d acquired a new dress, new heels, new everything. The face that looked back at him was almost entirely altered, and he’d been excited to wear it out on the first night of their first proper holiday together. “You don’t ever really change, do you?”

“That’s what I mean. Should I? I haven’t updated my look since shortly after I opened the bookshop.”

That wasn’t exactly true. He’d gone through a whole range of neckties and ascots before settling on the bow tie in the early seventies.

“It’s up to you,” Crowley said as casually as possible. “What are you thinking? A haircut? New shirt?”

“Something a bit more than that.” Aziraphale’s hand smoothed down his front as he studied the old, worn waistcoat.

No, not the waistcoat. The waistline below it.

“Angel, what brought this on?” His voice sounded tenser than he’d intended.

“What? Nothing. I just thought, since you’re always reinventing yourself...” he caught Crowley’s expression. “Don’t make such a fuss, dear, it’s just a body. I’m certain you gained at least ten pounds just for this outfit.”

Crowley ran a hand over his newfound curves - still just a subtle hint of softness beside Aziraphale’s plush form. “Well, yeah,” he admitted uncertainly. “I thought it would look good.”

“And it does,” Aziraphale assured him quickly. “I’ve just been thinking, I haven’t really kept up with standards of beauty, have I?” He turned, looking at himself in the mirror from every angle. “This body shape hasn’t exactly been in style since, oh, the late Renaissance I should think.”

Firmly turning his back on the mirror, Crowley boosted himself to sit on the granite countertop between the two sinks. “Aziraphale. Look at me.” He waited until those blue eyes, looking oddly shy and unsure, met his. “If you want to change how you look, that’s fine. It’s your body. But I don’t want you to think for a moment that you’re anything less than the most beautiful angel ever to walk on Heaven or Earth.”

“Oh, Crowley,” he objected, stepping back. “Really, dear, I’m trying to be serious, not fish for...for flattery.”

“S’not flattery, it’s the truth. I mean, who’s the competition? Gabriel? Michael? Sandalphon?”

“Sandalphon has a very devoted following, I’ll have you know. And, well,” those hands tugged at his waistcoat again, pulling it smooth, wearing away the fabric between the buttons, one anxious worry at a time. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but Gabriel is...in all his forms...”

“A total fake,” Crowley finished. Black-painted nails waved away Aziraphale’s objection. “It’s true. He can be as gaudy as he likes, doesn’t change the fact that he’s rotten and ugly to the core. But you...” Crowley caught Aziraphale’s hand, pulled him close. “You are clever and kind and loving and just a bit...roguish.”

“Roguish?” Aziraphale fought back a smile.

“Alright, fine, you’re an utter bastard in all the best ways.” He pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s hair line, smiling against his forehead. “And that makes you beautiful in a way none of them could ever equal.”

Aziraphale sighed and leaned against him, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist.

“Now, as for appearance,” Crowley rested his chin in Aziraphale’s soft, feathery curls. “Yeah, I change my look a lot. I like changing it. It’s exciting, it’s fun. I’d have a whole new body every week if I could. But that’s me. You, Angel, are different, and that’s fine. You’ve found a body, a look a...an identity that fits you perfectly. And I’ve never seen anyone so comfortable with who they are. So don’t go changing a thing unless you really want to, ok?”

“Alright.” Aziraphale leaned back, and Crowley was relieved to see him smiling again, eyes practically glowing with happiness.

“And, if you do decide you want a change, let me know. I’ve done it all, so who better to give advice, right?” He leaned down and kissed Aziraphale on the cheek, just hard enough to leave a faint but unmistakable lipstick mark. Let the angel find that later.

Crowley hopped back down, turning to look at his reflection again, making sure everything was perfect. He scratched a nail at a tiny smudge of lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

“You know, my dear, you’re beautiful, too,” Aziraphale said, coming to stand beside him.

“I hope so,” Crowley said with a laugh, fixing a strand of hair. “I worked hard enough for it.”

“No I mean...” Aziraphale’s hand came up, not quite touching the dark glasses. “May I?”

Crowley swallowed, but nodded his head. Aziraphale gently pulled the glasses down, away, exposing the one thing Crowley could never change about himself: those yellow, sickly eyes with the narrow pupils. Inhuman. Ugly. He couldn’t quite meet their gaze.

Aziraphale, however, reached up and rested his fingers on Crowley’s temple. “There they are. The loveliest eyes in all Creation.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Crowley groaned, turning away from his reflection again. “They’re horrible!”

“No.” Aziraphale placed a hand on the back of Crowley’s head, tipping it down. Crowley closed his eyes and felt lips gently brush one eyelid, then the other. “They’re unique. They’re beautiful. They are absolutely you, and I have always loved them.”

“They make me look like...like a monster,” he confessed with a shudder.

Aziraphale kept kissing him - bridge of his nose, middle of his forehead, each cheek just below the eye. “You are not - you have never been - a monster. You are my handsome, wily, gentle, devoted friend. You can change the outside as much as you like, but who and what you are underneath is the same as ever.”

“And what’s that?” asked the Serpent of Eden.

“The most resplendent soul it has ever been my pleasure to meet.”

“If you say so,” Crowley grumbled. He wasn’t sure he believed that - Aziraphale seemed determined to find the good in everyone - but the pressure of kisses was more than enough to make him smile. “Now say something nice about my hair. I worked hard on it.”

Aziraphale leaned back, pursing his lips in thought. “It is radiant as the dawn, vibrant as a fire, and as delicate as a sculpture made from the finest glass.”

“Does that mean it looks good?” Crowley asked with a grin.

“My dear, everyone at the restaurant will be incurably jealous of me.” He held the glasses on his palm.

“Jealous of you?” Crowley plucked them up and slid them on his face, relaxing a little to see the world filtered through dark lenses once more.

“Yes, to be walking around with the most charming creature in existence on my arm.”

Aziraphale offered his elbow and, pausing one last time to adjust his dress, Crowley rested his hands on it, pulling close, as he’d wished to do for so many centuries.

With matching looks of utter adoration, they turned and walked away from the mirror.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

So i know how you love writing for Valdo Marx, and I'm fond of him now as well, and not just cuz he's basically robert sheehan.... anyway...hahaha! how bout a plus size reader x jaskier, either already together or not up to you, and then Valdo is there somewhere. And maybe a bit of feral!jaskier! Thank you as always dear heart hope you're well! 💙💚💙

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x Plus Size ReaderWord Count: 2,941Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan @mycat-is-mylove @amirahiddleston a/n: Hello dearest. This went in a direction I was not expecting. I hope that you’re ok with how it went. I had fun writing it and hopefully reading it will be enjoyable too.

“Take me through this plan one more time,” Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s a very simple plan, Geralt. I’m going to escort Y/N to the dance tonight as her wingman, no one we find will be good enough for her because no one on this earth is, I will dance and sing to her and woo her and by the end of the night I will give my big speech about no one being worthy of her but I love her deeply and truly and will spend the rest of my life endeavoring to prove it and she will fall into my arms and the rest is none of your business you cheeky devil,” Jaskier recited. His head was tilted back against the window he perched on, pale blue eyes gazing at the ceiling as if he were watching the scene play out.

“What if she finds someone she fancies,” Geralt asked.

“What?”

Geralt didn’t repeat himself, he just leveled Jaskier with a Look. Jaskier thought over Geralt’s words for a moment, apparently not considering this possible flaw in his plan before now, and then shook his head.

“No, Geralt, don’t be silly. We’ve been traveling with Y/N for months now and no one has even so much as caught her attention a little bit. That’s certainly not going to change now.”

—–

You had to make a change and you had to do it now.

You’d spent months pining after Jaskier, unable to summon the courage to tell him and finding no signs of interest from him. You knew that you could try and force yourself to share those feelings and potentially ruin the friendship, or you could try and move on. The dance seemed the perfect chance and when Jaskier volunteered to help find you a match, well, that was all the answer you needed. You usually dressed to blend in, years of training put into hiding your body or minimizing yourself in any way you could. Tonight, you chose to stand out. First because if you were going to find a new partner you would not waste your time on someone who didn’t see and want all of you. Second because you were feeling a little bold and excited by your choice to pursue someone. The benefit of traveling was that if things went horribly wrong you could just leave the next morning and never return. You hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but the knowledge it could helped bolster your courage. It was gratifying when you saw Jaskier go speechless, mouth agape and sky-blue eyes wider than you’d ever seen them, as you stepped out in the vibrant, emerald green dress. Your hair was plaited back in a simple but attractive way, framing your face in a way that enhanced your looks but did not try to hide its roundness.

“This’ll do then?” you asked teasingly as Jaskier stared at you until Geralt finally thwacked him in the arm to help bring him back to his senses.

“You look absolutely… Geralt I’ve forgotten words oh gods they are my whole livelihood…”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you laughed, blushing a little under his gaze.

“If you don’t take her arm I will,” Geralt hissed to Jaskier, eager to get the evening underway and over with. That snapped Jaskier out of it and he nearly leapt across the room to your side, taking your hand with unparalleled reverence.

“Here’s hoping someone else at court feels the same,” you said. Geralt watched Jaskier’s face freeze, a glimmer of fierce panic in his eyes before he recovered and offered you a smile.

This would be a long night.

—–

Valdo Marx had come to the ball for one reason and one reason alone – spite.

True he had been one of the first to receive an invitation but it was to attend, not perform, a slight he would not forget or forgive anytime soon. He had come to drink their wine and eat their food and scoff at their doubtless subpar performers. He hadn’t come with carousing in mind though he saw flickers of interest in the eyes of many he passed. He couldn’t blame them. He was aware of his effect on people, especially when he looked as resplendent as he did tonight in his black and burgundy attire. His curls were artfully disheveled and he’d smeared just a bit of kohl around his eyes to further emphasize them, not that they needed it. He’d trimmed his mustache and goatee and applied a tasteful amount of patchouli cologne to his neck and wrists. Still, it was all for himself and to know that he had appeared and provided the quality appearance that one could expect from Valdo Marx, even if all he had planned was some smirking and sipping of wine.

And then he saw you.

Valdo’s plans immediately pivoted. He moved from his haughty lounging to standing straight up, pressing out the wrinkles in his doublet and then setting down his goblet as he made his way to you. His eyes never strayed though yours surveyed the hall and he was vaguely aware that you were talking to someone. He didn’t look at their face, briefly taking in the quality cut of their black and cerulean lined attire with an appreciative glance, but when his eyes flicked back to your face it was inclined by the other and he stopped walking.

Jaskier.

Of course fucking Jaskier de Lettenhove, golden boy of Redania, would walk in with the loveliest creature tonight. No matter, Valdo told himself, taking up the chase again even as Jaskier led you onto the dancefloor. You may have arrived with Jaskier, but you would be leaving with him.

—–

“Jaskier if I dance with you all night I won’t find anyone,” you protested, though a traitorous part of yourself that wasn’t as easily swayed loved the feeling of his hand in yours and the way the oceanic eyes never left your face as he led you around the dancefloor.

“You’re right,” Jaskier said, though he kept a tight grip on your hand, “After this dance as ended I shall seek out some good company for you.”

You forced a smile. You’d secretly hoped he may say no, that he wanted to be your only dance partner, but you knew this was just a fantasy and if he really did do it you’d rankle at the unearned possessiveness. Still, you were a simple woman, and you wanted to feel wanted even if just for a moment. After the dance Jaskier did as promised, guiding you off of the floor and setting you up with a goblet of wine before heading out into the fray where he would circle a few times and then return to you. He would take the opportunity to check on Geralt who was where he usually sat during parties, alone and as far away from others as he could with refreshments.

You watched Jaskier’s retreating back and tried not to pout as you worked at finding that vigor you had earlier to find someone.

“It is too early for you to be here,” a voice in an accent you couldn’t immediately placed said. You turned to see a man standing nearby, leaning his long frame against a column and smiling at you with eyes that matched your gown.

“Pardon?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat as his mouth curled into a smile.

“Persephone is supposed to stay with Hades until spring, but here we still have a whole winter’s month left and yet you stand before us,” he replied in a voice that was so low it was nearly a purr. He spoke the words quietly as though it were a secret. As though he truly had spied a goddess out of place and was trying to coax her back before the other mortals caught on. You laughed and moved closer.

“Let me guess, you fancy yourself Hades?” you teased, the courage you’d lost coming back to you.

“Alas it seems I do not have that honor. But I shall let you cast me in the roll you see fit for me to play,” he answered smoothly. You stared at him thoughtfully as the bottle green eyes boldly, but not lecherously, swept the length of your body. You felt seen by this man in a way you hadn’t in some time. It scared you. You liked it.

“Eros,” you replied. He laughed, caught off-guard but delighted by your response.

“Indeed?” he said, “Oh you must tell me your justification.”

“You look the sort to tempt maidens in all kinds of trouble,” you answered, taking a sip of wine. His eyes fell to you lips as you licked a drop from the rim of the goblet and you knew he was wondering how the wine would taste if he kissed it from your lips.

“Tempting makes it sound like there’s some sort of coercion. I guarantee every maiden I’ve met was an eager devotee of my temple, love,” he replied, raising a hand using his slender, soft fingers to brush a lock of hair out of your face. He glanced up, something catching his attention, and his lovely features grew a little bit fiercer and more wicked and fool that you were, you only found yourself more enticed.

—–

“Geralt you were worried about nothing,” Jaskier insisted, though he addressed himself more than his friend who stared ahead with an expression that was a cross between bemusement and foreboding.

“Indeed,” Geralt said.

“Yes! We have had some lovely danced together and I left her with wine. Her favorite kind, I’ll have you know,” Jaskier insisted.

“And Valdo Marx was a part of your plan?” Geralt asked, eyes still gazing ahead. Jaskier scoffed and glanced to where Geralt look, opening his mouth to offer some witty retort but then he did a doubletake. You were standing inches away from Valdo whose eyes caught Jaskier’s. He looked delighted at the ashen pallor Jaskier’s face took. The color soon returned with vigor and before Geralt could rise from the table, Jaskier was halfway across the floor.

—–

“Y/N,” Jaskier said, appearing at your side so suddenly you squeaked in surprise.

“Jaskier!” you exclaimed, “Good gods where did you come from?”

“Hades,” Valdo murmured.

“I just saw you talking with an old acquaintance and wanted to ensure that you were properly introduced,” Jaskier said coolly, his words directed at Valdo more than you.

“Allow me,” Valdo said, interjecting quickly, “Valdo Marx, bard of Cidaris.”

He took your hand and raised it to his lips though Jaskier looked at him as though he may physically tear his lips from his face if they touched any part of you. You looked between the two of them confused.

“Wait, you’re Valdo Marx? Oh Jaskier he’s nowhere near as odious looking as you said. Quite the opposite in fact,” you said. Valdo shot Jaskier a squinty glare which was duly returned.

“And Valdo, I know some things you’ve said about Jaskier which were equally false. And things you’ve done. Did you know that your little stunt of spreading that lie about Jaskier and the pox cost him a job which cost us the chance at staying in an inn one night?” you asked, jabbing your finger in his chest.

“If I had any idea that you were with him I never would have done such a thing,” he replied emphatically.

“Y/N come, let’s have a dance,” Jaskier said, taking one of your hands.

“Allow me to explain myself further,” Valdo implored, taking the one you had pressed against his ribcage, “I promise I’m not as bad as I’ve seemed. Or acted. And in some ways I can get so much worse.”

His eyes glinted with a promise that made your stomach flip and Jaskier’s insides burn. He roughly pulled you next to him, his hand moving to wrap a more possessive arm around your waist.

“Y/N came with me,” he snarled at Valdo.

“She’s leaving with me.” Valdo snarled back.

“If you’re quit done fighting over me like two dogs with one bone I have something to say,” you interjected, though a part of yourself you weren’t proud of enjoyed watching these men inch ever closer to a physical altercation over you. They looked at you expectantly though whenever their eyes caught each other’s they squinted into a glower.

“Jaskier I did come with you but it was with the express intent to find someone because gods knows you aren’t interested and it’s not fair of you to try and decide who I speak with now,” you argued. Valdo preened as Jaskier stammered a bit under your glare. This was not going how he expected at all.

“I am,” he said quickly, “Y/N, believe me when I tell you that I am.”

“Oh sure because now Valdo is here and it’s a matter of pride,” you argued.

“No,” he implored take your hand up again with his, the sky blue eyes gazing into yours as they had earlier that day and as you thought about it, as they had many times before though you’d dismissed them as a foolish trick of your own love for him. “Y/N I have loved you since nearly the very day we met. I didn’t know how to tell you or if I should and, I must confess, I thought I had more time.”

“Because you didn’t think another man would be interested?” you asked, hurt plain on your face.

“Gods no, because you didn’t seem interested in others,” he explained.

“Well why would you offer to help me find a partner if you wanted me?” you demanded.

“She raises a good point. A pretty shit plan if I may say so myself. Seems the lady would fare better with a smarter, more direct partner,” Valdo cut in.

“Shut it,” Jaskier bit out fiercely before turning his face back to you, tender once more, “It was, admittedly, a plan that sounded better in theory. I was going to do this whole elaborate speech about no one being worthy of you – myself included – but how much I wanted to try and work at it for as long as you’d let me.”

The sincerity in his eyes and the words you’d wanted to hear for so long brought a tear to your eye. If he had done this five minutes before it would have been the easiest, quickest answer. But he hadn’t, and you found yourself in the unprecedented position of feeling torn between two men. This always sounded exciting and enviable in stories but now that you stood here you just felt frozen.

“Pretty works, Jaskier, perhaps the first you’ve ever spoken. But the fact remains that you have had months to make these feelings known and didn’t whereas I identified her the moment my eyes laid on her as someone I must know. And I didn’t wait for silly games. So I ask you, Y/N, what would you rather have? Someone who goes after what they want when they want it, or someone who plays the long game, taking for granted that you’ll be hanging around waiting for them?” Valdo asked.

“I do love you Jaskier,” you said. You felt Valdo drop your hand gently and you turned to face him, “But.”

The word hung in the air as both men stared at you breathlessly.

“But I cannot deny that I’m drawn to Valdo as well,” you confessed, feeling oddly guilty, “And I know it’s not how it’s supposed to be but… It’s true.”

“Perhaps a sampling,” Valdo suggested.

“What?”

“You spend an evening seeing what Jaskier has to offer and you spend an evening seeing what I can do and you make your decision,” he explained.

“You’re not a platter of meats,” you scoffed. He cocked an eyebrow at you.

“I could be,” he purred. You felt Jaskier’s arm tighten around your waist.

“Unless you’re worried that I would outperform you. Yet again,” Valdo said to Jaskier. Jaskier gave a sharp, humorless bark of laughter.

“Gods no. If anything I think of you and your poor, tender feelings. I fear you would never bring yourself to perform again after being so soundly shown up,” Jaskier sneered.

It wasn’t ladylike or right or moral but you had an idea. A scandalous, daring, wicked idea. Then again, you reasoned with yourself, men did it all the time.

“Perhaps this can be settled,” you said. Again two pairs of eyes landed on you, blazing green and cool blue. “Perhaps…”

“A fuck off?” Jaskier offered. Valdo rolled his eyes at the vulgarity but you brightened and nodded, grateful someone had spared you saying it. “Well I have no reason to fear it.”

He looked at Valdo challengingly and your heart pounded in your throat. The man looked back at you and as his eyes slowly scanned your body again you felt Jaskier’s grip tighten so hard it would likely leave marks. The idea thrilled you.

“Name the time and place,” Valdo said, “It will be an unequivocal pleasure showing you up yet again.”

—–

Geralt watched the three of you walk away, Jaskier’s arm around your waist and Valdo taking up your free hand. He debated with himself for a full five minutes about whether or not he should follow. If what was happening what he thought was happening, he didn’t want to be anywhere near it. Then again, there was an even chance that it would end in attempted murder. He took a long pull from his ale and shook his head. You could handle yourself.

[allycryz]

Apodyopis for Nerys and Thancred? (Or for Nerys and Haurche if that fits better for you)

Set during the Astral Era quests, probably some time between Ramuh and Leviathan

PG-13 for sexual thoughts/implications and an implied foursome; brief food mention

WoL x Thancred

--

It takes the better part of an hour to end up perched on Ahtstahl's lap with Greinswyf seated beside them.

Contrary to rumor, being Warrior of Light does not lead to a flood of eager would-be lovers. It leads to some, she won’t lie. But most respond with deference, caution, careful handling. As if at any point someone else will notice and they shall be in trouble.

What helps is that she knows these two somewhat. They have all worked together on settlement construction efforts, trapping creatures for meat and parts, being invited to the same revels in the pub. There is the easy familiarity of those who have seen each other often without deeper intimacy, save appreciative glances between her and the couple.

Nerys now leans against Ahtstahl's broad chest, watching the circle of dancers about the aetheryte. A breeze whispers cold into her bare arms, causing the fine hairs to stand up on end. The combined warmth of her companions helps some against the chill.

It isn't correct to call it unseasonal for a Spring Festival. The last calamity changed Mor Dhona to where it’s possible to experience all the climates in a single day.

Ahtstahl runs the backs of his large sage-colored hands over her arms. “And where is your coat, Warrior of Light?” His tone is light, caressing around the syllables of the title.

“What need have I of a coat?” She asks, smirking. “With two such fine companions to keep me warm.”

Greinswyf laughs, low and throaty. She gathers the end of one of the pink ribbons streaming from Nerys’ flower crown, wrapping it about her index finger. “Smoothly done.”

The merriment produces her own chuckle. “I thought so. I haven’t lost my touch?”

“Not as far as I can tell. Though I would be convinced if you buy the next round of mulled wine…”

“Absolutely not,” says Ahtstahl, his voice rumbling through his chest and into Nerys. “Don’t let her guilt you, Nerys-”

“Damn.” The Roegadyn woman grins at them both. “You two shall not let me have any fun.”

“-because,” he continues as if his partner hasn’t interjected. “I plan on her buying us breakfast.”

They all break into laughter. Three pairs of hands slide upon each other, finding palms and skin to fit against.  Nothing too indiscreet, as they sit on one of the benches dragged out in front of The Seventh Heaven. Not that the dancers or onlookers pay them much mind. The glances her way are more likely to be curiosity about the Slayer of Primals than anything else.

A pleasing, scandalous thrill goes through her all the same as Grienswyf rubs a gentle circle into her knee.

“Do you two dance?” She asks. “Not that I am inclined to get up any time soon.”

“Only to welcome the King,” Ahtstahl says. One of his hands wanders to smooth against her hip over the fluttery linen dress she bought for the occasion. The warmth of his palm is steady and strong against the layers of pink fabric and white petticoats

“...Beg pardon?” Nerys glances about the gathered crowd, at the mingling throng up near the markets. Most decked in their best clothes with crowns of flowers or leaves upon their heads. A fine assortment of shining faces but no King among them. As the only King I know is Moogle Mog XII, surely they don’t mean…

“The King of Spring,” says Greinswyf. “They pick someone every year to usher in the season and lead us all in dance. And if he, she, or they pick you as their first dance partner; your year shall be a blessed one.”

“Oh.” ‘Tis not at all like the equinox festivities in the Shroud, given to somber offerings during the day and a raucous bacchanal during the night. There is no figurehead or even a singular master of ceremonies.

There is a masked committee of twelve Gridanians who watch over the festivities. They ensure no ill comes to anyone celebrating as the frenzy of liquor and dance reaches its zenith. Usually they are Wood Wallers or high-ranking Lancer’s Guild members.

“Who is it this year?”

“We find out together. I had my money on your Minfilia, but I see that is not to be.” Greinswyf gestures to one of the stalls set-up along the walkway between aetheryte and market. Minfilia–resplendent in an artfully draped blue gown and matching blooms in her hair–peruses the wares. Beside her, Papalymo speaks with emphatic hand gestures. He wears his usual mode of dress, but she can just make out a red flower pinned to his collar.

Between duties, she had been somewhat aware of the residents descending upon the wilds for the last moon. Bringing back as many flowers as they could find. Demand fast outpaced supply, though.

Her own carnations and lilacs are from the Weaver’s Guild, created in Ul’dah before arriving here. She has Yda to thank for it, one day rousing everyone at dawn to stumble to the market and make their reservations. Not really understanding what was happening, Nerys had gone along for the chance to buy some pretty. 

Hm. Perhaps it’s her? I haven’t seen her all day.

“There’s so much activity,” says Nerys. “I cannot tell yet who is missing and not just out of view near Rowena’s.”

“And the King has a court, to keep people guessing. Money rides on it, of course.”

Soon as the words leave Greinswyf, the musicians ease their song to an end. The dancing slows with it, the concentric circles of linked hands shifting into a teeming mass. From her vantage point, Nerys sees the pan flute player set down his instrument. Up he stands, picking up a large, curling ram’s horn. It gleams in the sunlight, ivy twined about it.

He raises it to his lips. What emerges are notes so clear and strong and loud, they ring out across the settlement. A hush settles over the crowds. The only sounds, the horn and the steps of festival-goers answering the summons; descending from the upper markets to join the rest.

“There,” Ahtstahl says, nudging her chin to look at the North Silvertear entrance.

A procession marches in, the crowds parting to give space and everyone else a better view. Nerys hears snatches of conversation as eight attendants lead the way. The court then, their presence ruining several bets placed on the King’s identity. Both Yda and Hoary Boulder are among them (she in scarlet and white, he in black and gold), their linked hands swinging merrily. 

Two yellow Chocobos enter, bridles festooned with ribbon and ivy. Behind them, they pull a cart upon which is a magnificently carved chair. It looks like it was hewn directly from an ancient tree, the branches of its back reaching into the heavens. And upon it-

“Knew it,” says Ahtstahl.

Thancred lounges upon the chair, one leg thrown over an arm. An elegant crown of bare twigs and verdant ivy perches upon his white hair, an apt combination representing the meeting of winter and spring. As they near the aetheryte, he sits up and gets to his feet in front of the throne.

Oh.

Nerys has seen Thancred naked a dozen times now. She saw him so yesterday. She has near memorized every ilm of his body. And yet. And yet.

Unlike the loose clothes he favors, his emerald tunic conforms to the line of his chest and nips in at the waist. The high collar brushes the ends of his hair and opens enough to show off throat and collarbone. He turns and the umber trousers could better be called a second skin for the way they fit him, showing off the pert curve of his rump and the muscles of his thighs. The fawn-colored boots cannot mold to his calves but they do whatever the closest thing is.

Her mouth goes dry. She cannot look away. Cannot do anything but imagine sliding her hands between the tight fit of cloth and abdomen. Peeling down those trousers and baring the curve of hip, pressing her mouth against it.

“You as well?” Ahtstahl murmurs. “The way that man attracts all eligible persons is downright uncanny.”

“You are one to talk,” says Greinswyf. 

“I did not say it was a bad thing.”

Nerys is somewhat aware of the world moving around her, of three hands clasping her waist and keeping her balance. Only when her feet touch the ground, does she realise her companions have stood and brought her up with them.

Thancred’s gaze turns, catching her just as she loses herself again in the tantalizing skin over his pulse. His smirk turns knowing, and he winks. She shall never hear the end of this. (If he promises to wear this outfit often and let her imagine doing all sorts of things to him in it...he may tease her for the rest of time.)

“Go,” Ahtstahl touches her shoulder. “See if you might claim a dance.”

She turns to them, mortified. “I’m not about to drop the two of you.”

“And you shan’t.” Greinswyf leans in to kiss her cheek. “Should you not make it back, we shall have you for breakfast some other time. I promise.” 

Nerys walks towards the cart, guilt lingering. But their smiles are so encouraging and she does not doubt their sincerity and...yes, she does want to dance with the King. This King with his insouciant smirk and arrogant lift to his chin. This King who looks at her now in a way that says of course I shall be rewarded with a dance from you. Such is my due.

He jumps down from the cart and strides towards her. She fixes her resolute gaze on the blinding beauty of his visage rather than the temptations below his chin. She must look too determined because his shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter.

“Your majesty,” she says, curtsying before him. Her skirts and petticoats swish about her knees.

“Fair warrior,” he purrs, extending a hand. “Will you usher in spring with me?”

“I am honored.” She takes his hand and he pulls her close, his other arm curling about her waist. It is the cue the musicians need and there is a scramble as pairs and groups form, trying to make room for each other while also watching the King and his partner.

It is all a bit chaotic, more teeming mass than field of dancers. For a long while they hover confined to one spot, her close against him, The velveteen of his tunic soft against her arm. Nerys recognizes the song, that the musicians are tripling the verse’s length. Likely aware that no one shall be ready to dance before the song’s usual end.

“Well,” Thancred says, looking up at her. “You have not told me how well I look.”

Nerys clears her throat. “Green suits you, and the crown is quite nice. I think you make a handsome King.”

His brown eyes dance. “Somehow that does not match the molten heat of your gaze when you first beheld me. Tell me, what was your initial reaction?”

“I have not seen you in clothes so well tailored before.” If he is going to tease her, she will tease back. One cannot be bullied, even when speaking to royalty. “My compliments to your weaver.”

Space opens at last, allowing his highness to begin the dance in earnest, as is his duty. They whirl around the aetheryte, him leading her in a complicated figure she did not know herself capable of. There is an art to guiding your partner when they are unfamiliar with the steps. Whoever taught him should be proud.

He spins her away and catches her again, hands about her waist and sliding north and his knees bending just so. She follows his cue and hops straight upward, helping him lift her twirling into the air. Down she comes, wrapping her arms about his shoulders.

“Are my clothes why,” he says, touching her cheek to tilt her face down while he rises up on tiptoe. “You were imagining all sorts of wicked things when you saw me? Don’t deny it. All this time, I only needed to wear such garments to stir such naughty thoughts.” 

“I wasn’t-I didn’t-” She sputters. Drops her voice to a whisper “I have told you far naughtier things. I have done far naughtier things-”

“I know.” He kisses her cheek and spins her again. Catches her again. “But never so publicly. I rather like it.”

Nerys laughs, shaking her head. “His majesty is wicked. But I find I don’t mind, even when he tries to fluster me in public.”

“Your highness is glad.” The music, stretched out as long as possible, winds down. Thancred bends over her hand, kissing the air above it. Drops his voice. “My duties call me away. Wickedly, I like the idea of leaving you in suspense.”

“Cruel, cruel king.” And he is not far off, because she would like to pull him into some dark corner or into their rooms to pay private homage to his royal beauty. That she cannot is maddening. “What shall I do?”

He steps back and bows. “You still have your eyes and imagination. I hope this helps.”

The King of Spring walks away in such a manner that brings attention to legs and rump, molded so perfectly by his clothing. She is not the only appreciative glance. Ahtstahl is correct: it truly is uncanny how easily he can attract all and sundry.

The trick is, deciding just how she will pay him back.

--

The door is unlocked when she returns, arms full of a morning feast fit for an army. She finds Ahtstahl and Grienswyf in their kitchen, blearily watching a kettle boil. Neither have dressed beyond pants. 

It's a lovely sight.

"I recognize those bags," Ahtstahl says, gesturing. The blue paper bags are streaked with grease and she quickly places them upon the table. Yael’s foodstuffs cost double anyone else’s and require waiting in a long line. But it has always, always been worth it.

Grienswyf sets to work pulling the crimped pastries bursting with egg and cheese from the bags and putting them on plates. As the aromas flood the kitchen, she moans aloud in delight.

"Now that, dear Grienswyf, is a sound I shall never tire of..."

Thancred steps out of the bedroom, hair damp from a shower. He has redonned his royal garments and they are just as delectable now as they were yesterday. Perhaps moreso. Until last evening, he did not have bite marks decorating his throat and clavicle.

The sight of them is near enough to reawaken her desires, even after the night’s exertions.

Thancred smirks. "Poor Nerys, running errands to satiate our hunger while she looks at us ravenous."

"I can scarce believe it," Ahtstahl says, wandering over to Thancred. Rubbing his hip. The Hyur man leans into the touch. "After all the ways she had you screaming last night, Thancred, and still ready to go."

"One must give the king his due," Nerys says, unable to keep from smirking. Very aware of Greinswyf herding her towards the others. "Wait, won't the food get cold?"

"Let it get cold," says Thancred. "You danced with me, you are meant to have a blessed year. We must start it off right." 

Far be it from me to defy a king, she thinks, submitting to his will as he tugs her down to his mouth. 

Breakfast can wait.