All right, have some fluff for these two FOR ONCE. :P (Ft. the Flower Power Trio aka @voidnoodles‘ Peti and @seckritlab‘s Rosa because there’s no fluff without those two.)
As usual, making assumptions about what happens beyond the extended demo so forgive any misconceptions.
While she had found that much of the gossip surrounding Duke Lyon of Jiyel, chief among those his cold, unapproachable heart, had been proven to be patently false, the rumors of his infamous lack of dancing skills were far from spurious. Perhaps due in part to his considerable height and surely due to his own lack of experience, the good Duke could really only be described as mediocre at best, assuming one was extremely generous in their assessment.
Unfortunately for him, the Ambassador’s Ball was not an event he could hide from, and most certainly included the time-honored and international tradition of waltzing.
From her position by the refreshments, Lady Camellia spotted him amongst the crowd, a task made easier courtesy of his tendency of towering over those around him. He had managed to avoid the young ladies in search for dance partners, it seemed, in favor of his usual tradition of remaining ensconced in a corner, but given the mildly disapproving looks the ambassador was sending his way, it would not last.
Particularly once she noticed the mischievous looks that Rosa was also directing at him.
Before she could move, however, Peti spoke at her shoulder, sudden enough that she nearly spilled her wine. “Is it just me, or does Rosa look extremely excited about seeing your Duke on his own?”
Lia hid a grimace with some difficulty. “No, it is certainly not just you; she looks far too happy for my comfort, and doubtless Lyon’s as well.”
“Then I believe that makes it your honor bound duty to go rescue him, no?” Before she could reply, a quick hand snagged her glass while another shoved her forward into the thong of delegates.
By the time she regained her equilibrium enough to glance back over her shoulder, Peti had disappeared with her drink. Naturally. Sighing, she picked her way across the crowded ballroom towards her betrothed.
“Duke Lyon.” She sank into a small curtsy, holding back a chuckle as he started before relaxing.
“Lady Camellia.” The reply was accompanied by something resembling a smile, his eyes softening ever so slightly. “I hope the ball—”
“Lia! And Duke Lyon, of course.” To her disappointment, though not her surprise, Rosa had elected to join them without a moment of hesitation, flinging an arm around her shoulders without a care in the world. Then again, the fact that her presence alone would not be enough to deter Rosa from her favored pastime of teasing Duke Lyon was no great shock to anyone involved.
Judging from the expression on the duke’s face and his audible exhale, he had arrived at the same conclusion. “Lady Rosalinde.”
Other than a faint tightening of her mouth, even the dreaded full name went unanswered; whether it was from the ball or from her betrothed’s presence, Rosa was in a most delighted of moods. It was enough to send a frisson of fear up her spine, especially when she gave no sign of abandoning the… conversation, if the one-sided chatter about the attendees and dancing could even be called that.
It seemed that a little more would be required.
“Duke Lyon.” At her side, Rosa’s mouth snapped shut with an almost audible click of teeth, but she ignored it with the skill a long six weeks of experience had given her, not even bothering to spare her friend a second glance. “I believe I promised you a dance?”
“Indeed.” If he were any other man, she might have suspected the acquiescence to be token but she knew him well enough to see the glint of affection and perhaps even genuine appreciation in his eyes. “If I may call upon that now?”
She smiled. “Of course, Your Grace.” Hiding a smirk, she took his proffered hand, this time sparing a moment to peek at her visibly disappointed friend.
As he led her away, Lyon bowed his head. “Please excuse us, Lady Rosalinde.”
His eyes fairly glinted with satisfaction, an expression that soon faded as they approached the floor and he brought her into closed position with a posture that was just a little too tense. She carefully slid her hand to rest on his shoulder blade, gentle but steady against the tightly wound muscles, and frowned.
“Lyon.” Her voice was soft, but in the corner of the room, the string ensemble was quiet, lone instruments playing climbing and falling intervals in discordant rhythms. When he met her gaze, she smiled, loosening her hold slightly. “We need not dance if you do not wish to. The strings are still tuning. We have time.”
To her surprise, he only offered her a small but genuine smile as he settled his hand on her back and drew her closer. “It is true that I am not the fondest of dancing, as I have no doubt many are aware, but I have no intention of forcing you to break your promise, nor, I believe, retract from your enjoyment of the ball. And if I am not mistaken, you are quite fond of dancing.”
To be so full of affection that speaking was impossible was an expression that Lia had seen many times, often in the most sordid of romance novels, without understanding, but in that one moment, she knew exactly what they meant.
He said nothing, only squeezing her hand. For a brief moment, he seemed to look over her shoulder before he drew a deep breath and relaxed.
As if on cue, the musicians started their brief introduction and they began to move with the crowd. She stepped forward, watching as he shifted around her before spinning her around, each step made with careful precision. Still, despite the concentration clear in his movements, in the rigidity of his arms, he kept his gaze on their surroundings, a careful eye watching for unexpected collisions. Except, she noticed, for those moments when it seemed almost as if he were sneaking glances at her face.
She caught his eye and, for a moment, he seemed to stumble, but he caught himself, the hints of a flush lighting his cheeks as he led her into a simple twirl. As she slid smoothly back into his arms, she met his gaze, smiling wider, and as his face softened, his body loosening in equal measure, it was impossible to look away.
It wasn’t until he blinked, a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, that she realized the last strains of the final chord was drifting away in the night air and they had come to a stop, his hand steady and gentle on her back. A rare, tender smile curved his mouth, shrinking but not disappearing in the face of the onlookers’ applause, and she couldn’t have torn her gaze away if she wanted to.
A soft cough made her jump and she turned to find an oddly satisfied-looking Princess Cordelia smiling at them, a hint of mischief in her eyes.
“A beautiful waltz, Your Grace. Lady Camellia.”
To her surprise, Lyon offered a small bow. “Thank you, your highness.”
She curtsied, but before she could say anything, the princess dropped into an answering curtsy and hurried away, leaving her with a still-flushed Duke Lyon.
Clearing her throat, she turned, gathering the shreds of her composure and willing her voice into some semblance of calm. “Thank you for the dance, Duke Lyon.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he brought her hand to his lips, his breath ghosting over her bare skin. “It was my pleasure.”
20. "Where on EARTH did you get that sweater?" Kryn/ Marr
Marr strolls - well, stalks … struts, really, Darth Marr is not known for strolling - out of their bedroom, making his way past a gaping Kryn on his way to pour a cup of caf.
It’s the holiday week leading up to Life Day, and in a nod to the festivities of the season, he shakes a bit of holiday spice into his mug, followed by a few drops of vanilla and just a touch of some rum-flavored dreamer before stirring it all together. Wrapping his hands around the now-hot cup, he settles next to Kryn on the large, comfy couch. “Good morning, qilitzarai.”
Kryn opens her mouth. Closes it.
“It’s exceedingly rare you have nothing to say, my love.”
“Where among the seven hells of Arashakana did you find that sweater?”
He looks down at the well-crafted but garish sweater. It’s just a touch too small across the shoulders and if he’d had his way he might have made it a bit longer. “It was a gift from a subject. For the holiday,” he adds, entirely unnecessarily given the nerfs wearing bells - actual bells, he jingles when he moves - parading across the front of it.
“Did you finally go through that box of things people send you?” Kryn grins. “I thought you hated that box.”
Ordinarily, he does prefer to ignore the box of random gifts - much unlike Kryn, who goes through both hers and his, picking out things to keep and issuing directives to send thank you notes on their behalf - but he does dearly love keeping her on her toes. And … maybe it wouldn’t kill him to pay more attention to the damn box once in awhile.
“It was on the top,” he finally says in answer to her question. “Don’t read too much into it. I just feel if someone is going to take that much time to make something, I could wear it at least once.”
“You’re a softie,” she chuckles. “But I won’t tell anybody.”
I HEARD YOU NEEDED SOFT STUCKY im here to help! So. I've got this hc that one of the ways that Bucky relaxes is by dancing. And we all know that Steve can't dance/never really learned? So after everything that happened???? Bucky finally teaches Steve how to dance and when they both need to know the other is there?? Just softly swaying while holding each other (I hope you feel better love! ❤️)
omgg i just see them swaying along to whatever’s on the radio in their kitchen, the sun streaming in, and the song switches to something more upbeat but it’s okay, it’s okay, they just keep doing what they’re doing because neither want to move
Snowed in, only one bed, fluffy pjs and hot cocoa for Theron/JK or Jace/Satele
When he makes his way back to the bed, holding a carefully balanced tray of what is hopefully enough hot cocoa to counteract the blizzard outside, it’s to find that his warm spot has been usurped by one, far too comfortable looking, Sergeant Furrybottom. He frowns at their shaggy rug of a dog before first trying to command, then cajole, and finally put down the tray and bodily push him off the bed to no avail.
Satele, of course, only emerges from her cocoon long enough to snag a mug of hot cocoa before burying herself back under the blankets with a snicker.
Send me an AU and a pairing and I will write a 3 sentence fic!
TINA!!!!!!!!!!! CAN YOU DO THAT ONE PROMPT ON YOUR LIST WHERE ITS LIKE "what do you mean we can't get a puppy?" for Jace/ Satele? ** please dont be pressured to do that pairing, you can just pick any one if that one isn't having it**
So I can’t do this for the A New Dawn AU because they already got a dog, so let’s go for @inquisitorhotpants‘ Sartoris-verse Jace/Satele instead. :D
(We’re two days out from Valentine’s day but shhhhhhh still holiday prompts.)
Over the course of her not-insignificant life, Satele has seen many unbelievable things, most of which apparently tended to involve one Jace Malcom, in some way or another.
This time is no different.
To be fair, she can only admit that she has brought it on herself; she’s the one who chooses to spend time with him. She agreed to give their relationship, such as it was, another try. She cares for him, a fact that hasn’t changed over the course of several decades and likely won’t ever.
But still. Her affection for him none withstanding, a heated debate with him in the largest marketplace on Coruscant energetic enough that any anonymity they might have had has completely evaporated must be one of the strangest situations she’s been in.
The poor shopkeeper appears to be equally discomfited, though that may be more to do with the Supreme Commander of the Republic’s forces and the Grand Master of the Jedi Order arguing over the merits of adopting a puppy than anything else.
As it is, it’s not until she notices that a crowd has formed around them that she relents enough to shepherd him into the building, if only to escape the dumbfounded eyes of the Coruscanti elite. Much to her chagrin, Jace’s excitement and consequent delighted shuffle does little to dissuade the general disbelief and she can only shake her head, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, as she enters behind him.
Said urge only grows as she watches him roam around the small shop with all of the exuberance of a five-year-old, pausing to marvel at the tiny ouranus kittens before rushing off to examine the domesticated jakrabs. The shopkeeper can only hurry after him, bewilderment warring with propriety in his mannerisms, while she walks behind them, arms crossed.
Of course, he pauses beside the dogs, kneeling down to be at eye-level with the one pressing itself against the transparisteel towards him, a shaggy little thing that seems to be more hair than animal. It was the subject of their heated debate outside and she can tell even before he puts a hand on the transparisteel and raises his head towards her…
“Jace.” She waits until he’s entirely focused on her… and until she’s steeled herself for his inevitable look of crushing misery. “No, we’re not getting a puppy for Life Day. Stop. Asking.”
Even prepared as she is, the sheer similarity between Jace’s expression and that of the creature beside him is enough to crumble her resolve; despite the number of times she’s seen it in recent years, mostly on hopeful padawans and the man currently before her, she’s never truly understood the meaning of the “puppy dog face” until now.
One she was expecting but against two sets, she simply has no chance.
He knows her well enough to recognize it the moment she relents, and is reasonable enough to not gloat about it directly to her face, though his beaming expression would be almost as bad were it not so endearing.
Instead, she only shakes her head and turns away to hide her smile as she watches him greet the newest member of their household.
