#like its fall and it's time for red to reign supreme

[allyricas]

Does anyone else's fave Taylor album change with the seasons?

[rebelfell]

bells will be ringing

crush!steve harrington x fem!reader x fwb!eddie munson

The annual Harrington Christmas Party is an elegant affair, complete with decorations, fancy food and flowing libations. But when your friend-slash-fuck buddy Eddie tires of you and Steve dancing around your burgeoning feelings for one another…he offers a creative solution.

Part One┃Part Two

18+, MDNI 8k

cw: MMF, allusions to poverty and implied family strife, light alcohol and weed use, kinda mean/crass Eddie, semi-public fingering/oral (f receiving), r’s hair gets pulled once.

The Harrington’s were white light people.

There wasn’t a single inch of their stately home not adorned in festive finery for their annual Christmas party. It was all silver candlesticks with cream-colored tapers, deep red ribbons tied into bows and hung at perfectly spaced intervals, long garlands of rich greenery draped along the banisters—real as shit and smelling like a goddamn pine forest.

It was a far cry from what you and Eddie knew growing up next door to one another way on the other side of town. For you two, it was scrawny and half-dead trees purchased at a discount as close to Christmas as possible when their vendors were just trying to unload them, covered in a hodgepodge of homemade ornaments and faded multicolored lights, only about half of which worked half the time. When your families could afford a tree, that was.

The Harringtons’ own stood at the far end of the house, glowing bright as a nuclear reactor with seemingly endless strands of bright white lights wound around its branches. It was methodically decorated with matching red, silver and gold baubles, each one hung precisely in place and polished to gleaming perfection. 

Elegant. Proper. Pristine.

The party was already well underway by the time you arrived, Steve nowhere to be found in the sea of people. They all stood together in clumps, exchanging jovial smiles that pushed up rosy cheeks, the women cooing over each other's outfits and jewelry while the men swapped stories about their quarterly earnings. Weaving through the throngs, cater waiters floated past carrying trays loaded with hors d’oeuvres and tall glasses of shimmery, bubbly liquid.

It made you and Eddie glance around, furtive and unsure as you skulked into the foyer. The two of you might as well have been invisible for all the attention anyone paid you.

“See Steve anywhere?” you asked, peering deeper inside the house.

The former stud of Hawkins High had always been easy to spot in the hallways of his former domain, seemingly towering over everyone even after he stopped sporting that gravity-defying bouffant hairstyle. Those days were long gone now, but an occasional glimmer of his old self would still shine through, reminding you of when King Steve reigned supreme.

“Nope, nowhere,” Eddie grumbled. “I told you this was a mistake.”

His warm breath on your ear as he leaned in to whisper in it had your head snapping to the  side. Some of the snow that had just started to fall outside dusted his dark, unruly curls and he still had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, as though he wanted to be ready to turn heel and run at the first opportunity. You’d seen him look more relaxed about to shoplift.

“What do you mean?” 

“Look around, sweetheart. See if you can spot what doesn’t belong.”

It was kind of irritating how right he was. Everyone else in attendance tonight looked perfectly at home in this pretty picture. It was all business partners and their wives, clients who probably made more in a year than you or Eddie would hope to see in your entire lifetime, other miscellaneous friends and fellow members of the Hawkins upper echelon.

To call you fish out of water would be putting it lightly. You were like fish on a space station.

“What were we supposed to do?” you whispered back. “We had to come.”

That was debatable. Steve had invited you, yes, but he also practically tripped over himself to assure you it was totally fine if you couldn’t make it. He’d sat on the edge of Eddie’s sofa running through all his most blatant tells—hands pushing through his hair, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, foot jiggling non-stop—as he told you about the party.

“It’s all my parents' friends, so it might be kind of lame. But I’m allowed to invite people if you guys want to come. It’d be really great to see you.”

He’d worked himself up into such a state, it almost felt cruel to say no. You weren’t sure what it was—something about the earnestness with which he asked, and the way his eyes shone so hopefully when you smiled and told him you thought it sounded like fun.

Eddie’s gruff voice sounded in your ear again.

“Think we’re just here to piss off daddy?”

You followed his eyeline to the living room, gaze promptly drawn to the imposing frame of John Harrington as he reached out to grip the hand of someone important. Or at least someone who seemed to think they were. Even never having seen or met him before, he was easy to pick out as Steve’s father. They had the same square jaw, the same perfectly angled nose and rich, light brown hair. Although, John’s was cut shorter and tamed into a much more manageable style than his son’s long locks that lived in a near-constant state of tousled messiness.

“Steve wouldn’t do that,” you said firmly. “He asked us to come because we’re his friends.”

The words still felt strange to say. It made you wonder, yet again, if it would ever stop feeling so surreal that you now hung out with Steve “The Hair” Harrington on an almost daily basis.

When you were in school together, you never even landed on his radar. Eddie had some notoriety as the town’s supposed demon summoner, but you were just…around. A plain face that blended into the crowd; a background extra with no lines in the scene; wallpaper and set dressing for the popular kids who were living out their exemplary lives.

If this was only a few years prior, he probably would be spending this evening sneaking drinks with Tommy H. and Carol, or parading around with Nancy Wheeler on his arm to show her off to all his dad’s colleagues and brag about her getting into Emerson. Instead, his falling out with all of them and his subsequent fall from his high-school throne had led him here—to an unlikely friendship with The Freak and The Invisible Girl.

Whenever he came over to Eddie’s to smoke, or you three piled into his car to go to the movies or drive the winding back roads that snaked along the edge of town, it almost felt natural. And the more time you spent with him, the harder and harder it became to remember why he’d always seemed so…untouchable.

“So, what should we do?” You wondered aloud as you glanced around again, still hoping Steve might materialize somehow. Behind you, Eddie’s head shook and his shoulders shrugged.

“How should I know? You were the one begging to come tonight.”

“I wasn’t begging.”

“Oh, really?” He scoffed as he leaned in close again, raising the pitch of his voice in an overly breathy imitation of you. “Please, Eddie? Please, can we go to the party? I’ll let you eat me out from the back if you—”

“Stifle,” you hissed, jamming your elbow into his stomach.

He grunted at the sharp jab, but his lips remained curled in a sly smirk. “What’s wrong? Worried your little crush will find out what I’ve been doing to you after he goes home?”

“I don’t care if he knows,” you sniped. It’s almost convincing, but the flash of alarm in your eyes told a different story. Not that it mattered, Eddie didn’t buy it for a second anyway.

“Well, that’s good,” he tutted. “Because he already knows we’ve fucked.”

“Wait, what?” You whirled around fully now. “How?”

“He, ahh…” Eddie fought to contain his grin as he scratched at the short stubble on his cheek. “He saw that picture you let me take.”

Your eyes went wide, both horrified and enraged as you shoved his shoulder—hard. 

“You showed it to him?”

“No, he found it,” Eddie hissed. “We were looking around for some weed I had stashed and he happened to open the drawer it was in.”

Your whole body—your very being—surged with white hot shame. If it wouldn’t have given Eddie so much satisfaction, you might have run straight out of the party right then and there. The thought of Steve seeing you like that…

It was almost unbearable.

The details of you and Eddie’s attachment had always been strictly under wraps. You weren’t exactly keeping it a secret, per se, but most people weren’t super accepting of the idea and you’d learned to play it close to the vest. And with how much time the two of you had started spending with Steve, you didn’t want to risk making him uncomfortable.

It had been going on for ages. Pausing, albeit briefly, if one of you found yourself in a relationship, and picking right back up when said relationship inevitably fizzled or if it tipped into the dangerous territory of getting too serious. He was one of the few people in your life you trusted intrinsically, and it wasn’t like guys were banging down your door as it was.

The picture was a one-time thing—a polaroid you’d let Eddie snap as a belated birthday present because you’d been too busy to find him something real.  You had made him swear upon pain of death it was for his eyes only. And now he’d shown it to the last person on earth you wanted to see it? Oh, you were going to garrotte him with tinsel in his sleep.

Also, Steve wasn’t your crush. He was…a preoccupation. A distraction. A vague interest.

You couldn’t even say for sure when it had begun. All you knew was just last spring, there was a month of Friday evenings where you found yourself back in the Hawkins High parking lot pulled in alongside Steve’s distinctive maroon beemer. He was leaning on the hood, waiting for Hellfire to let out so he could drive home his little horde of nuggets, and you had shown up acting as Eddie’s ride while his van was out of commission.

And that night, for the first time ever, you had a real conversation with Steve Harrington.

A fairly illuminating one, at that.

There was a sweetness to him you never would have guessed was there. And a dorkiness that brought light to his eyes when he did his elaborate handshake with Dustin Henderson, or the way he exalted along with the kids when the group burst through the double doors leading out of the school, whooping and cheering from a successful campaign. It warmed your whole body from the inside out, the feeling only growing stronger the more time you shared.

And now he’d seen your bare tits covered in Eddies cum. Perfect, just perfect.

“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “That’s so humiliating.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I think he kinda liked it.”

“He…he did?”

“I mean, he was staring at it pretty hard. I think he needed some alone time with it.”

You rolled your eyes and gave his shoulder another shove for good measure, muttering a you're disgusting at him under your breath, hoping it would hide the nerves creeping across your face. Unfortunately, it only seemed to add fuel to Eddie’s fire. He leaned in one last time, his voice a gritty rasp in your ear that made shivers run down your spine.

“So you don’t wanna know what he said, then?”

Tension seized your shoulders as you glared at him, jaw clenched, ready to spit back a vicious comment—or maybe just spit—only to stop short at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hey, guys! I’m so glad you made it!”

Steve was beaming as he came over, his bright hazel eyes shining, the golden flecks in them brought out by the color of his sweater. He drew you into his embrace, his strong arms curling securely around your body and his gourmand scent filling your nose as you breathed him in.

Your hands smoothed over the planes of his back, relishing in the softness of the knit he wore and the solidity of his broad chest pressed against yours. Your pulse quickened, blood pounding in your ears as you did your level best to force what Eddie had just told you out of your head.

“I’m the coat check tonight,” Steve explained, tipping an imaginary cap. “There’s a guest room upstairs we can put them in.”

“I gotta take a leak,” Eddie said, already shrugging off his leather jacket and pushing it into your arms. “Take care of that for me, will you sweetheart?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but Eddie just grinned back at you with a suggestive bounce of his brows behind his curled bangs. Steve pointed him in the direction of the bathroom and then turned straight back to you as he tilted his head upstairs.

“Shall we?” he asked.

The sounds of the party became distant and muffled as Steve led you upstairs to the designated dumping ground for all the furs and wraps of the numerous guests. It was dark inside, lit only by the moonlight that streamed through the window and the warm glow of the lights strung on the outside of the house that cast across the heap of coats on the bed.

You laid Eddie’s jacket down on a chair in the corner before you began to undo the belt of your own tied around your waist. As the thick, gray poly-blend slid off your shoulders, you shivered at the cool air hitting your heated skin for the first time that night.

When you turned back around, Steve was much closer than you remembered. 

His eyes studied you with a kind of reverence that made your body tingle with excitement in a way you didn’t dare to name. The way he looked at you sometimes…whether it through a haze of pot smoke in Eddie’s trailer, or in the flickering light of a screen at the multiplex, or beneath the harsh amber wash of a single streetlight in an empty parking lot…

It made you wonder.

“You look really nice,” he finally said, his voice as soft as his eyes.

The dress you’d worn was fairly simple, made of maroon velour with a burnout pattern of leaves you thought looked a bit like holly. It was loose and flowy, but had laces in the back you had pulled tight so it cinched in your waist and pushed up your chest, not unlike a corset. The neckline was just low enough to flirt with impropriety and it nicely complimented the length of the pendant that sat in the center of your clavicle.

A dainty (fake) gold snowflake you thought was festive.

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice even softer than his as you folded your arms in front of your stomach. “I hope it’s okay. I don’t have a lot of nice outfits.”

Steve shook his head, captivated eyes still scanning over you. They landed briefly on your legs, the black stockings you’d worn in an attempt to stave off the cold now prickling warm on your skin as if it was his hands running over them instead of just his gaze.

“You always look perfect,” he said.

It’s not just the words that made you falter, but the plainness with which he states them. As if it’s something obvious. As though he thinks it all the time and he just happened to say it this time. It makes your stomach twirl and all at once, you feel like an empty-headed teenager standing at her locker, dizzy from being complimented by the cutest boy in school.

“So, this is quite a spectacle,” you chuckled, glad for the dimness of the room that somewhat hid your reaction to him. “Are there any poinsettias left in Hawkins?”

Steve smirked and took a careful step forward. There was only about a foot of space between you now, if that. “I think if there were, my mom would already have a guy on it,” he said.

Your eyes met his and you shared a soft laugh. “Well, it’s really beautiful,” you sighed. “It must have taken her ages to do all this.”

“Not really,” Steve chuckled. “She has, like, a whole team that comes in and puts it all together.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Your gaze dropped and you gave a regretful shake of your head. Rich people stuff, you thought a bit bitterly. No wonder that hadn’t occurred to you. “But…you must decorate the tree together, at least. Right?”

“No, they do that too. I’ve, uh…I’ve never actually never decorated a tree for Christmas. I kind of thought that was just something they did in movies.”

He huffed out a laugh, trying to hide the sadness that had started to pollute his smile, and rubbed the back of his head, tugging at the hair there that curled along the nape of his neck.

All you could do was stare.

You thought about that gleaming, twelve-foot behemoth downstairs with its dazzling lights and ornaments all spaced and hung so perfectly. It was stunning—looked like something straight out of a magazine. But now it was tinged with something hollow and unsatisfactory. 

Cold. Fake. Empty.

It was you who stepped closer this time, the muscles in your arm tensing as if fighting against your brain’s instructions to reach out and touch him. He was close enough now you could feel the warmth coming off his body and smell the spice of his cologne and the clove cigarette he must have smoked. Your lips trembled, parted slightly, still searching for what to say.

But words refused to come.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Steve soothed, flashing you that easy and charming smile you’d grown to love and loathe in equal measure. “I just meant, like, Christmas really isn’t a big deal to me. And neither is this party, honestly, but…”

He fell silent as his hand reached out to squeeze your elbow, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing gently across your forearm. You stared mutely at his hand where it rested, already dreading how cold it would feel there when he let go of you. Except he didn’t.

“I’m really happy you’re here, though,” he said.

Steve’s chest rose with a sharp inhale and the tip of his tongue swiped along his bottom lip to wet it. His head tilted towards you, a few stray pieces of hair falling into his eyes that were bright and shiny with the string lights around the window reflecting in them. 

It made your own breath catch, praying you weren’t imagining it as he started to lean in.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

You and Steve flew apart like shrapnel, both of you too wrapped up in the steady draw of your bodies together to notice the heavy thump of Eddie’s footsteps in the hall. Steve’s hand came up automatically to run through his hair, dragging up the bottom of his sweater and flashing the briefest glimpse of torso as his arm lifted. It made your mouth dry as a bone.

“I just realized I forgot about my hostess gift,” Eddie said.

His brow cocked at you and yet another little smirk curved along his lips as he brushed past, nudging you ever so subtly back in Steve’s direction. He then started to rifle through the inside pockets of his leather jacket until he exhumed a plastic bag with a few joints inside.

“Got it!” he chimed, holding it up triumphantly. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

The little baggie sailed through the air, crinkling when it hit Steve in the center of his chest. 

“Oh! Thanks, man,” he chuckled, fumbling to catch it. “That’s great.”

Turning it over in his hands, he paused, mulling in silence as he stared down at the joints and glanced over his shoulder at the open doorway. From downstairs, you could now hear the faint tinkling of a piano being played and Eddie noticeably winced at the first few warbled notes of an unrecognizable carol being sung by a particularly drunk chorus.

“You know,” Steve said slowly. “We could bail on the party. Take this out to the pool house?”

As soon as he asked, his eyes darted up to meet yours—interrupting your intense study of the side of his face. Round and hopeful, they shone with his earnestness and you felt dizzy all over again. It made your brain scramble, trying to act like you weren’t just consumed by thoughts of what might or might not have been about to happen. You smiled.

“What are we waiting for?”

Steve left the lights off in the pool house, not wanting to draw too much attention if someone wandered onto the patio for some fresh air. The three of you made your way out in shifts—you with a plate of decadent treats you’d filled from the long table of desserts, Eddie with one loaded with food he’d swiped from the circulating trays, and Steve with a bottle of champagne he’d snuck out of the kitchen while the caterers were distracted.

The satisfying pop of its opening bounced off the walls that were mostly windows, sounding all the more illicit and clandestine in the darkness. The contents of the bottle fizzed as he held it out, offering you the first swig, and you took it with a nimble grasp.

Bubbly liquid splashed on your tongue and the dry, almost acidic, taste of it surely would have impressed someone with a more refined palette. But it made you wrinkle your nose as you squinted to read the French name scrawled in a loopy script on the shield shaped label.

“Gross, right?” Steve chuckled as you handed the bottle back. “But it gets the job done.”

He took a deep swig, head tipping back and giving you a long, long moment to study his neck as the muscles flexed with his swallow. You stared shamelessly, transfixed by the pairs of moles that sat along the line of his strong jaw, head empty of thoughts except how much better thechampagne would taste if you were licking it from his lips.

Eddie coughed, all loud and fake, drawing both of your eyes to him where he sat on a rattan sofa in the center of the room. He stared at you expectantly as he slouched down further in his seat, his knees spread wide and his arms draped across the back. He’d wasted no time making himself more comfortable, loosening the evergreen tie you’d made him wear and rolling up the sleeves of the dress shirt he normally only broke out for funerals or the odd court appearance.

“Don’t I get some of that?” he asked with a wry smirk.

Steve hurried to offer him the champagne, wiping away a little dribble of it that had started to trickle down his chin. You followed behind and slotted into a chair adjacent to Eddie’s as Steve handed off the bottle, making your brain short circuit when you saw the way his wide grasp nearly engulfed the entire bottom. It didn’t restart until he settled in the seat next to you.

After taking his sip, Eddie sparked up one of the joints and started it in a rotation along with the champagne. After only a few pulls from each you started to feel the effects, your head getting all light and floaty, your body warming from the blood pumping through you, your skin buzzing from the way your fingers kept brushing Steve’s whenever you passed him the joint or the bottle. 

Or maybe it was from the way his eyes lingered on yours when you did.

Eventually, you dropped out of the rotation and sank back in your chair to gaze up at the house. The whole thing seemed to glow with the warmth of the party within, its windows bright yellow, the lights twinkling on the eaves. And the snowfall had remained soft and steady, dusting everything with a fine layer of white like powdered sugar.

The picture was immaculate, like a life-size snow globe. If Steve’s mother had somehow managed to pay Mother Nature as a decorator, it wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest.

“Seriously, Harrington,” Eddie snorted, evidently sharing in your bewilderment. “If all this is just the weekend before, I’m scared to ask what your family does for the main event.”

A deep chuckle bubbled out of his chest as he took a long swig of the rapidly draining bottle. He’d said it mostly as a joke, but Steve’s reaction revealed a nerve had been struck. He began to cough, sputtering out his words as he pulled the smoldering joint from between his lips.

“Oh no, it’s not—they aren’t, uh…they won’t be here.”

His eyes darted to the floor as he shook his head and stammered out his non-answer, wearing that same look on his face you’d seen in the guest room. Half-sad and trying to hide it.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked. Steve just shrugged.

“They always go away for Christmas. I think it’s St. Barts this year. Maybe Turks and Caicos? Their flight is sometime tomorrow night.”

“Wait, so…they just leave you here?” you asked. “By yourself?”

Steve shrugged and shook his head again, the move almost reflexive, like flinching away from the sting of alcohol cleaning a fresh wound. “A nanny would stay with me when I was little. But from the time I was old enough…yeah, pretty much.”

You and Eddie’s eyes met, the same unthinkable thought seemingly crossing your minds. You actually felt bad—not just bad, but sad—for Steve Harrington. 

“It’s not so bad, seriously,” he said, all flustered trying to salvage the mood. “I just hang out and watch movies and eat pizza. It’s fun. Honest.”

Despite his attempts, you can’t help but frown as you think what Steve’s Christmas will look like. His big house that was bursting at the seams with people right now being cold and desolate; him sitting all alone at a long dining room table eating leftover appetizers for every meal.

The thought tugged at something buried deep inside you. Something you’d packed away long ago and shoved into the furthest recesses of your mind. A box wrapped and taped and stapled and tied shut and then shoved behind a closet door. It made you turn to look at Eddie and he nodded knowingly, needing no words to know what you wanted him to say.

“You should come over,” he said, speaking so suddenly it came out loud in the tense quiet.

Steve’s head lifted. “What?”

“To me and Wayne’s,” Eddie supplied. “For Christmas Eve. We have dinner together and watch old movies and play games and shit. With this one.”

He jerked his thumb at you and you smiled as Steve’s eyes flitted over to meet your gaze.

“Only because they can’t cook to save their lives,” you said, shooting him a wink that made the corners of his mouth curl upwards.

“It’s not gonna be like this,” Eddie assured. “But it’s something, you know?”

“That, um…” Steve looked down at his lap, his long lashes fluttering as he tried to blink back the beginnings of tears. “That sounds really nice.”

Your hand moved without permission, reaching out to close around his wrist and squeeze. Steve’s head turned, staring at it like he thought he was dreaming. And as your brain suddenly caught up with the action and your body flooded with embarrassment, you started to pull it back only to feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand to hold it in place.

The only sound in the room was yours and Steve’s soft breathing and you swore you could feel the way both of your pulses were racing in time. His eyes lifted to meet yours and you became entranced all over again by his handsome face, the freckles that dotted his tanned skin, hazel eyes that shimmered as he scanned your expression, the deepness of his cupid's bow.

“I, um…I should check in with my mom real quick. You guys, uh…sit tight.”

Steve sputtered out his words as he rose to his feet, leaving your skin cold as he pulled his hands from yours. He looked around, his eyes searching to land on anything besides you or Eddie as he turned and stumbled towards the door. Eddie watched you watch Steve leave, an expression on his face as bemused as it was mocking.

“Jesus Christ, you two are exhausting.”

He shook his head, laughing to himself as he stuffed the last of the appetizers in his mouth. You glared back at him as he chewed and tried not to think about how your hand still burned where the ghost of Steve’s warmth remained.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on. If I knew I was gonna have to watch you make googly-eyes at each other all night, I could have stayed home. I get enough of that as it is.”

“We’re not—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Eddie scoffed. “You are. He is. Just make a move, already.”

It was actually painful rolling your eyes as hard as you did. “Right. Sure. And what kind of move am I supposed to make? Considering how he ran out of here just because I touched his arm?”

“You’re not serious, are you? You’re pulling my dick, right?”

Eddie hunched forward as you deadpanned him, answering with a slow blink of your eyes and humorless expression until he threw his head back in a loud laugh.

“He had a fucking boner, smartass!” he cackled.

It’s not only your cheeks that warm now, but your whole body igniting like a bonfire. The feeling grips your shoulders, it’s talons digging into your flesh, threatening to pierce it to the bone.

“Bullshit,” you whispered, your mind reeling.

“You think I don’t know Steve well enough to know when he goes from six to midnight? It happens literally any time you touch him.”

Eddie was still snickering to himself as he took a final puff of the joint that had been smoked down to a nub. You stared at your hands in your lap, thoughts going into overdrive. Because this wasn’t just some random guy at the Hideout or an ex-classmate hitting on you at a house party. This wouldn’t be just a fumbled touch, grabby hands groping blindly in a dark closet that you would recount to Eddie before he gave you the orgasm you’d sorely been denied.

This was Steve. This would be something. Wouldn’t it?

“Only one way to find out,” Eddie said, as though he could hear the question you were asking yourself. “Anything’s gotta be better than this.”

“But what if he—”

The rattle of the doorknob cut you off, your eyes darted to the door just as Steve pushed it open to slip back inside. Eddie’s dark curls fell forward, sliding off his shoulders as he leaned in.

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered.

Your eyes bulged in your skull, but before you could retort or argue, Steve had plopped back down in the chair next to you and your lips were effectively sealed.

“So the singing is still going on,” he chuckled. “But I think everyone will head home soon. We aren’t missing much.”

“That’s okay.” Eddie groaned softly into a stretch as he settled back into his reclined position. “I’m sure we can think of something to do.”

Heat flooded your core at his insinuating tone and you sat up a little straighter. He let his head loll to the side, his eyes finding yours automatically, dark irises glinting in the scant light.

“Hey…c’mere, doll.”

Eddie shifted down in his seat, rubbing his ringed hand across his thigh as an invitation. Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the fancy, and surely expensive, champagne you’d been sipping all night. Maybe it was the way Steve’s gaze followed you so intently as you stood and walked over to where Eddie sat on the wicker sofa. Whatever it was, it was working.

You laid your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you kneeled on the cushion next to him and went to straddle his lap. But his hands came up to grip your waist and stopped you.

“Uh-uh,” he said, motioning his index finger in a circle. “Other way.”

You hesitated, glancing from your crouched position over at Steve. His eyes smoldered in the darkness as he watched you—leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, his long fingers laced in front of him. With a hard swallow, you stood and turned.

Eddie jerked you back against him, roughly pulling you flush with his chest. His knees pushed between your own and he spread them wide so your legs were held open, draped over the tops of his thighs. It made the skirt of your dress glide upwards, hem skimming the tops of your stockings, threatening to reveal the strips of bare skin between them and your panties.

His words from earlier still rang in your head. Follow my lead.

Well-worn hands splayed wide across your stomach, squeezing at the softness of your waist. Beneath you, his hips began to shift and the beginnings of his hard-on pressed insistently into the fat of your ass. It made you shiver all over, a gasp falling from your lips.

“So well behaved,” Eddie hummed, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips, suddenly gripping your chin in his hand to turn your face towards him. “She’s such a good girl, Stevie…. and we have so much fun together…”

The words and the deep timbre of his voice sent more shivers down your spine as he bumped the tip of your nose with his own. He pecked lightly at your lips until they opened up for him, his tongue probing the warm cavern of your mouth until you were moaning into his kiss.

It was lazy, but punishing. He nipped gently at your top lip, his own feathering with a tiny snarl as he revered back to his conversation with Steve.

“Why don’t you tell her about that photo you found?” he asked, hot breath fanning across your cheek. “Tell her what you thought about it.”

Your gaze flashed to Steve’s and you wondered if there was more light in here whether you’d be able to see a rush of scarlet covering his cheeks. His eyes had gone round with nervous energy, but they remained locked onto yours as he spoke.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he rasped, his voice almost cracking his throat was so tight. “I wish I could see it again, I…I wish it was me she’d done that for.”

The pit of your belly burned at his words, a breathy sigh fluttering in your chest and an exquisite ache now radiating between your legs. Eddie’s fingers trailed along the center of your body, over your sternum, tracing the dip of your navel through your dress until it quivered under his touch.

Slowly, he drew up the bottom of your dress like a curtain to reveal your core and the black lace your arousal had begun to seep through. The tips of his fingers stroked your entrance, mercilessly teasing your second set of lips.

“You wouldn’t believe how good she feels, Steve,” Eddie husked, his fingers holding their pace, making you grind into his lap. “Way better than that prissy cheerleader pussy you’re used to.”

The room filled with the sound of your breath and the wet schlick of Eddie’s fingers in your folds.

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie snickered. “I should say honor society pussy.”

Steve’s nostrils suddenly flared, his gaze tearing away from you and your body as if coming out of a trance. You looked back over your shoulder with a horrified look.

“Eddie—”

“Shush,” he snapped, cutting you off by plunging his fingers inside of you. They hooked upwards and your back bowed at the sudden stretch, a broken moan slipping past your lips. Steve’s eyes were drawn to your face at the sound, Eddie’s mention of his ex flying right out of his head.

“You want a taste, Harrington?” he asked, all dark and leading.

A little whimper escaped you at the thought and Eddie grinned wickedly. He smiled as he kissed the back of your neck, his teeth flashing as he nipped at your racing pulse.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? You’d like his tongue?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, your eyes darting to find Steve’s. “Please.”

At your plaintive mewl, the very moment you asked, Steve instantly rose to his feet and hurried to kneel between yours and Eddie’s spread legs. His long fingers wrapped around the gusset of your underwear and he wrenched them to the side to reveal your dripping core.

He licked his lips as he stared at it, practically salivating. Your own lips trembled, fighting back the urge to cry out for him as you let your head fall back to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

The wet heat of his tongue met your pussy in long, languid swipes. He nodded his head with each motion, dragging it through your folds as he inhaled deep and needy breaths of your scent like you were his air. His eyes burned with lust as he looked up from between your thighs, gauging your every reaction in the way you fluttered around his tongue.

With a trembling hand, you reached out and brushed your fingertips along his brow, skimming the stray pieces of hair that had fallen forward into his eyes. The intensity of his stare, the depth of his gaze, made you glow brighter even than that behemoth of a tree inside.

He sped up his movements, working you up, the tip of his tongue pointed to swirl in a pattern as magical as it was maddening, flicking it teasingly over your clit and making you clench with each too-quick pass. At the same time, you felt Eddie’s hand creep up between your shoulder blades, fingers weaving into your hair to grasp it at the root. He gave it a firm tug and pulled your head back, bringing his lips to your ear so he could whisper to you—deep and rough and just loud enough for Steve to hear.

“Why don’t you tell him how long you’ve wanted this, huh?”

Another pitiful whimper left your lips as Eddie’s other hand squeezed a little more intensely at your chest, tweaking your nipple through your dress, loving how it made you tremble.

“Si-since Junior year,” you panted. “When he w-won the state swim meet…”

Just the thought of that day nearly has you flooding Eddie’s lap and Steve’s mouth. Your mind filled with the memories of it—visions of him in a Speedo that confirmed just about every rumor you’d ever overheard in the girl’s locker room; his arm and back muscles rippling as he pushed himself out of the pool; water spilling over freckled skin, droplets collecting on his shoulders and running down, down, down to where the small of his back met the fullness of his ass.

You had sat in the stands, thighs pressing together, feeling almost perverted staring while he celebrated with his teammates and whipped off his swim cap, his wild hair exploding out of it and making you wonder how he’d even managed to fit it all underneath in the first place.

The mere mention of his glory days seemed to have a similar effect on Steve. The movements of his tongue and lips turned more fervent, more determined to unspool you as he moaned like he’d never tasted anything as good as you.

Tremors began to roll through your body, making your thighs twitch and spasm.

“Tell him how good it feels,” Eddie husked, hips now punching up to create some friction against his own cock as it strained inside his dress pants. “Tell him how much you like it.”

“Yes, Steve, fuck—I love it so much,” you whined. “Keep going, I need it.”

The pretty lilt and waver of your voice had Steve unraveling before your very eyes. Another low groan rumbled from deep in his chest and he buried his face further, more eagerly, in your heat.

“God, you taste so fucking good, honey,” he moaned. “I could do this all night.”

The thought of having his mouth on you all night is enthralling, but there was no way you would last. You were barely going to make it another minute as it was. Steve was too good. 

Every flick, every swipe, every swirl of his tongue you could feel in your entire body. Pleasure rushed across you in waves, a torturous winding upwards, that burning feeling deep in your gut coiling tighter, tighter. Your breaths grew shallow and your pulse raced until you were shaking in Eddie’s lap, fighting so hard to keep your legs spread apart that they shook from the effort.

Steve’s hands came up to grasp at your thighs, his fingers squeezing at the meat of them as he kept you pried open for him to ravish. Like a man possessed, he lapped and sucked and kissed at your entrance, his whole body seeming to move along with the motions of his tongue and lips. Beneath you, the wicker couch suddenly slid backwards and you realized it was because he had tried to grind against it—desperate to feel something, anything, against his cock.

Wishing it was you.

“C-close, close, I’m so close. Steve, I’m co—oohhh—”

Your orgasm rushed in, plowing through your body, making you lose all sense. You squirmed wildly in Eddie’s lap, almost having forgotten he was there until he reached around to give both of your nipples one last pinch—knowing how it always pushed you further over the edge.

Steve’s lips never left your clit and his eyes never left your face as he ushered you into your climax. He stared up at you, his eyes all glassy and round, searching for your reassurance as he rose from between your legs. His face hovered in front of yours and he lifted a hand to cup your jaw, his massive palm warm on your flushed skin as you panted to regain your breath.

“Good?” he asked. Hushed, like a prayer.

“So good,” you exhaled, chest still heaving. Your voice wobbled as you spoke, so overwhelmed with all your buried feelings being dredged to the surface. “Steve, that was—”

“Steven? Are you out here?”

Every hair on Steve’s head went flying as he whipped his head around hearing his mother’s voice. Through the sheer curtains, he could see her as she stepped outside onto the porch, peering into the darkness, wrapping a fur stole tighter around her elegant cocktail attire.

Panic struck his face like lightning, his mouth hanging open, his lips and chin still shiny with your spend. He looked back at you, his cheeks nearly as deep red as the velvet ribbons hung all over his house. You scrambled off Eddie’s lap to stand, frantically straightening your dress and hair, nervously wiping at your lips that were swollen from biting down when you came.

“I, um…the party’s probably over,” Steve said. “I just have to say goodbye to some people.”

He ran his hands through his hair a few more times as he strode towards the door, even though any damage you’d done grabbing it must have been righted by now. You looked over at Eddie, your own eyes swirling with questions you were terrified to hear the answers to.

His shoulders bounced, standing to tuck his shirttail back into his dress pants.

“Well, that’s one way to do it.”.

Steve was waiting in the foyer with you and Eddie’s coats when you snuck in from outside. His parents, thankfully, were too occupied giving the caterers instructions for clean-up to exchange any pleasantries at the door. You could only imagine how that would go…

Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. I’m the girl your son made come all over his face in your pool house. What a lovely party, thank you so much for inviting us.

There was still a smile on Steve’s face, though it felt almost pasted on now compared to his expression when you first arrived, sort of forced in an attempt to look more normal than he felt. He handed off Eddie’s leather jacket and then held yours open, his eyes remaining glued to you as you turned and pushed your arms through the sleeves. His fingertips trailed along the nape of your neck as he helped straighten the coat on your shoulders, his index tracing its curve all the way to your hairline in a way that felt so intentional it made your skin buzz.

With your ears pounding from your heartbeat thundering in them, you spun around to face him, your lips parted to speak only for no words to come. Because what was there for you to say? Or for him to do? Kiss you? He hadn’t even done that during, would he do it now to say goodbye?

Steve’s handsome face was as conflicted and contorted as your own. A faint blush still dusted along his cheeks and his eyes shone bright from the candlelight coming off the tapers that had burned almost all the way out. At last he drew a breath, and you felt your heart stutter.

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly.

Eddie could barely contain the snort that burst out of him, even as he slapped a hand over his crooked smile and your eyes shot daggers straight into his chest.

You couldn’t get out the door fast enough.

There was only silence as the pair of you trudged along the driveway to the street where Eddie had parked his van, the snow on the ground having melted into slush mottled with gray where it mixed with excess oil on the road. Without the glow of the Christmas lights coming off the rest of the houses in the neighborhood, the darkness of Steve’s street now felt oppressive. 

It made you walk a little quicker to the van, your hand curled tight around the passenger side door handle waiting for Eddie to unlock it. As the two of you climbed inside the cab, he cranked the engine and flipped open the air vents for the heat to blast, finally breaking his silence as you yanked your door shut behind you with a sharp tug.

“Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I thought I was helping,” Eddie muttered, his hands gripping tight around the steering wheel. “You were being so fucking obvious, I thought you needed a push.”

His chunky rings glinted in the street light as he busied himself messing with the radio, static scratching in your ears as he searched for something besides Christmas music.

“Are you really mad?” he asked, still fiddling with the dial, barely able to look at you. 

You shook your head.

“I just…I don’t know, I feel like it’s weird now.” You let your face fall into your hands and shook your head furiously. “I mean, was that totally fucked up? To do that?”

“Nah, that wasn’t fucked up,” Eddie said assuredly. 

He sounded confident enough that you let your shoulders actually relax and finally expelled the breath you were holding. The relief was short-lived though, when Eddie piped up again.

“I’ll tell you what might be, though.”

With a heavy sigh, you looked over at him warily. “What?” you asked.

Eddie sighed as he slumped back against the seat. His foot rested on the gas pedal and he pressed it down lightly, barely revving the engine to get some hot air flowing from the vents.

“When he comes over for Christmas Eve.”

Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate any time taken to read/comment endlessly ♥️

Started on this last year in December so that should tell you everything you need to know about my writing process. Enjoy some Christmas in whatever-month-you’re-reading-this. 😉

[in-a-mountain-pool]

The Dragon Boy - Chapter One

Aemond x Fem!Dragonseed OC Kaelys Waters

pronouns: She/her (afab)

rating: Teen and Up Audiences

warnings: Angst, Romance, Major Character Death

word count: ~3600+

summary: Chaos unfolds after the battle at the Gods Eye. After his defeat, Prince Aemond Targaryen is declared dead, laying at the bottom of the great lake. Upon hearing the news, Kaelys Waters, a Dragonseed from Aemond’s past defects from the Blacks, and stumbles upon a mysterious enigmatic dragon with a broken wing. Tending to its wounds and reminiscing of her childhood infatuation, she mourns the passing of the Prince Regent. Love deepens amid a whirlwind of emotions, culminating in a heart-warming tale of love transcending magic and curses, uniting two souls against all odds.

Originally posted on AO3

A/N: Hi everyone! Here it is, this is my submission for @hotd-bigbang! I'd like to give a huge thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for putting together this wonderful event, and for being so understanding of my chaotic writing process! It was an absolute pleasure getting to work with @cyeco13 , who has produced some of the most gorgeous artwork for this story (I literally teared up opening her messages!), thank you so much for capturing Aemond and Kaelys so perfectly.

Thanks for reading! To begin with, this was intended to be a one-shot but due to some circumstances beyond my control, I have decided to break it up into two chapters. Chapter two will be posted this time next week!

As always likes, reblogs and comments are not a requirement, but lovely to come online to.

The nights were cold in the Dragonpit, without the loving embrace of a mother or a father to shield you from the harsh land of Westeros, where frigid winds would pierce through like icy daggers. You had been there as long as you could remember, your earliest memories buried under years of neglect, left outside the pit in nothing but a tattered moth-eaten shawl. In a twist of fate, the Dragonkeepers had taken you under their wing, the first girl in history to be welcomed into the ancient order of guards. 

You, a nameless orphan, were christened Kaelys, and raised as their own. But life had been hard and food scarce. Amidst crumbling stones of the pit, life was a relentless test of your mettle, a crucible of endurance. As the only girl, the other boys of the order would revel in their power and torment you relentlessly. They were the bane of your life, their taunts and physical assaults a painful reminder of the harsh realities that defined your existence.

In the dead of night, when the hunger had finally become unbearable, on stumbling feet you’d crept into the Red Keep, hugging the stone walls, searching for a scrap of whatever you could find. Within the fortress, an eerie stillness reigned supreme, a collective hush falling over the walls as if a great secret dwelled inside. Company was sparse this late at night, save for the sporadic appearance of a Goldcloak on patrol. During your tutelage you had mastered the art of silence, moving with a grace so profound that even the most vigilant of men might mistake you for a shadow in the night. You’d had to, growing up around the majestic and terrible beasts of the House Targaryen.

The only light you had seen in the imposing halls had been a small crack under a great set of wooden doors and the smell of old parchment. Curiosity got the better of you, and you gently pushed forward to take a peek…

Inside was a small boy with silver hair, a boy you recognised… 

It was him.

The boy without a dragon. 

Prince Aemond Targaryen. 

When the door creaked your heart froze as the child whipped his head around with an almost otherworldly reflex. 

Aemond stared at you for a moment, his head tilted over slightly to the side. The boy's violet eyes held a quiet curiosity, gazing at you in the same manner you’d seen him study the dragons inside the pit. 

In a small yet commanding voice, he called out to you, standing up slowly from his solar. 

“... Who goes there…? What might your name be, girl?”

Not a word left your lips, your face panic-stricken and pale as the moonlight creeping through the bay windows of the library. 

A quiet but exasperated huff left his cat-like mouth, and a look of dissatisfaction decorated his delicate features. 

“That’s not very polite, is it? You should at least tell me your name. I promise, I won’t tell on you.”

Aemond attempted to make eye contact with you to no avail, met with a wall of silence. A soft scowl fell over his face, like he’d perhaps thought something might be wrong with you. Or like you were a puzzle that he wished to solve. 

Finding your courage you shifted out of the shadows, eyes searching the halls around you for the slightest movement in the dark. 

“... Kaelys, My Prince. ‘My name is Kaelys.” You croak out in a pathetic tone, giving a rather poor curtsey, copying the movements you’d seen his sister, the Princess Helaena practice to the knights at the tourney months earlier. 

You wobble slightly as you ascend from the floor, the scrap of your dress hem catching under your sandaled foot. 

The boy smiled and chuckled before you, nodding with a little grin like he’d finally made some progress. His curiosities were still present as he beckoned you into the warm library and eagerly offered you a seat beside him. 

“Well, good evening, Kaelys. … Why, if I might ask, are you here in the Keep, all alone?” Aemond whispered, leaning forward to inspect you.

“... ‘was hungry, my Prince. P-please, don’t call the guards. I’ll leave quietly. Quiet as a mouse! ‘Won’t even know I was ‘ere!” You uttered fearfully, your hazel eyes locked to his, begging him silently.

Lilac eyes widened and peered into yours once more. 

“Hungry…?” Aemond asked, like such a thing was unthinkable to him, brought up amongst such riches. After a moment, his eyes fluttered and his bottom lip trembled.

“I won’t call anyone. No Guards. C-Come with me.” Aemond extended a pale shaking hand to you, waiting for you to take it. 

“T-The kitchens should have some supper for you. I’d certainly be more comfortable with you not being out here… all alone in these halls.” 

“Kitchens?! I- can’t! If I’m seen there I’ll get the lashing of a lifetime!” You whispered frantically, staring down at the boy’s hand, elegant fingers reaching out to you. 

How could you touch him? It felt wrong when you were so grubby and dirty, to mar something so fair and beautiful as him, like you might leave an immovable stain on his perfect skin.

The words tumbled out in a way most unnatural to you. What was it about this boy, a Prince no less, that made you feel you could trust him? You seldom ever spoke, not even to your mentors. You had only ever felt safe with your dragons. 

“T'aint proper. The Dragonkeepers stay in the pit. We eat in the pit. Sleep in the pit. I’m… not a Lady. Not Royalty.” You mumble, gesturing to him and looking down at his velvet boots next to your dirty feet, remembering your place. 

Not once did he ever lower his hand, almost as if he was trying to tame you like a wild animal, like one of his family’s dragons in the pit. He approached you with caution, but with an unmistakable respect and patience that made your heart anxious. 

“Kaelys…? Do you have any place to rest your head at night?” Aemond questioned you in a gentle tone, peering into your tired eyes. “Does someone look after you?” 

“Mother and Father are dead. Left me outside the Keep. Dragonkeepers feed me, but… we’re often hungry.” 

Aemond seemed stunned into silence. The realisation that the tiny girl in front of him, of no more than 12 years, was alone. Truly alone. The longer he was silent, the more uncomfortable he became. The thought that a girl, so young and vulnerable, had already lost everything she’d ever had or could ever hope to own. She’d never really had a chance, and it just wasn't right.

The boy straightened up and stood taller, a determined resolute look in his pointed features. 

“You’re coming with me. And before you say another word, I’m not going to tell on you. In fact, I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul.” His tone had changed, much softer and caring than it had been moments before.

You had heard stories about the young prince. He was lonely, and studious, the polar opposite of his raucous brother, Aegon. Perhaps he had just wanted a friend? Underneath the silver hair and the riches of his house, he was a lanky sort of boy, on the cusp of something greater than himself. So unsure, and so desperate to connect. 

Ever so cautiously, you reached out to take his hand in yours. Next to him, your hand looked so careworn and grubby, unworthy. He saw the dirt under your fingernails, and the weeks of grime on your dress, yet he never faltered in his grip as he discreetly led you deeper into the Keep along lonely corridors to his chambers. 

Once inside you couldn’t believe your eyes. You’d never seen such grandeur, the table filled with foods from all over Westeros, and all for the supper of one boy. There were meats piled high, roasted beef and potatoes, boiled vegetables and breads. Decadent sweets glistened in the candlelight, with mounds of delicate lemoncakes, sugared biscuits and candied fruits.

His room was filled with treasures and trinkets from all over Westeros and Essos. A dothraki sword adorned the wall above his bed, and a coin collection was scattered across his bed, with gold, silver and coppers of all shapes and sizes dotted about like stars upon his midnight blue blankets. Large shells almost as big as your head decorated a large desk near the balcony desk. You’d later discover they had been taken from a bay in Volantis by his Father, and he’d been drawing them in a notepad. Marble carved dragons were placed in order of size along his mantle, with random shards of dragon glass decorating his chaotic but organised desk. But best of all was a worn plush of Balerion the Black Dread, shoved underneath his pillow, sewn by his wet nurse when he was a child.

As Aemond stepped inside, he reluctantly set down your hand, keeping a gentle eye on your expression. Your eyes were wide with wonder taking in the lavish food he readily offered you like it was nothing.

“... D-Don’t worry, Kaelys. That food is mine, mine to give you. Made by the finest cooks in the Keep.” Stumbling a little, he stepped behind you, and it took you a moment to realise that he intended to pull a chair for you to sit on. 

Almost like he would a real Lady. 

“Here. We- we can eat together, if you like? Like friends do.” 

Slowly he started to make up a generous plate for you, with a selection of meats and vegetables to give you back your strength. With a shaking hand, he placed it in front of you, nodding and digging into his own.

Through a mouthful of food you finally start to speak once more, stealing timid glances at the young Prince.. 

“... Friends? D- Do you have many friends… that you play with?”

A heavy silence fell upon the room as the boy drew into himself for a long while, the only noises the clatter of silverware and the late drafts of the night. Aemond spoke in a careful manner as to try to not let his feelings betray him. His voice began to break and the awkwardness began to seep out of him, reminding you he was just an adolescent boy, with the weight of a dynasty upon his shoulders.

“No… I rather suppose I don’t. In truth, It is… hard for me to make them.”

You felt a deep need to reach out and support him, or to at least make him feel less alone, the boy who’d let you into his world. 

“Me too. I don't have any friends neither.” You whisper, brushing the pad of your index finger against the back of his hand… And then rather unexpectedly, Aemond laughed, making you retreat once more.

“Either… You don't have any friends, either.” He chuckled again, covering his cat-like smirk with his fingers. 

Sensing your displeasure and discomfort he gave you a soft look and pushed a lemon cake towards your plate, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. He watched you for a while, as you picked at the crystallised peel in awe, giggling when your face puckered at the foreign sour sensation of the citrus in your cheeks. 

Your eyes danced around the room as you ate, falling upon the small collection of little wooden knights left haphazardly before the roaring fire. You didn’t have any toys. You hadn’t ever been allowed to be a child.

“Would you- would you like to play with them? I can teach you all about my knights!”

Aemond's face lit up with unabashed excitement, youthful enthusiasm radiating from his every pore as he eagerly settled onto the floor beside the knights. In that moment, his age became evident in the meticulous grace with which he handled the toys, delicately extending them towards her, all the while tenderly bestowing each with a name. The boy spoke passionately, more animatedly than she had ever seen him in the dragon pit. 

“This here is Aegon the Conqueror. Do you see? Each knight has their own dragon, and they ride together into war.” 

As Aemond rambled on passionately , you couldn't help but find yourself joining him there in the warmth of the fire, legs crossed and shyly tracing the beautiful handmade figurines like they were made of glass. 

“... She is beautiful. The big one.” You gesture bashfully, a rare smile gracing your face as he offers you the wooden toy. “... Vhagar.”

Aemond’s eyes widened, aglow with an innocence and wonder only a child’s eyes could muster.

“Yes! You know of Vhagar? And do you know why she is so special? 

“She’s the oldest dragon in the whole world.” You say almost instantly, staring at the wooden dragon in admiration. “She was Queen Visenya’s dragon.”

Aemond’s eyes flickered with a glimmer of surprise, as if your knowledge of Vhagar had caught him off-guard. 

“Yes, she was!” He admitted, his words imbued with a quiet reverence. “She still soars above our world to this day, a testament to her indomitable spirit. And, you know, one day, I’m going to be the one to mount her and take to the skies.”

Aemond'sAemonds gaze fixed on you, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, as if he had entrusted you with a treasure trove of secrets known only to a select few. 

“... Do you want to know another secret?” The boy asked with a small grin on his face, handing you yet another dragon.

Aemond drew in a deep breath, and his face lit up with a soft blush as he spoke the next words.

"I have a special wish, you know," he confided, his eyes locked onto Kaelys, eager to gauge her response. A hint of uncertainty lingered in his gaze, but his sincerity shone through. 

"I want more than just a dragon, Kaelys. I want you to be my best friend."

And with that declaration, a unique bond was sealed. From that day forward, together you had embarked on clandestine adventures within the labyrinthine walls of the Red Keep, where you uncovered hidden nooks to play and whisper secrets to one another. Conversations had spanned countless hours, a symphony of dragon tales, and epic tales of knights and princesses that seemed to breathe life into the ancient stones of the castle and the dragon pit.

In each other, you had found your first and only true friends, kindred spirits divided by society. And when he’d finally claimed Vhagar, she had become your whole life, bringing you both even closer together. 

He’d shown you what it meant to have a family.

… But if only you had known then, the horrors that would soon come to pass, dressed in colours of green, gold and black.

War had come to Westeros.

It had felt like the end of days, a tragedy painted with vicious strokes of fire and blood. The very ground beneath your feet had shaken, the winds had howled as dragons danced above the skies of the Riverlands in violent flashes of greens and reds, and clashes of razor sharp teeth. Brothers and sisters rode into war for a cause that no longer made sense, as kin marched upon kin, and dragons raged against dragons. History was dying, old magic was fading, all because one man, one King, had made a choice born from love. 

But how could love ever endure in a world such as this? How could you fight for a Queen who ordered the death of an innocent child? Or a King that paraded the head of such a gracious beast as Meleys through the streets of Flea Bottom? How could hope live on here at the end of all things, where flames paint the skies, and babes were torn from their mother's arms? 

… Helaena’s arms. 

Since you’d heard the news from the other Dragonseeds’ on the battlefield you wouldn’t dare speak his name out loud. Bile would rise in your throat at the mere mention of him, the One-Eyed Prince, the Kinslayer, all of these names they’d given him, to the boy with violet eyes who’d captured your heart all those years ago.

He had met with his Uncle, your Mentor, above the God’s Eye only a week before. The village folk spoke of a fierce battle, with dragonfire so hot and so ferocious it was like the sky itself had been set aflame, and the Doom of Valyria had raged once more. The two beautiful beasts were said to have torn each other apart, Caraxes the Blood Wyrm sinking her teeth into Vhagar’s neck, before being disembowelled and crashing into the great lake below.

He, had always been so careful, even as a child, it was no wonder he’d chained himself so securely to the saddle. Daemon had known this and used it to his advantage. It had been you who had told Daemon so, you who had taught him how to tie the chains to keep him safe. Neither man nor dragon could have survived such a fall. Even a Targaryen Prince.

And now he was gone, it had felt like you might as well have drowned with him there in the God’s Eye. When your tears had fallen, you had insisted you had cried for Daemon, though the others who truly knew you had known better. 

The smell of the summer flowers in the Godswood had filled your dreams, the sounds of children’s laughter, the warmth of his hand in yours. Braiding hair as white as snow, the flash of lilac in the candlelight of the Red Keep at night. Since you’d departed for Harenhal as a Dragonseed of the Black’s, you’d carried a piece of him in the pocket of your riding jacket, a small wooden carving of Vhagar he’d had made just for you. Every night you’d gripped it tight and wept for the loss of her… and her rider. 

For you, the war was over. There was nothing left to fight for. 

No one left to protect.

Under the moonlit sky, you rode through the darkness, leaving behind the tumultuous Black's encampment. The biting cold couldn't compare to the numbness that gripped your heart. The horse beneath you felt unfamiliar, its warmth offering no solace compared to the fiery passion and adventure that once accompanied your dragon, Bhaesys.

The battlefield had claimed her, just as it had claimed Vhagar and him. 

Daemon, the architect of destruction, had torn apart not only your dragon but also your life, leaving the House of the Dragon in ruins and the land scarred with suffering.

With no clear destination in mind, you rode relentlessly for nearly a month, only to find yourself at the God's Eye. The vast expanse of tranquil waters reflected the sun's rays, masking the grim reality that all was not well in the world. Despite its majestic appearance, the God's Eye was a tomb, a silent witness to the ravages of war.

It became evident that you couldn't bear the weight any longer—the months of conflict, the years of hardship and camaraderie. Your love for him hit you with an intensity that felt like a physical blow to the gut. 

He was gone, forever. 

The memories flooded your mind—the sound of his voice, the echoes of laughter in the Red Keep's libraries, the sparkle in his violet eyes as you soared through the skies together.

Violent screams, unrecognisable even to yourself, reverberated across the still lake. Tears streamed down your face as you collapsed to your knees at the water's edge. Nettle's words echoed like a death knell, the cruel truth seeping into your soul: 

"They couldn't retrieve a body." 

He would never receive the burial befitting his noble lineage, never rest in the Great Sept with his ancestors.

Clutching the small wooden carving of Vhagar, you gripped it so tightly that it pierced your skin. Anything to distract from the sharp, agonising emptiness in your chest. The God's Eye, once a place of beauty, now mirrored the desolation within you—a stark reminder of the irreparable loss that had befallen your world.

It was night before you could wretch yourself away from the water’s edge, taking refuge in a large cave in the woods nearby, overlooking the Isle of Faces. Stepping into its deep interior, you were met with a pervasive dampness and bitter cold that clung to the air, accompanied by a low, wispy draft that whispered tales of undiscovered mysteries, cautioning against the disturbance of ancient stones better left untouched.

Guided by an inexplicable force that seemed to emanate from the recesses of your very heart, your feet carried you further into the cavern's depths. The very essence of the cave resonated with age and magic, invoking echoes of legends that spoke of the Children of the Forest and ancient tales of the First Men that had woven themselves into the fabric of these lands.

As you delved deeper, the surroundings cloaked you in an intensifying darkness, each step marked by the crumbling of wet gravel beneath your feet. Until suddenly, a strange warmth in the air began to prickle at your skin, humid and dank in a way that clung to you. 

This was no ordinary hollow. 

The pervading silence, almost otherworldly in its nature, gave way to an unsettling deep rumbling that resonated through the core of the earth beneath your feet. Turning a corner, the growling intensified, growing deeper and louder until a sudden realisation dawned upon you - a recognition etched in the core of your being.

The feeling was unmistakable, a sensation so familiar to you from a lifetime spent in the depths of the Dragon Pit.

Awe and trepidation mingled as the truth unfolded…

You stood in the majestic presence of a dragon. 

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Monsters at Your Doorstep

DPxDC Week Day 3: Tim Drake / Eldritch Danny / Teeth

Read on AO3 [here]

Summary: Bruce falls into a cave of bats and meets the darkness-- or whatever it is that lives inside it.

///////

WHEN BRUCE IS SEVEN THE GROUND SWALLOWS HIM WHOLE.  The earth beneath the sacred grounds of Wayne Manor crumbled with one hasty misstep, taking him far away from the sunlight’s reach. 

The bats swarmed at him immediately. A thousand eyes, a thousand screeching mouths, a thousand beating wings, engulfing him in their fury. His screams are drowned out by their cries. His skin cut and scraped by their claws. His ears bursting with the sound of their unholy cry. And for the first time in his life, Bruce learns what it means to fear. 

And then the bats just stop. 

He did not know what scared him more: the bats, or the silence.

Bruce craned his head up from beneath his arms. Darkness met his gaze. A deep and impenetrable dark, deceptive in its shadows. He stumbles back and slowly, ever so slowly like a deer caught in the crosshairs, shuffles himself towards that slim shaft of light in the cavern. He bites his tongue when the soft flesh of his palm cuts itself on a rock. 

The cut weeps a deep carmine red down his wrist as he holds his hand up into the light. 

Suddenly, the darkness spoke.

“Are you hurt?”

The darkness sounds oddly young to Bruce’s ears. Older than Bruce, but nowhere near as deep as his father’s, nor as rich as his mother’s. (But there is a sound there that isn’t registering in Bruce’s young mind. A sound that dances just beneath the facade of a boyish voice.)

Bruce calls out— “Hello?” —flinching at the cacophony of echoes repeating his words back at him.

A beat of stillness. Something shifts in the darkness— no, that isn’t…that isn’t right. It’s more like the darkness itself shifted. The edges of the shadows moved as if it were fabric, all too tangible. 

“Hello,” the darkness said again. 

Bruce steeled his nerves with a shaky inhale. “Can you help me?” He points up to the crack of blue sky. “I— I fell. I need to get back up.”

There is a sounds that feels almost like the cross between a slither and a thousand whispers. Unintelligible words building in a rising crescendo, echoing all around him and overwhelming his senses and he cannot think he cannot think he cannot think he cannot hear himself at all—

The darkness spoke, and all at once silence reigned supreme once more. “You…want my help?”

Bruce swallows the lump in his throat. “Yes?” He tacks on the ‘please’ as an afterthought.

“You want my help,” the voice echoes (and echoes and echoes and echoes—).

“Will you?”

“Yes.” the darkness answered less than a second after Bruce spoke. Eager. Giddy. Almost desperate. “It’s been a while since someone needed me. Close your eyes.”

“What—?”

Something pries its way from the darkness. It’s—

It’s—

(Even decades down the line, Bruce is never able to describe what he saw that day. There are simply no words, no method in all of living time and history to describe the incomprehensible. What parts he can explain hold no candle to the truth. They are but ghosts— imagos of the creature that he laid eyes upon that day. A shock of what might have been bone white hair. A glimpse of eyes—two, four, eight, twelve—that could have been green. A gaping maw that stretched itself into a grin. Nothingness, the void, where the legs might have been. The parts of a boy that came together all right and all wrong.)

Bruce shuts his eyes. Tight.

When he opens them again, he is back on the surface. In the sunlight. Bright and warm and safe. He turns to run back to the arms of his mother, when a whisper—whispers—invade the depths of his mind.

Call me if you need me.

***

Bruce never has to call. The creature—whatever it is—always lingered nearby ever since that day. There was a loneliness to it that tugged at his heart strings, and despite all the warnings that the little Alfred inside his head says, he invites the creature to play.

Initial fears aside, Bruce delights in this new friend that he’s made. It’s a secret that’s his and his alone, and he relishes in that fact. 

The creature is like no one else. It summons ice and fire and makes the elements take shape into something beautiful. With a touch of its shadowy hands, he can make trees and walls disappear at will. Once, it made the ceiling of Bruce’s room invisible and mapped out each constellation with depth and passion unmatched. And now, when Bruce looked at the night sky, it was no longer just a cluster of stars that he saw, but an infinite mural of rich pictures, stories of myths and legends come alive and preserved in starlight. 

It’s a shame that a creature that loved the sky so much would spend most of its time underground. 

“It would scare you if I was out in the daylight,” the creature said. 

“But you’re already scary right now!”

“It’s not like I want to be.”

Bruce bounced the ball into the little void in the corner of his room. The darkness shifted, moved, and tossed the ball back. “But at least you won’t have to leave every time the sun comes up.”

The shadow laughs (at least Bruce thinks it’s a laugh, it’s more like static, a harsh buzzing sounds that jumps in frequencies like the tuning of an old radio). “Maybe one day. It’s not pretty, but if that’s something you want then I will.”

“That’s a promise.”

***

There’s shouting and arguing, and his father has his hands up and that nervous smile on his face but the stranger is mad, is madmadmad. Bruce’s mother hides him behind her back and tells him to cover his ears. Don’t look. Everything will be alright. Close your eyes. Don’t look. Your father will handle this, everything is alright.

The man keeps telling them to shut up shut up and hand them over— hand what over? He shouldn’t be listening, he knows, his mother said not to, but Bruce is a curious child and he’s scared and he wants to know what is going on—

BANG—

His eyes shot open.

BANG—

There was—

The  man—

His father—

Mother—

***

Bruce screams without uttering a sound. He screams and he wails, the sound locked inside his mind because he can’t— he can’t remember how to open his mouth. How to work his throat. How to, how to breathe—

His parents need help. There’s a hole in his father’s shirt. A bright red stain on his other’s dress. Her pearls are— she loves those pearls, she’ll be so sad if they’re lost and—

Mother’s glass eyes stare back. Unblinking. 

Father’s chest doesn’t rise or fall. Silent.

Bruce’s fingertips are stained red, his cupped hands overflowing with pearls.

***

Bruce calls for the darkness. Calls for the creature that existed inside it. He doesn’t know its name. Doubts if it even has one. But he calls, prays, wishes with all his might that it would come. 

And it did.

There is a shift in the darkness of the alley. The shadows seem deeper, fuller almost; alive in the way the darkness was alive in that cave. It moved, gathering like a blanket over Bruce’s shaking frame, shrouding his vision in a haze. 

Its mournful crooning echoed in his ears, a thousand voices crying aloud as one when he could not muster the strength to. “You shouldn’t see this,” the voice quivered as he spoke, as if familiar with the pain. “No child should see this.”

You’re here.

“Of course I am. You needed me.”

Please.

“Yes?”

Please don’t leave me alone.

The shadows envelop him tighter and Bruce clings to them like a lifeline. 

“I won’t. You know I won’t. I’ll keep you safe.”

***

The darkness stays with Bruce that night, keeping silent vigil over Bruce in his room as he mourns. When the first rays of daylight began to bleed between the cracks of the curtains, Bruce panics. He feels the creature’s form try to recede back into the cracks and crevices of his room. Feels the room suddenly become bigger and emptier and alone-alone-alone. 

His hand shoots out to grab at those tangible threads of darkness. “You can’t— you can’t go.” 

The creature croons sadly. “You know I have to.”

“But you promised me. You promised.” 

“You know I’ll be back.”

“No. Even during the day. You said— you said you could do it. You would do it, if I asked.”

The shadows ripple and sway, slowly as if in contemplation. Uncertainty hung thick in the air like the heavy pendulum of the great grandfather clock in the library. Bruce held onto his breath, watching and waiting to see where the creature’s choices would swing.

Finally, the shadows stilled. “You’ll see me tomorrow then.”

His heart sank. “You’re leaving?”

“Not for long,” it said. “I need…I need to get something. It’ll take some time, but once I get it then tomorrow, tomorrow morning even, I’ll see you.”

“And you’ll stay.”

“And I’ll stay. For as long as you need me.”

Reluctantly, Bruce lets go. The darkness disappears and light engulfs the room. 

The sunlight has never felt so cold. 

***

At dawn the next day, a boy appears on the steps of Wayne Manor.

He’s young, though not as young as Bruce, but his hair is just as black and his eyes and even paler shade of blue. He’s tall and gaunt with skin as thin as paper and as white as bone, lips tinged a deathly blue. There are holes in his ratty shirt and mud staining his shoes. When he moves, it isn’t in any way that is natural. Like a puppet loose from its strings, or a person that’s forgotten how to walk, learning how legs work again.

He smells of wet earth, the bitter cold, and the moment when autumn leaves begin to rot. 

The boy was unnatural, unexplainable, and terrifying.

But the warmth in his voice—and the twisting shadows beneath his feet—were all too familiar to Bruce. 

“You’re here,” Bruce gasped, running to embrace the creature even as Alfred yelled at him to stop.

The creature caught him, stick-thin arms deceptively strong. “To stay, if you want.”

“Of course!” It would be difficult to explain to Alfred, or the police, or the hundreds of people that came knocking to his home. Bruce will find a way, though. As long as he can keep his friend and keep Alfred by his side, as long as he isn’t alone, then he’ll do anything.

Alfred clears his throat, yanking Bruce away from the creature. “It appears, sir, that I was not informed that we were to have any visitors today.” There’s a hard edge to Alfred’ voice that Bruce has never heard before. Something dangerous. Something scared. “May I inquire as to your name and purpose here?”

The creature tilts his head so quickly Bruce hears something crack. And when he holds out his hand, Bruce could see the heavy layers of dirt beneath his chipped fingernails. Coupled in his appearance, it almost seemed like the creatures spent the entire night out digging. 

“I’m here because Bruce said he needs me.” Its smile was too wide and too sharp; unnerving despite its attempts to look friendly. “You can just call me Danny.”

[robotnik-mun]

Some of Sonic Underground’s Good Points

I probably did a post like this aeons ago, but damned if I can find it. Anyway, it’s a pretty well known fact that of all the shows Sonic’s ever had, Underground is easily the least well regarded. 

It’s not difficult to understand why, either. Between a premise that’s incredibly far removed from anyone’s idea of what Sonic is and the weird lack of Tails, even in a world were Underground had top notch writing and animation it was always going to be the red-headed stepchild of the franchise. And sadly, Underground’s writing was usually inconsistent at the best of times, and the jokes made about it’s shoddy animation and weird character designs are the stuff of fandom legend. 

That being said, I do feel that even today the contempt this show receives is a bit much, and while it’s not a great show even on its own merits I don’t think it’s worthless. 

So, I thought I’d mention a few things that I think are actually worthwhile about this show!

Dr. Robotnik’s Premise Is Actually Pretty Interesting

Opening things with Robotnik? Me? It’s more likely than you think!

Alrighty, outdated memes aside, Robotnik’s schtick in this shoe is actually interesting as well as being pretty unique for a show like this. Robotnik, naturally, is the dictator of Mobius as he has been in at least three different pieces of Sonic media by this point. However what makes Underground Robotnik unique is that he functions more like an actual real world dictator- he relies on the support of the nobility to insure his reign, and in return for their support he allows them to basically do whatever so long as they pay their taxes, taxes which explicitly go to building more SwatBots. 

In this regard, this iteration of Robotnik is prehaps the most ‘normal’ of any Eggman/Robotnik out there. He still turns people into robots, sure, but here it is utilized as a punishment for lawbreakers (which you know is pretty broadly applied here) rather than the default fate for anyone unfortunate enough to fall into his grasp. What makes things especially interesting is that one recurring plot point is that Robotnik wants to be the legitimate ruler of Mobius rather than strongarming his way into permanent power. Likewise, multiple episodes bring up the fact he needs to raise money in order to maintain his robot army, in particular ‘Artifact’. It’s actually kind of unique because usually when shows like this have a Supreme Dictator villain, little attention is actually paid to the logistics of how they maintain their power. Underground is unique in that it actually explores how Robotnik’s government actually functions, at least a little, and it’s an interesting detail I feel. 

Sonia and Manic Are Actually Pretty Good 

One of the more controversial aspects of this series was that Sonic has a twin brother and sister this time around, with all three of them being royalty and subjected to prophecy. Just on paper that alone sounds like something so far removed from anyone’s idea of what Sonic is you have to wonder how it was ever conceived. That being said, this isn’t the first series to use the idea of Sonic having siblings- in Japan, the Sonic manga actually gave Sonic (or at least his alter ego, Nicky... long story there) a little sister, and at least one series overview gave Sonic FIVE sisters! As well as being from Nebraska... Sonic is a very weird franchise. 

Alright, point of order! Sonia and Manic, Sonic’s siblings and co-stars. How do they measure up? Honestly... pretty well, all things considered. You’d never guess it, but they’re the recipients of some of the strongest writing in the show. Manic stands out because while he comes out as laid back and more morally lax than his siblings, a recurring element with his character is his desire for a more stable life as well as feeling overshadowed by his brother and sister due to his initial difficulties in mastering his medallion and comparative lack of exception (at least in his mind). Likewise he is the only one to express any kind of cynicism about where they’re going in this conflict, opining how there’s nothing that says they won’t be fighting Robotnik for twenty years without any end in sight. It’s an interesting contrast, given his rougher origins compared to his siblings, having been raised as part of a group of thieves by his foster father. It’s a lot of depth for a guy who sounds stoned out of his mind most of the time. 

And then there’s Sonia! Sonia is remarkable for how much her character develops over the show. Being raised in an upper crust setting and being used to the finer things in life, Sonia initially starts out as someone who has the most trouble adjusting to her new life as a member of the Underground. This, naturally, does a lot to sour people’s perceptions of her given that she comes off as whiny and spoiled... and in fairness, she initially is. Over the course however she grows out of it, gradually shedding her old airs and beginning to take the conflict more and more seriously. It’s a pretty stark contrast to see how she was when the show began and how she is by the end of it, and it is to this show’s credit that she is shown to grow out of her more bratty phase. 

Sonic having siblings might not be to everyone’s taste, and that’s understandable, but under the circumstances? It’s amazing Manic and Sonia actually do as well as they do as characters. 

There Are, In Fact, Pretty Great Episodes

Oh boy if that isn’t damning with faint praise I don’t know what is. But, all the same, it’s true! Yes, most of Underground’s episodes tended to be either unremarkable or outright bad, and that’s kind of unavoidable as the writing tended to vacillate between wanting to be a more serious and story driven show versus something more self-contained, episodic and comedic. In a way it kind of mirrors Archie in that regard. That being said, when this show bothered to make an effort? It could actually give us some pretty good stuff. 

In “Healer” we witness the unique premise of someone promising a cure for Roboticization, and all the troubles that unfurl when this ‘harmless con’ captures the attention of not just Sonic and company, but Robotnik himself. In ‘Bartleby the Prisoner’ we get a look at long standing side character Bartleby finally getting an idea of what Robotnik’s empire is REALLY like for everyone who isn’t a member of the aristocracy when he’s used as a pawn in Robotnik’s latest scheme against the hedgehogs. And in ‘Six is A Crowd’ we are treated to a unique spin on the old ‘Evil Twin’ angle where the Underground is sent to a dimension where Robotnik is the hero and THEY are the villains... only for it to turn out that their ‘evil twins’ are not truly evil, but spoiled and utterly oblivious to just how harmful their actions are to the people of Mobius. 

These are some of the best episodes the series have to offer, and they stand out all the more given the typical level of Underground’s writing. There are others, of course, and a large chunk of them are gonna come up later, but the point is there IS in fact Good Stuff in Underground... even if its relatively few and far between. 

Location, location, location! 

If Underground had one unambiguously, objectively good idea? It was the Camper Van. Sure, calling this thing a ‘van’ is a bit of a stretch when it’s more like a mobile house, but this is easily the best idea that Underground had. Why? Because it allowed Sonic and his siblings to travel all over Mobius, and in doing so it allowed us to travel to multiple locales on the planet. 

This is probably a minor detail compared to the others, and one of the best parts about Underground, I felt, was the fact we got to see our heroes go to so many places and meet so many people all across the planet. One of the big themes of Sonic in general is Sonic just running around and checking places out, and the sheer variety of stages from the Sonic Games help convey this. And in the case of Underground, the Camper Van provides an elegant solution in allowing Sonic and his siblings to travel the world, see the sights, and stick together. I’m being utterly sincere when I say that the Camper Van really is a great idea, because one of the strongest parts of the show was how we actually got to see such a great deal of Mobius while on the show. 

And Then There’s Knuckles

While Underground is pretty infamous for it’s premise and the inclusion of the (usually horrible) song interludes, the one thing that gives it a bit of positive attention is that it includes Knuckles. While it may seem strange to consider now, Knuckles was still fairly new at the time of this show, and as a result this is the only one of the old DiC shows to make use of Knuckles. Which is somewhat ironic, given that this is also the only show to not use Tails... funny how that works out, ain’t it?

And you know what? Knuckles is actually pretty good on this show. Oh sure, his voice isn’t really all that fitting for him, but otherwise Knuckles time on this show is actually pretty stellar. All of the episodes he appears in are among the better episodes on Underground, and his personal arc is actually pretty great to behold. Even after the obligatory ‘gets tricked by the bad guys and gets off on the wrong foot with Sonic’ bit, Knuckles remains wary of directly involving himself in the affairs of the surface due to the fact that his first duty is to the island and the protection of the Chaos Emerald... until circumstances force him into making a difficult choice between his guardianship of the island, his friendship with the hedgehogs, and the greater good of Mobius. 

Knuckles’ appearance is comparatively brief on the show, but its pretty memorable for how much the show is able to fit in for that relatively brief period, and his episodes again are easily among the top tier of the show. 

...on a lesser note, the hints he and Sonia dig each other are just hilarious,  because oh my GOD could you imagine Sonic’s reaction to those two dating? 

Anyway!

This isn’t a post to suggest that Underground is a hidden gem- on the whole, it is in fact a less than stellar show. Multiple aspects of it are poorly done, from the writing to the animation to the character designs. It’s main overreaching arc takes convoluted and sometimes even infuriating steps in order to continue having Aleena play keep away with her kids, and in some cases the more we learn the more questions we wind up having. 

However, as I said, I don’t think this is a value-less show. And I think that it at least deserves some recognition for the things it DID do right, even in the face of all the things it did wrong. 

... if nothing else, the intro is actually pretty bitching as well.

There’s something so, so fitting about the fact the actual best music of this series comes from the intro. 

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Kind of an add-on, but I've been observing the response to the INSIDE OUT 2 teaser.

I haven't seen this kind of response to an upcoming Pixar movie in a while. Where it seems like the film/toonsphere on the internet is united in anticipating a Pixar movie... Because ELEMENTAL, LIGHTYEAR, and TURNING RED got all kinds of jeers from various (and largely toxic) swamps of the internet. But it seems like there's no complaint about INSIDE OUT 2...

Anxiety seems to be the film's Grogu. People are already falling in love with the character and especially her funky design. I see praise for a female Pixar character that isn't all perfect-looking or overtly "feminized", a man's idea of what a female character looks like vs. a funkier-looking male character. I think Anxiety's design, and what we saw in TURNING RED and such kinda steer us away from Lasseter's very "boys' club" Pixar, or as one person on twitter once put it, "For dads, by dads".

Also, a lot of us suffer from anxiety, myself included, so for a lot of people this character will be super (forgive me for using this word) relatable. First film was basic primal emotions: Joy, Sadness, Anger, Disgust, Fear... And in this film we have a literal mental illness with Anxiety.

This film will singlehandedly cure Disney's animation box office blues. WISH is also apparently tracking very well and will likely outgross ELEMENTAL domestically and maybe soar above it worldwide, too. It costs around the same amount, so $500m should be the floor here. ELEMENTAL just barely missed that, but Disney top brass considered it a success while the praise lauded its leggy run as a "comeback story".

INSIDE OUT was massive back in 2015, and made some incredible numbers for an original movie not based on any pre-existing IP. Performed similarly to the likes of FINDING NEMO and THE INCREDIBLES, made well over $800m at the worldwide box office. With the 9-year wait and the astounding amount of trailer views? Easy billion right here. Perhaps Disney and Pixar knew what was on hand, and probably delayed ELIO - previously set to open this coming March - all the way to summer 2025 for that reason. (That, and - supposedly - to have some time to fix its story troubles. Post-strike, they can get the voice cast back now. Again, if that's all true.)

While box office is largely silly, it'll be cool to see a Pixar film not "flop" again. ELEMENTAL barely checked out, so INSIDE OUT 2 will be their first bona fide smash hit since... TOY STORY 4 all the way back in 2019. A sequel, no less. Hey, remember how the surprise appearance of Forky in the TOY STORY 4 teaser had the internet a-blazin' for a brief bit? Anxiety gives that kind of energy. Maybe a good secret weapon is a neurotic, jumpy character? (Thinking back to it, that TOY STORY 4 teaser is *brilliant*.) It's why people tend to talk about panic attack scenes a lot. I think the generations from millennials (mine) on down are more upfront about their mental health struggles, and the lot of us love to see it represented in some way or another.

From the teaser, I can't quite say much about Anxiety other than love that incredible design. I wonder if its portrayal will, in some way or another, really hit me hard.

As for later Disney-released theatrical animation, I'm going to be curious to see how they go about original stuff. ELIO would've given us an idea of that if it had come out in March 2024 as initially planned, but now post-WISH, we'll have to wait 'til Disney Animation's presumably-original movie comes out in November 2024. It'd be a little disheartening to see only a bunch of sequels (this, TOY STORY 5, ZOOTOPIA 2, and FROZEN III) do well while the originals have trouble.

Worth noting that the biggest animated movies domestically are largely franchise favorites or adaptations of beloved properties. Illumination's SUPER MARIO BROS. MOVIE reigns supreme with over $570m followed by SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE and MINIONS Deux, both of which made over $360m respectively... And then well behind that is PUSS IN BOOTS Dos with $185m, and then SING 2 above $160m. ELEMENTAL is the biggest original so far with $154m. Worldwide's a different beast, as ELEMENTAL outdid PUSS IN BOOTS 2 in overall global gross, for example.

But WISH doing good (with, say, $180m+ domestic and $600m+ worldwide) followed by INSIDE OUT 2 easily breaking the big billion will make for a nice upward trajectory for Disney-released theatrical animation... So that would make WDAS #63 the interesting one to follow. Does that repeat WISH's success? Does WISH's box office inform WDAS films going forward? We shall see.

[emipon244]

Wine Tasting Travel in the Rhone Valley

Wine tasting travel in the Rhone Valley offers a rich experience for wine enthusiasts. Known for its robust reds, particularly Syrah and Grenache, this French region combines stunning landscapes with centuries-old winemaking traditions. Visitors can explore charming vineyards, taste a variety of wines from renowned appellations like Côte-Rôtie and Châteauneuf-du-Pape, and immerse themselves in the local culture. The Rhone Valley is a must-visit destination for those seeking exceptional wine and scenic beauty.

Discover The Essence of Wine Tasting Travel in the Rhone Valley

The Rhone Valley, stretching from Lyon to Avignon, is a paradise for wine enthusiasts. This region is renowned for its rich history, diverse landscapes, and, most importantly, its world-class wines. Wine tasting travel in the Rhone Valley offers visitors the chance to explore some of France’s most famous vineyards, where centuries-old winemaking traditions meet modern innovation. From the full-bodied reds of the northern Rhone to the fragrant whites of the south, every sip is a journey through the region’s unique terroir.

Explore the Northern Rhone of Wine Tasting Travel

Wine tasting travel in the northern Rhone Valley is a must for lovers of powerful, structured red wines. This area is famous for its Syrah grapes, which produce robust and aromatic wines with notes of black fruit, pepper, and spice. Iconic appellations like Côte-Rôtie, Hermitage, and Saint-Joseph await your visit, offering guided tours and tastings that delve into the history and craftsmanship behind these exceptional wines.

Savour The Southern Rhone A Blend of Tradition and Flavor of Wine Tasting Travel

The southern Rhone Valley is a dream destination for those who appreciate a broader spectrum of wines, including the famous Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Here, wine tasting travel takes you through a region where Grenache reigns supreme, often blended with other varieties to create complex, flavorful wines. The vineyards are bathed in Mediterranean sunlight, contributing to the rich, warm character of the wines produced here. Don’t miss the chance to explore the charming villages and picturesque landscapes that make this area so special.

Pairing Wine with Local Delicacies of Wine Tasting Travel

No wine tasting travel experience in the Rhone Valley would be complete without indulging in the local cuisine. The region’s gastronomy is as diverse as its wines, with dishes ranging from hearty stews to delicate pastries. Enjoy a gourmet meal paired perfectly with local wines, enhancing the flavours of both the food and the drink. Whether dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant or a quaint village bistro, the Rhone Valley promises a feast for the senses.

Lesser-Known Wineries to Visit of Wine Tasting Travel

While the Rhone Valley is home to some of the most famous wine producers in the world, wine tasting travel here also offers the opportunity to discover hidden gems. Venture off the beaten path to visit small, family-owned wineries where tradition is preserved, and passion is evident in every bottle. These intimate experiences often provide a deeper connection to the region and its winemaking heritage.

Seasonal Highlights to Embark on Wine Tasting Travel

The Rhone Valley is a year-round destination, but wine tasting travel is particularly rewarding during the harvest season in late summer and early fall. This is when the vineyards come alive with activity, and visitors can witness the winemaking process firsthand. Spring and early summer are also ideal times to visit, with blooming landscapes and pleasant weather making the experience even more enjoyable.

Choosing The Best Time for Your Wine Tasting Travel of  Journey

When organising your wine tasting travel in the Rhone Valley, consider a mix of guided tours and self-exploration. Many vineyards offer pre-arranged tastings, but the region is also perfect for leisurely drives, allowing you to stop at various wineries and enjoy the stunning scenery at your own pace. Be sure to book accommodations in advance, especially during peak travel seasons, to fully immerse yourself in the charm and beauty of the Rhone Valley.

Conclusion

Wine tasting travel in the Rhone Valley offers an unparalleled journey through one of France’s most prestigious wine regions. From the bold reds of the northern Rhone to the diverse blends of the southern region, each visit uncovers a unique aspect of the valley’s rich winemaking heritage. Whether you're exploring renowned vineyards or discovering hidden gems, the Rhone Valley provides a perfect blend of tradition, flavour, and scenic beauty. Complement your wine experience with local cuisine and picturesque landscapes for a truly immersive adventure. With thoughtful planning, including guided tours and accommodation, your trip to the Rhone Valley will be a memorable exploration of wine and culture, promising both enjoyment and discovery at every turn.

[samkkshopping]

Banarasi Gets a Bold Revamp: Sonakshi Sinha's Art Deco Dream

Introduction:

Sonakshi Sinha is a master of modernizing traditional Indian attire. While promoting Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s upcoming Netflix series “Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar,” she’s been rocking a variety of statement occasion wear that reflects her character. From lehengas and kurtas to a recent stunning ebony Benarasi sari, Sinha’s outfits go beyond the usual sarees, offering a fresh take on classic elegance.

Sonakshi Sinha’s sari breaks away from the vibrant colors typically seen in Banarasi weaves. This Raw Mango creation is a stunning charcoal shade, reflecting the Art Deco movement of the 1920s and 30s. As designer Sanjay Garg explains, Art Deco is known for its geometric shapes and luxurious materials. Sinha’s sari embodies this perfectly with its intricate gold circle motifs on Romuva silk brocade, a dense gold border, and clean lines.

Art Deco’s influence on fashion keeps coming back. Designers worldwide continue to reinterpret the era’s bold energy. We saw this recently in Ralph & Russo’s 2019 Paris collection with its focus on linear patterns and rich embellishments. The Fall/Winter 2022 runways were another prime example, with brands like Lanvin, Saint Laurent, and Erdem showcasing Art Deco elements. Even Armani Privé’s latest haute couture collection explored a Far Eastern take on the style.

Sonakshi Sinha Slays in a Modern Banarasi Saree: Fusion Fashion at its Finest!

Bollywood trendsetter Sonakshi Sinha is back, and this time she’s giving us major fashion inspiration in a stunning designer saree. But this isn’t your typical red Banarasi saree. Sonakshi rocks a modern twist on the classic, proving that traditional meets modern in the most glamorous way possible.

Sonakshi’s Saree Style: A Fusion Fairytale

This Banarasi saree is a masterpiece. The intricate designs and rich colors scream cultural fusion, celebrating Indian attire with a contemporary edge. The silk saree drapes flawlessly, showcasing Sonakshi’s stunning figure and proving that stylish draping can elevate any look.

A Fashion Icon’s Statement Piece

Sonakshi Sinha is a true fashion icon, and her saree choice is more than just celebrity style. It’s a powerful fashion statement that highlights the beauty of ethnic fashion. By rocking a modern Banarasi saree, she’s not only setting Bollywood saree trends but also inspiring a new generation to embrace their heritage with a modern twist.

Banarasi Sarees: Timeless Elegance, Modern Appeal

Banarasi sarees are more than just fabric; they’re cultural treasures. Handwoven by skilled artisans, these silk sarees boast a rich history and timeless elegance. But who says tradition can’t be trendy? Sonakshi’s look proves that Banarasi sarees can be effortlessly modern, making them the perfect statement piece for any fashionista.

Embrace Your Inner Bollywood Star

Want to channel your inner Bollywood diva? Look no further than the Banarasi saree. With a wide variety of styles available online, you can find the perfect designer saree to match your unique personality. Whether you prefer a classic weave or a more or a more modern interpretation, there’s a Banarasi saree waiting to make you feel glamorous and confident.

Shop Banarasi Sarees Online: Tradition Meets Today

So ditch the boring trends and embrace the fusion fashion movement! Explore the world of Banarasi sarees online and discover the perfect piece to add a touch of Indian ethnic wear and timeless elegance to your wardrobe. Be a trendsetter, embrace your heritage, and look absolutely stunning — just like Sonakshi Sinha!

Indulge in the Timeless Elegance of Banarasi Sarees: A Fashionista’s Guide

Step into the world of Banarasi sarees, where tradition meets modernity, and fashionistas reign supreme. These hand woven masterpieces, crafted from the finest Katan silk, are a testament to India’s rich heritage and exquisite craftsmanship. Whether you’re seeking a bridal Banarasi saree to make your wedding day unforgettable or simply want to add a touch of elegance to your everyday attire, Banarasi sarees are the epitome of timeless sophistication.

A Symphony of Colors and Designs

Banarasi sarees come in a mesmerizing array of colors, from vibrant hues like red to subtle pastels, each one a celebration of Indian artistry. The intricate Meenakari work, a technique that involves embedding colored glass or metal into the silk, adds a touch of opulence and grandeur to these sarees. And let’s not forget the Kadhwa weave, a labor-intensive process that results in mesmerizing geometric patterns.

A Legacy of Craftsmanship

The art of weaving Banarasi sarees has been passed down through generations, with each artisan meticulously honing their skills to create works of art. The intricate designs, often inspired by nature and mythology, are woven into the silk using gold and silver zari threads, adding a touch of luxury and shimmer.

A Fashionista’s Essential

Banarasi sarees are a must-have in any Fashionista’s wardrobe. Their versatility allows them to be dressed up or down, making them perfect for any occasion. Whether you’re attending a grand gala or simply adding a touch of elegance to your daily look, a Banarasi saree will never fail to turn heads.

Embrace Your Inner Fashion Icon

With a wide variety of styles available online, you can find the perfect Banarasi saree to match your unique personality. Whether you prefer a classic red Banarasi saree for a Bengali wedding or a more modern interpretation, there’s a Banarasi saree waiting to make you feel like a true fashion icon.

Shop Banarasi Sarees Online: A Treasure Trove of Elegance

Explore the world of Banarasi sarees online and discover a treasure trove of elegance and craftsmanship. From pure handwoven Banarasi sarees to Banarasi handloom soft silk sarees, you’ll find a wide selection to suit your taste and budget.

Embrace the Legacy of Banarasi Sarees

As you drape yourself in a Banarasi saree, you’re not just wearing a piece of clothing; you’re embracing a rich legacy of tradition and craftsmanship. Let the vibrant colors and intricate designs transport you to a world of timeless elegance and sophistication.

So, what are you waiting for? Step into the world of Banarasi sarees and discover a Fashionista’s paradise!

A big thanks to Vogue India for featuring Sonakshi Sinha’s stunning Banarasi saree look and showcasing a fresh take on this timeless garment. Their dedicated article provided the inspiration for this blog.

To read this article — https://www.vogue.in/content/sonakshi-sinhas-raw-mango-benarasi-sari-borrows-from-the-art-deco-influences

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. What makes a Banarasi saree special? Banarasi sarees are handwoven masterpieces known for their intricate designs, luxurious fabrics (often Katan silk), and use of zari threads (gold or silver). They represent a rich heritage of Indian craftsmanship.

2. How can I tell if a Banarasi saree is authentic? Look for “floating threads” on the reverse side — a sign of handloom weaving. Authentic sarees may have slight imperfections, unlike machine-made ones. Reputable online retailers often mention the weaving style (e.g., Katan, Kadhwa) which can help with verification.\

3. What are the different types of Banarasi sarees? There are many varieties based on weaving style, fabric, and motifs. Some popular types include Katan (pure silk), Organza (sheer and lightweight), and Jamdani (figured weave with geometric patterns).

4. How can I style a Banarasi saree for a modern look? Pair your saree with a contemporary blouse design like a cape or peplum style. Experiment with accessories — statement earrings or a sleek clutch can elevate the look. Consider draping the saree in a modern style like a dhoti drape.

5. Where can I buy a Banarasi saree online? Many reputable online retailers offer Banarasi sarees. Look for sellers who specialize in Indian ethnic wear and have a good return policy. Be sure to check the saree’s description for details on fabric, weave, and care instructions.

Conclusion

Banarasi Sarees, like Sonakshi’s, are a fusion of tradition and modern flair. From everyday elegance to bridal grandeur, they offer timeless beauty. Explore online and discover your perfect piece to celebrate heritage and turn heads as a true Fashionista’s!

Banarasi Sarees: Grandma’s Legacy. Your Modern Muse

Samyakk’s Banarasi collection — buttery-soft, timeless designs with a modern edge. Pass it down, style it up.

[market-spy]

Unlocking the Secrets of the Global Cosmetic Preservatives Market

So, you’ve stumbled upon the fascinating world of cosmetic preservatives — the unsung heroes behind your favorite skincare products. Forget the fancy terms like “unveiling” or “empowering”; let’s dive into the nitty-gritty without any AI-generated mumbo-jumbo.

The Numbers Game

The Global Cosmetic Preservative Market isn’t just a random assortment of digits. In 2022, it flaunted a cool USD 407.93 Million value, and rumor has it, it’s on track to flex its muscles at USD 689.19 Million by 2031. That’s a whopping 6% growth rate — not too shabby for the behind-the-scenes players!

Behind the Scenes Drama

Cosmetic preservatives may not have red carpets, but they do play some crucial roles. Picture this: skincare products without preservatives are like a suspense movie without a plot twist — everything falls apart. These unsung warriors combat microbial growth, stabilize formulas, and ward off the dreaded effects of water on your precious creams and lotions.

In March 2022, Sharon Labs decided to spice up its storyline by acquiring RES Pharma Industrial. A strategic move to integrate technology, research, and development capabilities — talk about a plot twist in the business world!

Natural vs. Synthetic Showdown

It’s the age-old battle of natural vs. synthetic. In one corner, we have natural preservatives strutting their stuff with oil extracts from curry leaves and cinnamon. In the other corner, synthetic preservatives like parabens and phenoxyethanol flex their muscles, proving to be the ultimate bacterial bouncers. Sorry, curry leaves, you tried!

Market Snapshot — Drama Unfolds

2024–2031 Global Market Highlights:

Size: USD 407.93 Million

Largest Segment: Skin & Sun Care

Fastest Growth: Fragrances & Perfumes, Makeup & Color

Growth Rate: A Steady 6% CAGR

Regional Drama:

North America Reigns Supreme: Holding the largest share, North America flaunts its dominance in the cosmetic preservatives saga.

Market Segmental Analysis — The Cast of Characters

Product Division:

Phenol Derivatives Take the Lead: These were the rockstars back in 2015, especially phenoxyethanol, stealing the spotlight in skin lightening creams and hair coloring solutions.

For More Information: https://www.skyquestt.com/report/cosmetic-preservatives-market

End Use Battle:

Skincare and Sunscreen Products in the Spotlight: A considerable 40.24% share, thanks to the growing fear of UV rays. Toiletries play the supporting role, gaining popularity in the Asia Pacific region — who knew personal hygiene could be so captivating?

The Competitive Landscape — Big Players in the Game

The Cosmetic Preservative Market isn’t a solo act; it’s a band with both small-scale indie players and big international corporations. Top players include BASF SE, Lonza Group, Dow Chemical Company, and others. Imagine them as the Avengers, but for preserving your favorite beauty products.

What’s Driving the Plot?

Drivers:

Consumer Safety Awareness: Consumers are now Sherlock-level investigators, scrutinizing product labels for safety. Cosmetic preservatives, your silent guardians, ensure products are not only effective but also safe for the skin.

Rising Demand for Natural Beauty: In a world going green, consumers are on the lookout for preservatives derived from plant extracts. It’s like a beauty revolution — cleaner, safer, and closer to nature.

Restraints:

Regulatory Restrictions: The villains of our story — regulatory restrictions putting the squeeze on certain preservatives. But hey, necessity is the mother of innovation, right?

Recent Developments — The Plot Thickens

In this ever-evolving plot, we witness Symrise creating a strategic partnership with Synergio and Brenntag teaming up with ISCA. It’s like alliances forming in a Game of Thrones episode, but with less drama (hopefully).

Market Trends — The Twist in the Tale

Microbiome-Friendly Preservatives: Move over, ordinary preservatives; it’s time for the heroes supporting the skin’s microbiome. These preservatives don’t just protect, but they also dance harmoniously with the skin’s natural ecosystem — skincare with a sprinkle of romance.

The Final Act

In the grand finale, the Global Cosmetic Preservative Market paints a dynamic picture — a shift towards natural, sustainable solutions, innovative preservatives, and a quest for safer, more effective options. The drama continues, but one thing’s for sure — these unsung heroes aren’t leaving the stage anytime soon.

So, there you have it — the not-so-robotic journey into the heart of the Cosmetic Preservatives Market. Who knew preserving beauty could be this intriguing?

About Us-

SkyQuest Technology Group is a Global Market Intelligence, Innovation Management & Commercialization organization that connects innovation to new markets, networks & collaborators for achieving Sustainable Development Goals.

Contact Us-

SkyQuest Technology Consulting Pvt. Ltd.

1 Apache Way,

Westford,

Massachusetts 01886

USA (+1) 617–230–0741

Email- info@skyquestt.com

Website: https://www.skyquestt.com

[sqinsights]

Unlocking the Secrets of the Global Cosmetic Preservatives Market

So, you’ve stumbled upon the fascinating world of cosmetic preservatives — the unsung heroes behind your favorite skincare products. Forget the fancy terms like “unveiling” or “empowering”; let’s dive into the nitty-gritty without any AI-generated mumbo-jumbo.

The Numbers Game

The Global Cosmetic Preservative Market isn’t just a random assortment of digits. In 2022, it flaunted a cool USD 407.93 Million value, and rumor has it, it’s on track to flex its muscles at USD 689.19 Million by 2031. That’s a whopping 6% growth rate — not too shabby for the behind-the-scenes players!

Behind the Scenes Drama

Cosmetic preservatives may not have red carpets, but they do play some crucial roles. Picture this: skincare products without preservatives are like a suspense movie without a plot twist — everything falls apart. These unsung warriors combat microbial growth, stabilize formulas, and ward off the dreaded effects of water on your precious creams and lotions.

In March 2022, Sharon Labs decided to spice up its storyline by acquiring RES Pharma Industrial. A strategic move to integrate technology, research, and development capabilities — talk about a plot twist in the business world!

Natural vs. Synthetic Showdown

It’s the age-old battle of natural vs. synthetic. In one corner, we have natural preservatives strutting their stuff with oil extracts from curry leaves and cinnamon. In the other corner, synthetic preservatives like parabens and phenoxyethanol flex their muscles, proving to be the ultimate bacterial bouncers. Sorry, curry leaves, you tried!

Market Snapshot — Drama Unfolds

2024–2031 Global Market Highlights:

Size: USD 407.93 Million

Largest Segment: Skin & Sun Care

Fastest Growth: Fragrances & Perfumes, Makeup & Color

Growth Rate: A Steady 6% CAGR

Regional Drama:

North America Reigns Supreme: Holding the largest share, North America flaunts its dominance in the cosmetic preservatives saga.

Market Segmental Analysis — The Cast of Characters

Product Division:

Phenol Derivatives Take the Lead: These were the rockstars back in 2015, especially phenoxyethanol, stealing the spotlight in skin lightening creams and hair coloring solutions.

For More Information: https://www.skyquestt.com/report/cosmetic-preservatives-market

End Use Battle:

Skincare and Sunscreen Products in the Spotlight: A considerable 40.24% share, thanks to the growing fear of UV rays. Toiletries play the supporting role, gaining popularity in the Asia Pacific region — who knew personal hygiene could be so captivating?

The Competitive Landscape — Big Players in the Game

The Cosmetic Preservative Market isn’t a solo act; it’s a band with both small-scale indie players and big international corporations. Top players include BASF SE, Lonza Group, Dow Chemical Company, and others. Imagine them as the Avengers, but for preserving your favorite beauty products.

What’s Driving the Plot?

Drivers:

Consumer Safety Awareness: Consumers are now Sherlock-level investigators, scrutinizing product labels for safety. Cosmetic preservatives, your silent guardians, ensure products are not only effective but also safe for the skin.

Rising Demand for Natural Beauty: In a world going green, consumers are on the lookout for preservatives derived from plant extracts. It’s like a beauty revolution — cleaner, safer, and closer to nature.

Restraints:

Regulatory Restrictions: The villains of our story — regulatory restrictions putting the squeeze on certain preservatives. But hey, necessity is the mother of innovation, right?

Recent Developments — The Plot Thickens

In this ever-evolving plot, we witness Symrise creating a strategic partnership with Synergio and Brenntag teaming up with ISCA. It’s like alliances forming in a Game of Thrones episode, but with less drama (hopefully).

Market Trends — The Twist in the Tale

Microbiome-Friendly Preservatives: Move over, ordinary preservatives; it’s time for the heroes supporting the skin’s microbiome. These preservatives don’t just protect, but they also dance harmoniously with the skin’s natural ecosystem — skincare with a sprinkle of romance.

The Final Act

In the grand finale, the Global Cosmetic Preservative Market paints a dynamic picture — a shift towards natural, sustainable solutions, innovative preservatives, and a quest for safer, more effective options. The drama continues, but one thing’s for sure — these unsung heroes aren’t leaving the stage anytime soon.

So, there you have it — the not-so-robotic journey into the heart of the Cosmetic Preservatives Market. Who knew preserving beauty could be this intriguing?

About Us-

SkyQuest Technology Group is a Global Market Intelligence, Innovation Management & Commercialization organization that connects innovation to new markets, networks & collaborators for achieving Sustainable Development Goals.

Contact Us-

SkyQuest Technology Consulting Pvt. Ltd.

1 Apache Way,

Westford,

Massachusetts 01886

USA (+1) 617–230–0741

Email- info@skyquestt.com

Website: https://www.skyquestt.com

[blogs0728]

Top 10 best tourists place in India

Introduction:

India, a land of rich diversity and breathtaking landscapes, boasts an array of captivating destinations that beckon travelers from around the world. From the pristine beaches of Goa to the regal forts of Rajasthan, this country offers a tapestry of experiences that enchant the soul. In this comprehensive blog, we will delve into the top 10 tourist destinations in India that continue to charm travelers, promising unforgettable experiences and lasting memories.

1. Goa: The Beach Paradise:

Nestled along the western coastline, Goa reigns supreme as India's beach paradise. With its pristine shores, vibrant nightlife, and laid-back atmosphere, it tops the list of Indian tourist destinations. While Goa is a year-round attraction, the winter season, from November to February, is ideal for experiencing its charms. Beach hopping, thrilling water sports, and savoring authentic Goan cuisine are just a few highlights of this coastal gem.

2. Agra: The City of the Taj Mahal:

Agra, a city steeped in history, is home to the iconic Taj Mahal, one of the world's Seven Wonders. Visiting the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, and other architectural marvels is a must for history enthusiasts. The best time to explore Agra is from October to March when the weather is pleasant and the city is adorned with its historical grandeur.

3. Rajasthan: The Land of Royals:

Rajasthan, often referred to as the "Land of Royals," is a treasure trove of history and culture. Exploring cities like Jaipur, Udaipur, and Jaisalmer is akin to stepping into a bygone era of opulence and valor. Vibrant festivals, magnificent forts, and delectable Rajasthani cuisine make this region a traveler's dream. The best time to visit Rajasthan is during the cooler months, from November to February.

4, Delhi: The Capital Blend:

Delhi, India's bustling capital, is a seamless blend of history and modernity. Stroll through the historic Red Fort, explore the intricacies of Humayun’s Tomb, and indulge in street food delights at Chandni Chowk. The ideal time to experience Delhi's charms is from October to March when the weather is pleasant for outdoor exploration.

5. Munnar: Nature's Abode:

Nestled in the Western Ghats of Kerala, Munnar offers a tranquil escape amidst rolling hills, verdant tea plantations, and cascading waterfalls. The period between September and March is the best time to explore this pristine region. Don't miss out on experiences like Echo Point, Top Station, and leisurely boat rides.

6. Coorg: The Scotland of India:

Coorg, situated in Karnataka, is renowned for its lush green landscapes and aromatic coffee plantations. Explore attractions like Abbey Falls, savor Kodava cuisine, and lose yourself in the charm of this year-round destination, which boasts pleasant weather throughout the year.

7. Manali: The Mountain Haven:

Set in the picturesque state of Himachal Pradesh, Manali is a year-round paradise for nature enthusiasts and adventure seekers. Engage in thrilling activities at Solang Valley, visit the serene Hidimba Devi Temple, and embark on a mesmerizing journey to Rohtang Pass during the summer months.

8. Ooty: The Queen of Hill Stations:

Ooty, nestled in Tamil Nadu's Nilgiri Hills, provides a welcome respite from the scorching summer heat. Visit the Botanical Gardens, gaze at the majestic Doddabetta Peak, and embark on a nostalgic toy train ride on the Nilgiri Mountain Railway. The period from October to June is the best time to explore Ooty's beauty.

9. Lonavala and Khandala: Twin Retreats:

These twin hill stations in Maharashtra come to life during the monsoon season when lush greenery, sparkling lakes, and milky-white waterfalls create a magical landscape. Embrace the natural wonders of Tiger’s Leap, explore the historic Rajmachi Fort, and enjoy the serenity of Bhushi Dam. Plan your visit between December to February or during the monsoon months of July to September.

10. Shillong: The Scotland of the East:

Shillong, located in Meghalaya, promises pleasant weather year-round and offers a unique blend of natural beauty and vibrant culture. Explore attractions such as Umiam Lake, Elephant Waterfalls, and engage in local culinary delights and shopping experiences. The best time to visit Shillong is from September to May.

Summary:

India, with its diverse landscapes and rich cultural heritage, invites travelers to embark on a journey of a lifetime. Whether you seek the sun-kissed beaches, delve into historical marvels, relish the serenity of hill stations, or immerse yourself in the vibrancy of bustling cities, India has it all. These top 10 destinations serve as a mere glimpse of the incredible adventures awaiting exploration in this magnificent country. Plan your visits wisely, immerse yourself in the local culture, and create memories that will last a lifetime. India welcomes you with open arms to discover its wonders, one destination at a time.

[thetoxicgamer]

Vampire Survivors snags Steam Deck top 20 spot yet again

Valve just revealed the top Steam Deck games for the month of April, and Vampire Survivors once again reigns supreme. Other PC game favourites like Elden Ring are also sitting pretty at the top, but handheld enthusiasts are evidently sinking their teeth into newer releases on the go too Vampire Survivors is arguably one of the best Steam Deck games out there, and as you may have guessed, this isn’t the roguelike’s first time at the ‘most-played’ top. In fact, the survival game seems to have a knack for winning portable players over, as it has held dominion over the handheld list multiple times already. Here are the top Steam Deck games for April 2023: - Vampire Survivors - Elden Ring - Hogwarts Legacy - Stardew Valley - Resident Evil 4 - Red Dead Redemption 2 - Grand Theft Auto V - Cyberpunk 2077 - Dredge - Hades - No Man’s Sky - The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth - Brotato - The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Special Edition - MONSTER HUNTER RISE - Fallout 4 - Slay the Spire - Persona 5 Royal - Dead Cells It’s easy to see why Vampire Survivors is considered ‘Great on Deck’, as the shoot-em-up doesn’t make the handheld sweat. That Steam Deck Verified badge pinned to its cloak also provides a level of portable reassurance, meaning you won’t have to worry about workarounds or weird bugs haunting the experience. All that aside, its addictive gameplay loop will put you in a Dracula-style trace if you let it, and developer Ponicle dropped fresh Vampire Survivors DLC alongside its latest update last month. That could partially explain why the shooter is now sitting at the top yet again, but newcomers are encroaching on the roguelike romp. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iC4O-_kG11s As you can see above, Resident Evil 4 Remake is sitting pretty far up Valve’s list, which makes sense given that it managed to creep onto the top Steam Deck games for March. It also feels right to give Dredge a shout-out, as the Lovecraftian fishing game is clearly winning portable players over with its gorgeous cell-shaded visuals and ominous (yet somehow cosy) vibes. We’ll check back in once Valve shares its top Steam Deck games for May 2023, as new releases like Star Wars Jedi Survivor and Arkane’s latest FPS game could end up on the list. That said, players are already having a rough time with Star Wars Jedi Survivor on PC, and our Redfall review outlines why the shooter falls short. Already got your favourite games installed? Why not turn your attention to our best Steam Deck accessories list, as our add-on suggestions will help you put together the perfect portable setup. Read the full article

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

NRC’S Bestiary Survival Guide: Savanaclaw Edition

[Running your fingers over the colorful tabs, you skip over the bright red tab of Heartslabyul and pull open the book by the golden-yellow tab. The next segment in the book that greets you is…a mess. Although the ink is dry, the following pages are looking a little worse for wear. Between the sand, sweat, mud, and food stains, it’s a mystery how any of the sketches or text are still legible! It also appears that there are notes from different people scattered across the pages.]

It’s been almost two weeks since I started this project, and at this rate I don’t know how this book is going to survive this school—let alone Savanaclaw. Things have somewhat calmed down since the Magift Tournament, though I’m starting to wonder if they’ve always been this…high-strung or if it’s a result of what happened since then. I think I should scan these pages in before something happens during my visit…

Shishishishi, you really had your work cut out for ya, huh? Shouldn’t have come during Magift practice this morning.

I went ahead and took pictures of everything already just in case. But only because you worked hard on the book!

Right…don’t expect me to read all this, herbivore…

Anyway, the next dorm on the list is Savanaclaw. Many of its members are considered the most physically powerful and cunning of the student body, ranging from minotaur to werewolves. Among the current members are:

Leona Kingscholar: Manticore species. The king of Savanaclaw, he reigns supreme over the students in his dorm…when he’s not napping of course, but even then, no one dares mess with the king. With large bat-like wings, quills hidden in his mane, and a deadly scorpion tail, the words “soft” and “cuddly” do not come to mind. The manticore species are known for the deadly venom they carry—the stronger the magic, the more potent and deadly the results. The quills are hollow and fragile, meaning they can hook onto anyone foolish enough to attack them head on—provided they can avoid the projectile quills on the tail of course. When relaxed enough though, this is the best time to interact with Leona as the quills will lie flat and be harder to spot or snag. He doesn’t mind face rubs (fastest way to make him fall asleep if you don't pull his cheeks. The record is ten seconds when grumpy), ear rubs, and chin scratches, though it turns out he has a particular weakness for having someone run their fingers through their hair.

Can’t imagine anyone thinkin’ of trying that with a manticore’s spines being so close. Humans must be either really brave or really stupid!

Ace mentioned something before about how they seem to fit in with everyone at Heartslabyul. Perhaps humans pack bond like we do?

Ruggie Bucchi: Cocotta/Leucrocotta species. Hyena-like monsters, the Leucrocotta (also known by multiple names, though apparently that’s dependent on the region in Twisted Wonderland they’re in) are a force to be reckoned with as the most skilled vocal mimics. With hyena ears and spots, it’s a little jarring to see cloven hooves instead of claws and a lion-like tail rather than the short tail typically seen on hyenas—not that Twisted Wonderland actually follows the same rules as Earth anyway. Make no mistake though, Ruggie is fast and strong—though he’s particularly weak to ear rubs and is incredibly ticklish, though be warned as the hyena laugh has a somewhat scary undertone.

…you’re ticklish?

Hey! No tickling while I’m on the job! Sheesh…

Jack Howl: Fu dog species. Elegant and powerful, fu dogs are known as guardians and loyal companions with the strength of a lion and the durability of deep slate stone. They tend to travel in pairs according to Ruggie, though for some reason Jack is the only Fu dog or “Shishi” at NRC. As intimidating as they can be with their mist-like manes and tails and long fangs, it comes as a surprise to discover that they may exhibit more canine-like—perhaps even puppy-like—behavior, though it’s difficult to say if this is a common behavior in the species or if it’s Jack specific. Jack himself can transform into a massive beast form that’s as tall as a Belgian horse, and the best places to pet are: head and ears (humanoid form) and head, ears, and belly rubs (beast form)…possibly any other place dogs normally like, though have not had a chance to test.

Awwww, who’s a good little pupper~?

Heh, I guess our little guard puppy has a weak spot. How cute…

T-That’s-!!

[The rest of the page is covered in a large stain, as though someone had spilled coffee or tea on the paper and ruined the ink to the point the remaining words were faded. Somehow the rest of the pages after were legible. Just before reaching the silver-white tab separating the next dorm section, there seems to be a random page from school paper sticking out depicting a tiny child looking suspiciously like Leona, only bearing a pair of feathery wings instead of bat ones. The child is standing next to a childishly drawn renditions of what seems to be Yuu holding the child’s hand.]

Cheka Kingscholar: Shedu species. Quite possibly the most adorable little child ever seen, Cheka is part of the royal family and a member of the shedu species. According to Ruggie, the shedu are known as protective guardians with close ties to the stars and life itself. In Twisted Wonderland, it’s rumored that they can travel through the stars and gain strength from constellations to protect all life around them. Even tiny Cheka—still a cub—can create paths of grass and flowers with each step, and perhaps someday he may be able to create an oasis just like his father. Cheka is a cuddlebug, so he loves snuggles and ear scratches, and face rubs are the quickest way to get him to fall asleep. Despite supposedly being two different species in the same family, he absolutely adores his uncle and somehow he never seems to get injured on Leona’s quills.

[scattered-winter]

re my dc/rwby au: THEME SONGS

I'm assigning each batfam member some lyrics from my favorite songs from the RWBY season 1 album. the song title will be in parentheses for each one ❤

Bruce

red like roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest (red like roses pt1) beware that the light is fading; beware as the dark returns (this will be the day) from shadows we'll descend upon the world; take back what you stole (from shadows) to have you in my life was all I ever wanted; but now without you I'm a soul forever haunted; can't help but feel that I had taken you for granted; no way in hell that I can ever comprehend it (red like roses pt2)

Dick

they see you as small and helpless; they see you as just a child; surprise when they find out that a warrior will soon run wild (this will be the day) from shadows we'll reclaim our destiny; set our futures free; and we'll rise; above the darkness and shame; above the torture and the pain; above the ridicule and hate; above the binding of our fate (from shadows) bring it all; its not enough to take me down (I may fall) I wasn't dreaming when they told me you were gone; I was wide awake and feeling that they had to be wrong; how could you leave me when you swore that you would stay?; now I'm stuck inside a nightmare every single fucking day (red like roses pt2)

Jason

black the beast descends from shadows (red like roses pt1) this world's unforgiving; even brilliant lights will cease to burn (this will be the day) come at me; and you'll see; I'm more than meets the eye (I burn) red like roses; fills my head with dreams and finds me; always closer to the emptiness and sadness that has come to take the place of you (red like roses pt2) call us liars; degenerates and killers; psychos; heartless insane criminals (from shadows)

Tim

prepare for your greatest moments; prepare for your finest hour; this dream that you've always dreamed is suddenly about to flower (this will be the day) when we've lost all hope; and succumb to fear; and the skies rain blood; and the end draws near; I may fall; but not like this; it won't be by your hand (I may fall)

Damian

white is cold and always yearning; burdened by the royal test (red like roses pt1) fear of what's inside me; tell me, can a heart be turned to stone? (mirror mirror pt1) there's a place where we'll stand outnumbered; where the wolves and the soulless will rise; in the time of our final moments; every dream dies; there's a day when our shields will lay shattered; and the fear's all that's left in our hearts (I may fall)

Stephanie

welcome to a world of new solutions; welcome to a world of bloody evolution; in time, a heart will open minds; a story will be told; and victory is in a simple soul (this will be the day) bringing out your rockets? well shoot 'em up baby; high as you can go but I'm the one who's gonna soar (I burn)

Cassandra

we are lightning; straying from the thunder, miracles of ancient wonder (this will be the day) mirror mirror what's behind you; save me from the things I see; I can keep it from the world; why won't you let me hide from me (mirror mirror pt1)

Duke

yellow beauty burns gold (red like roses pt1) reign supreme? in your dreams; you'll never make me bow; kick my ass? I'm world-class (I burn) your world needs a great defender; your world's in the way of harm; you want a romantic life; a fairy tale that's full of charm (this will be the day)

[otonymous]

Prisoner Of Love (Ikesen Kenshin - NSFW)

Description: Can two victims of circumstance find their way to love? Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Spoilers for the first half of Kenshin’s MS.  Potential trigger warnings: angst, imprisonment, mild mentions of injuries, self-harm and death, self-loathing, anxiety, possessiveness (it IS Kenshin after all 🤣), slight dub-con elements, profanity, vaginal intercourse, squirting Word Count: ~3100 words (~17 minutes of angst and smut) Author’s Notes: Sending out a super giant thank you to the incredibly kind and gracious @azuchi-princess​ for commissioning this Kenshin piece from me.  I cannot tell you how honoured I am to have been entrusted with writing for your husbando! 🥰💕 It was an absolutely wonderful process working with you, and I’m so glad to have been able to indulge in my need for angst and smut at the same time!

(SPOILER ALERT!) This story takes place shortly after Kenshin has MC (read: YOU!) placed behind bars as his “spoils of war,” but I have taken creative license in altering the events that occur afterwards.  Moreover, the perspective shifts between that of the reader’s and Kenshin’s in the hopes of delivering that optimal punch of angst 👊🏼🤣

Please note the warnings listed above — especially the potential triggers — and avoid this read if anything makes you uncomfortable.  Otherwise, dear readers, I sincerely hope that you enjoy this piece! 💕

Chapter I (Kenshin’s POV)

Betrayal.

Cutting deeper than the sharpest blade.

Unforgiving like Himetsuru-Ichimonji, severing the red string of fate as quickly as it is drawn from its scabbard.

So why was it that Kenshin still couldn’t bring himself to hate her?

Footsteps echoing along stone walls in the bowels of Kasugayama Castle — the very place where he had her cast behind bars — Kenshin wanders, trapped in a hell from which there was no escape.

For the confines of the mind were impervious to even the God of War’s sharpened steel.

And in between each beat of his thunderous heart, he hears her: gentle tears rolling down that delicate face to fall on packed earth, the ground’s inhospitable chill reaching up through limbs to rob even the final vestiges of warmth from bone.  Her every shuddering breath is a weight upon his chest, suffocating until Kenshin clings to the reins of reason holding him back from storming her cell like a madman, animated solely by the fire commanding him to see, to touch…

…to love her.

Hands clenching into tight fists, Kenshin’s knuckles blanch whiter than his already pale skin when he slows to a stop.  Round the corner and there she’ll be.

Woman of the Oda.  The Devil King’s own.

She, who had lied in the same breath that commiserated with him as they waited for Sasuke’s return.  She, whose tears left him dazzled, catching the light of the fire like precious stones even as their salt stung, seeping into his open wounds.  She, who had held his hand within her own, caring not about sullying her perfect skin with his tainted blood.

Because tainted is what he is.  It is what he deserves.

And yet, he can’t help but see the moonlight in her gaze, shimmering like a spectre every time he closes his eyes.  Can’t stop himself from desiring the tender warmth of her smile.  Still wonders at her fearless bravado in the face of a man who brought nothing but death and destruction upon friend and foe alike.

Isehime.

No.

No, he will not see her, Kenshin thinks, gaze frosting over as he wills the ice in his veins to freeze a heart he no longer wanted to feel.  He walks away, forcing himself to believe that the sound of her sorrow growing faint was nothing more than mice in the walls.

Chapter II (Reader’s POV)

Ethereal moons beckon from scrolls depicting each of the four seasons — resplendent colours discordant against the drab stone walls on which they hang.

Cherry blossoms flutter against gold-foil skies; delicate petals frozen in time as they float across a folding screen.

Even the futon in the corner of your cell seemed fit for a princess at court, much more luxurious than the one in which you had slept at Azuchi.

The Dragon of Echigo had took it upon himself to see that his spoils of war would want for nothing, and yet he would deny you the one thing you truly desired:

The man himself.

Sasuke, Shingen and Yukimura would visit — sometimes together, sometimes in turn — graciously sharing their company for which you were so starved.  Your ninja friend swore with as much emotion as he could muster to do anything and everything possible to persuade his lord to release you, or at the very least, agree to see you.  Yukimura couldn’t stop shaking his head, the expression on his face indignant to see you treated thus, ‘boar woman’ though you were.  As for Lord Shingen, he likened you to a bird in a gilded cage, trying to tempt you with offers of freedom and a ready smile on his face that surely would’ve moved any woman to see it…

…any woman but you, that is.

For in your eyes, there was only ever Kenshin — the man who came to your rescue time and time again without knowing your true identity.  Intoxicating like the finest sake, each and every moment spent by his side became a precious embrace of a memory, emblazoned in your mind until it was impossible to forget:

The black cape that flowed from broad shoulders like a powerful wave, trailing behind him that night he saved you from those thugs in Azuchi.  The way your feet dragged behind his footsteps, moving slow just to watch him cut swift through tall grass with all the seasoned grace of a dancer.  His porcelain skin glowing from within as if lit by the light of his own moon.

And in his eyes…sorrow as unfathomable as the sea was deep, rising like smoke from sapphire and emerald in those rare moments the Dragon of Echigo let down his guard.  But alas, no more.

You had broken his trust.

How many nights have you lain awake, seeking out pinprick stars through the sliver of window high above your prison and thinking about how things might have been different?  What if you had disclosed your relationship with the Oda at the very start?  Would the press of the cold steel of his blade be more of a consolation against your neck than the heartbreak spreading from chest to limb every time you lay down to sleep?

Sleep?

No, that was not forthcoming these days — rest a luxury you couldn’t afford until the moment you could face Kenshin for yourself and tell him that you never meant to hurt him, never meant to lie.  That though Nobunaga found you first, you had no ulterior motive in approaching Kenshin other than the fact that you…you…

…simply couldn’t stay away.

No matter what anyone tried to say about him.

For even on the battlefield, every nerve singed as the stench of freshly spilt blood filled your nostrils, you still couldn’t tear your gaze from the one they revered as the God of War.  Like an immortal stepping from an unfurling scroll, Kenshin moved with the fluid grace of a master painter wielding his brush, completely at one with his sword as he dispatched his enemies with a precision that terrified and awed all at once.

And when he held you in his arms that night — the same hand which had claimed countless lives bleeding into your own as you clasped it in prayer for Sasuke’s safe return — you had felt no fear; only the wish that time would stretch into eternity so that you might forever have him near.

“Kenshin.”

You say his name once…twice…the syllables rolling off your tongue to echo down the hallway like a ghost, lonely and forgotten in the dungeons of Kasugayama Castle.  What was freedom to you when you couldn’t bear to break the shackles chaining you to a god who would never look your way again?

Chapter III (Kenshin’s POV)

“Kenshin.”

Her voice halts him in his tracks, one hand shooting out to rest upon the cool stone wall as Kenshin bolsters himself against the sudden weakness in his knees.  When was the last time he heard her speak his name?  Had it always sounded so melodic, caressing up the spine to curl gently upon the lobe of his ear?

That she is calling for him at a time when she should’ve been fast asleep is a source of elation and anxiety all at once, She is thinking of me tempered by the dread in knowing that she wasn’t getting the rest her body needed.  And slowly, slowly…the scales start to tip: if she didn’t sleep, she’d become too exhausted to eat.  And without eating, she would…

…die.

The nightmare would begin anew.  Except this time, it would be her blood on Kenshin’s hands, spilling crimson over the scars left behind by Isehime’s lifeless body.

She’ll slip away from you like the other, the voice in his head chastises, full of malice as darkness begins unfurling from the corners of his mind, tightening the vice in his chest.  They come hard and fast, thoughts tangling one over the other like a labyrinth of vines from which there was no escape:

Poison runs through your veins.  Loving her would only doom the girl to misfortune and regret.

If she is not yours, could you possibly surrender her to anyone else?

You cannot outrun your curse.  All those you hold dear will end up like Isehime: sleeping in the cold earth.

No one must lay eyes on her beauty, witness her elegance, know of the rare flower blooming in the depths of this dungeon.

No one but you.

Fist pulling back, Kenshin releases the full force of his strength in a punch to the wall.  Bruised bone and shredded skin send blistering pain to interrupt the cacophony in his head, silence reigning supreme once more until

“Kenshin?”

…she calls for him again, voice coloured with anticipation this time.  He hears a shuffle, sees her in his mind’s eye — throwing off the covers of her bedding to press against the bars, straining to peek around the wooden slats that kept her from freedom.  Kept her from him.

“Please, Kenshin…is that you?”

He knows not why he does it, body moving before his mind is even aware.  Kenshin had managed to make his way to her cell undetected every night since he put her there, standing silent in shadowy corners just to watch her sleep, allowing the rise and fall of her breath to soothe him with the knowledge that she was still very much alive.  But now, in a single moment of thoughtlessness, he had thrown it all away.

She gasps to finally see him and even the sound of that is beautiful, resonating clear like the note of an expertly plucked koto.  His gaze falls on her tightened grip around the bars, follows the solitary tear gathering starlight as it rolls down her cheek.  And when her eyes widen in horror to look upon the state of his injured hand, Kenshin feels it:

A shift deep within, barely perceptible but wholly significant, like ice cracking beneath the surface of a frozen stream.

And the rush of waters that follows drowns the lovers in a flood from which neither was capable of nor willing to escape.

Chapter IV (Reader’s POV)

Perhaps he really was a god, answering every prayer that ever slipped past noiseless lips to materialize before you in that prison.  His white kimono is pristine beneath that black cloak, as if emphasizing the sanctity of his being, the unalterable distance between Uesugi Kenshin and a mere mortal such as yourself.  But then the rivulets of red run down that swollen hand to tell you otherwise; the revelation bittersweet because maybe now, there was a way for you to be together, complicated though circumstances were.  

So you reach for him through the bars and he complies, watching as you lay kisses upon bruised fingers, feeling the familiar sting of your tears as they seep into wounded flesh and broken hearts — full of sorrow, full of joy…and impossible to stop.

“Push me away.”

His voice is soft for the hard edges of his words.  Head lifting, you meet those striking eyes, focused and still.  Yet, you felt the storm brewing in those blue and green depths, turmoil barely concealed beneath the ice of his gaze.  And there, standing before the man whose very blood stained your lips, you refuse.

Lightning flashes in those eyes and suddenly, his fingers are curling tight about the sleeve of your kimono, Kenshin pulling you close through the bars in one swift motion until the stilted rhythm of his breath is dancing hot over your skin.  

“Say it.  Say you hate me, that you want absolutely nothing to do with me.  Do it now or else—”

“No.  Never.  How could I ever bring myself to hate the one I love—”

The grimace on his handsome face cuts you off, the great Dragon of Echigo trembling at the very word, love, like it was dirty, taboo.  And as the final threads of control slip from his grasp, Kenshin is moving once more without thought — his body a slave to the dictates of the heart.  Yanking on the ring of keys hanging from his tapered waist, Kenshin throws open the door to your cell and in an instant, he is by your side.

“Fine.  Then I’ll make you hate me.”

His whisper is a promise.

The keys clatter as they’re thrown to the ground, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, deafening with every pounding beat of your heart to feel his lips on yours for the very first time.  The insistent tongue pushing into your mouth carries a hint of sake, the fervour of his kiss leaving you intoxicated and desperate for more.

Long fingers thread through the silk of your hair, Kenshin’s grip gentle yet firm as he angles your head to deepen the kiss, bringing you closer and closer until the end of his exhalation marked the beginning of your next breath.  And hadn’t it always been this way, you forever chasing after the mystery that was this beautifully broken man?  The intensity of his want is a spell that bewitches, inexorably pulling you into the crucible of his desire, passion matching yours flame for burning flame until all else was extinguished.

Good and bad, right or wrong.

Words insignificant like ash in the face of this all-consuming love.

“Hate me,” Kenshin begs, teeth sinking into your lower lip until the taste of your blood mixed with his.  “Please…or else I’ll never give you up.”

Open-mouthed kisses now trailing wet along the column of your neck, your fingers find purchase in his golden hair, pulling hard as you yield to the sensation of his breath moving lower and lower still.  Kenshin groans, the sound resonating from deep within his chest to send a rush of heat that dampens the sacred space between your legs.

Body ready and heart set, your mind had been made up long ago.  So you grasp onto those shoulders — broad and strong — to pull Kenshin up before you.  And in the silent space between the beating of twin hearts, you say with a conviction so strong there could be no doubt,

“I am yours.”

The sound that catches in his throat is guttural, almost feral as those eyes of emerald and sapphire train on you with the intensity of a thousand suns.  A sea of emotions flit across that handsome face, subtly shifting until one finally wins out:

Need.

You barely feel it though it must’ve taken considerable force to tear your obi off, the sumptuous kimono he gifted you with slipping from your shoulders as the God of War sets you upon the futon fit for a princess.  Elegant even in haste, Kenshin disrobes with the grace of snow falling on frost-covered pine, revealing porcelain skin stretched over perfectly sculpted muscle that beckons to your every nerve.

And before the dungeon’s chill could rattle your bones, he gathers you into the heat of his embrace.  Skin to skin, the arms wrapped around you tremble when he whispers, “I’ve wanted you so desperately, I-I don’t think I can hold back.”  

Head falling back onto your pillow, you will Kenshin to see the sincerity, the surrender in the darkened gaze that reflects his very image.

“Then give me everything.  I want…all that you are.”

It tears a breathless gasp from your lips, mouth drawn open in a silent scream when Kenshin fills you to the hilt with a single thrust — the thick, hard heat of his cock testing the limits of your body with its size.  Equally skilled in bed as he was on the battlefield, the God of War is a force to be reckoned with, the swing of his hips graceful even as they connect with yours, ruthless in speed and intensity.

He moves within your body like he belongs, pulling out only to dive even deeper into slick depths until pleasure bloomed pink along your skin, the hardened tips of your breasts so enticing Kenshin couldn’t help but take them into his mouth in greedy turn as he continued thrusting, harder and faster until your legs began to shake.

“Oh god, Kenshin!  You feel…so…good...ahh!—”

Pants and screams echo down darkened corridors, the sound of your pleasure in being taken this way resonating in the corners of every prison cell until you think to bite onto the sleeve of your kimono.  But Kenshin just shakes his head, the sweat of exertion glistening on his body as his fingers move towards your mouth.

“No, I want…hmm…to hear you.  Every sound you make is…precious to me.  Let it out.”  

With that, he removes the embroidered fabric, lips pressing to yours to swallow every licentious moan for himself as he props your legs up against his shoulders.  All of a sudden, like pieces of a puzzle sliding into place, the motion awakens sensations you never before knew existed.

Unable to scream with your lover’s tongue in your mouth, your body responds in the only other way it knew how: convulsing beneath Kenshin until he is forced to pull out, allowing a flood of your arousal to cascade past swollen lips, spilling down the insides of your thighs in a lewd display that wets the bedding beneath your entwined bodies.  And yet,

“More.  Please, Kenshin…I want more…”

…you were insatiable.

The sight, sound and smell of you so undone ignites a fire inside the warlord, his mind scrambled by lust.  And when he slides into you once more, he fucks with absolute abandon, yearning for complete union even as he leaves you breathless to finally spill into your depths.

* * *

You awake to moonlight glowing soft beyond shoji screens and the rhythm of a heartbeat, measured and slow beneath your ear.  The robe you wore was fresh and soft; vague recollections of Kenshin gently caressing your fatigued body with a washcloth filtering in and out of your thoughts.  At some point, he must’ve carried you to his chambers, sleeping now as you were upon his chest.

Lifting your head, you gaze at your lover in repose.  It fills you with affection to see him — heart tightening to bind you to this man.  And as his muscular arm winds about your waist, you knew you would forever be a willing prisoner to his love.

Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[whileiamdying]

Review/Film; Deneuve As Symbol Of Colonial Epoch

By Vincent Canby Dec. 24, 1992

Catherine Deneuve reigns in "Indochine." That is, she presides over its second-rate fiction with the manner of an empress who knows her powers are constitutionally limited but who continues to take her duties seriously. She can't change the course of the film, but her lofty presence keeps it from flying apart. She plays Eliane who, when first met in 1930, divides her time between a mansion near Saigon and a successful rubber plantation, which she oversees with (sometimes for) her widowed father.

Miss Deneuve has her work cut out for her, since the new French film, made on location at great expense and with attention to historical accuracy, intends to be nothing less than epic. "Indochine" is the story of the last 25 years of French rule in Indochina as reflected by the events in Eliane's life. The subject is potentially rich, but the screenplay, whomped up by three screenwriters in collaboration with Regis Wargnier, the director, has neither the conviction of fact, the sense of revelation found in good fiction, nor the fun of trashy literature.

In 1930 Eliane enjoys all the perks that accrue to the dominant class in a smoothly functioning colonial society. Though French by birth, she has never seen France. She was born and reared in Indochina, which she considers as much her home as it is for the anonymous laborers who work on her plantation. Eliane is not as bigoted as some French. She is bringing up Camille (Linh Dan Pham) as her own daughter. The pretty teen-ager, an Annamese princess, was adopted by Eliane after her parents -- Eliane's best friends -- were killed in an accident.

Since Eliane is France to a large extent, it's not surprising that her life falls apart more or less in concert with French colonial rule, and that her heartbreak and (dare I say?) her hopes parallel those of France itself. She's sorely tried, both as an adoring mother and as the conscience of a great European nation.

Camille has been betrothed since childhood to Tanh (Eric Nguyen), a well-born Vietnamese fellow whom she likes but does not love. She shatters her adoptive mother by falling madly in love with Jean-Baptiste (Vincent Perez), a handsome, mostly uncharacterized French naval officer, who had once been Eliane's lover.

Eliane puts her foot down, but Camille runs off to join Jean-Baptiste at the remote outpost to which Eliane has arranged that he be sent. It's the beginning of the end for both the motherland and Eliane. I'm not giving away one-tenth of what happens in the movie by reporting that the feckless Tanh turns out to be a sort of Vietnamese Scarlet Pimpernel, a dedicated, recklessly brave Vietnamese freedom fighter and Communist.

Camille, too, is politicized, becoming known as "the red princess" for her underground activities. When last heard from in 1954, she's at the table in Geneva, a member of the Indochinese committee negotiating independence from France.

It's not easy for any movie, even one running for 2 hours and 35 minutes, to cover so much time and history and still maintain its coherence as drama. Though Eliane is the film's focal point, she is not Scarlett O'Hara. Eliane has her weaknesses: she falls in love with the wrong man, and she occasionally seeks solace in a pipe of opium. Yet she's not so much a character as a beautiful, somewhat frosty icon, like the statue of Marianne, the official symbol of the French Republic for which Miss Deneuve's likeness was used in 1985.

Without seeming to age a day from 1930 to 1954, Miss Deneuve moves through "Indochine" more as an observer than as a participant. Her Eliane/Marianne is not an embodiment of the ideals of the French Revolution, but a representation of the kind of chic associated with Coco Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent.

She looks ravishing from start to finish. She's supremely unruffled when a man with a nosebleed attempts to make love to her. Not a hair is out of place as she beats a worker for attempting to run away from the plantation. She's not a particular woman but an abstraction as she tells the victim, "Do you think I like beating my children?"

In spite of all that, Miss Deneuve lends the movie a lot of her own instinctive intelligence. Behind the movie-star facade, a real actress is at work. It's not her regal beauty but the force of her personality that carries the viewer through a choppy screenplay not always easy to follow. It may be that the film has been re-edited for its American release, but whatever the reason, characters seem to disappear before their time, or to appear on screen without having been properly introduced. In the etiquette of cinema, this is called rude editing. There also are times when the soundtrack music hails an emotional crescendo that only it recognizes.

Aside from Miss Deneuve's performance, the only one worth noting is that of Jean Yanne, whose acting style has become increasingly self-important and busy since the early 1970's when he appeared in two fine Claude Chabrol films, "This Man Must Die" and "Le Boucher." Here he plays the head of the French security police in Saigon, a jaded functionary who half-heartedly courts Eliane while wearily going about his brutal job.

"Indochine" offers the audience much more history and many more views of the Vietnamese landscape than can be seen in "The Lover," Jean-Jacques Annaud's fine, laconic screen adaptation of the Marguerite Duras novel, also set in Vietnam in the 1930's. Yet "The Lover" evokes subtle truths about colonial relationships that are effectively buried in the epic fanciness of "Indochine."

"Indochine," which has been rated PG-13 (under 13 strongly cautioned), has scenes of violence.

INDOCHINE

Directed by Regis Wargnier; screenplay (in French with English subtitles) by Eric Orsenna, Louis Gardel, Catherine Cohen and Mr. Wargnier; director of photography, Francois Catonne; music by Patrick Doyle; produced by Eric Heumann and Jean Labadie; released by Sony Pictures Classics. At the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, Broadway and 63d Street. Running time: 155 minutes. This film is rated PG-13. Eliane, Catherine Deneuve Jean-Baptiste, Vincent Perez Camille, Linh Dan Pham Guy, Jean Yanne Yvette, Dominique Blanc WITH: Carlo Brandt, Mai Chau, Alain Fromager, Chu Hung, Jean-Baptiste Huynh, Gerard Lartigau, Hubert Saint-Macary, Henri Marteau, Thibault de Montalembert, Andrzej Seweryn, Eric Nguyen, Nhu Quynh, Tien Tho, Thi Hoe Tranh Huu Trieu, Nguyen Lan Trung and Trinh Van Thinh. Rating: PG-13. Running Time: 2h 39m. Genres: Drama, Romance.

Works Cited:

Canby, V. (1992, 24 12). Review/Film; Deneuve As Symbol Of Colonial Epoch. The New York Times, CXLII (49190), p. C9.