#orange ribbon dividers

[anitalenia]

o r a n g e & y e l l o w d i v i d e r s . . .

credits to me. feel free to use and save. of course credit would be appreciated but it is not required. I’m just making these for fun <3

[bernardsbendystraws]

Animated Sparkle Dividers

tag me when using. like + reblog this post and check out my pinned post for more!!!

[coco-coquette]

Yellow & Beige Templates

[novjiembre]

౨ ݁ gradient dividers !

( no credits needed ! 10 sets )

[almond-tofu-chan]

long overdue intro post lol

daily clicks for palestine 🇵🇸

bowie/almond/whatever works honestly. any pronouns but he/him preferred

blog for my reblogs: @almond-tofu-chan-rblgs

super secret ao3 plug: AlmondTofuChan

super secret artfight plug: AlmondTofuChan (i will attack all of you!!!)

currently watching: Dandadan and Hunter x Hunter (again)

my magical girl series, ribbon senshi precure!!! check it out im actually working on it finally!

i do art (rarely) and its usually tagged w some variation of #almond art if you ever wanna look for it

similarly, im on and off doing what i like to call my mahou shoujourney, where im trying to watch as many varied mahou shoujo anime as possible masterpost here

previously liveblogged watching witch from mercury with the tag #better than destiel, also liveblogged season 1 of breaking bad with #trans jesse pinkman, but why would you want to see that

how do you end an intro post

anyway kinlist

i dont really do dni's but if you continue to support a media made by and supporting a known bigot, just keep that to yourself

[heatherwitch]

Bedridden witch: Seasons edition

I made a series for The Wheel of the Year many years ago but I realize that not everyone follows it and dividing suggestions into the four seasons as well might be more helpful for some!

Spring 🌿

Collect the first rain of the season and keep it in a jar

Drink floral or fruit teas

Burn floral or fruit scented candles

Light a candle or turn on an electric candle.

Open the curtains to let light in. 

Visualize a light cleaning each and every room in your home.

Decorate with dried, fresh or fake flowers.

Spray a cleansing spray throughout your bedroom.

Clean an area in your home, big or small. (It could be as simple as making a pile of trash so it’s easier to move later.)

Bathe yourself (either in the tub or sponge bath style). Infuse some herbs/flowers into the water!

Water your plants and whisper blessings to them.

Plant something new! It can be as simple as a beansprout in a paper cup.

Meditate and imagine yourself out in your favorite area in spring.

Make a terrarium.

Spray floral water in the air and on your bedsheets.

Watch for and welcome the returning birds

Learn about local plants.

Crack open all your windows to let in some fresh air.

Bedridden witch: Garden edition

Summer ☀️

Make sun water/tea

Drink fruit teas, infused water or juices

Burn floral or fruit candles

Decorate with flowers and crystals.

Wake up earlier than usual to enjoy a full day of light.

Try to be awake and witness both the sunrise and sunset.

Decorate your windows with rainbow prisms.

Make flower crowns with fresh, dried or paper flowers.

Make sure sunlight and fresh air can reach you.

Enjoy some fresh fruits, veggies, nuts and seeds.

Decorate with/wear/create things with bright colors:

Decorate a new pot for your plants (painting, sharpies, ribbons, etc.)

If you can, put a bird feeder outside your window or just watch them as they fly by.

Pour an offering of water for the plants (indoors, outside or out the window).

Have a picnic (outside, on the kitchen floor or in bed).

Find a way to incorporate honey into your day (scrubs, food, tea, etc.)

Burn beeswax candles.

Listen to music that just sounds like summertime.

Autumn 🍂

Collect the first rain of the season and keep it in a jar

Drink spiced tea, apple ciders

Infuse berries into water.

Burn spiced, woodsy or autumn scented candles

Eat things like breads, nuts, grapes, pomegranates, pies, apples and root vegetables.

Start a new project like crocheting or knitting. This is also a great time to finish that project you’ve been avoiding.

Wear and decorate and create with browns, golds, dark greens, oranges and yellows.

Decorate your home to make it look more like Autumn (fake or real leaves, acorns, paper cutouts, etc.)

Create a picnic/feast wherever is reasonable, with a little bit of everything.

Pull up a video of leaves falling or a fire crackling.

Pumpkin pie, pumpkin spiced-things, pumpkin seeds.

Decorate with small pumpkins, paint them or draw on them if carving is too high-energy.

Create an altar honoring loved ones who have passed on, either a material one or a photo album online.

Pull up a video of a burning fire or light candles.

Turn off all of the lights and sit/lay in darkness.

Visualize your wards and boost your home protection.

Do spirit work/leave offerings for the spirits.

Burn incense/make a spray that smells of spices (cloves, basil, etc.)

Watch spooky/witchy movies.

Winter ❄️

Collect the first snow/make snow water and keep it in a jar

Drink seasonal teas, ciders and hot cocoa

Burn spruce, pine or winter scented candles

Watch gifs/videos of snow, ice forming, fire crackling, etc.

Get/make a small wreath and keep it indoors!

Keep clear quartz and snowflake obsidian around.

Make paper snowflakes! Or find an app/website where you can do a digital one.

Use your heat to draw sigils on frosted windows.

Put a bird feeder outside your window so you get winter visitors!

Get empty glass ornaments and fill them with herbs/pine needles/things that remind you of winter and hang them around.

Get some cute little snow globes. 

Decorate with winter colors! White, blue, silver, grey, dark green, etc.

Create an apple pomander with cloves or dried orange slices.

Decorate with evergreen boughs, holly, pine cones, etc.

Wash your face with snow/cold water.

Make rosehip, peppermint, vanilla, rooibos or spiced tea.

Step outside/open a window to feel the cold air (if you live somewhere warm, do this in the early morning/night).

Handcraft gifts for loved ones or write heartfelt cards/letters to the people you care about.

Put birdseed outside/a bird feeder by your window.

Make a simmer pot, or use this idea to create a scented spray.

Bedridden witch: Winter edition (more ideas in this post!)

You may also like:

Bedridden witch series

Bedridden witch: Wheel of the year edition

Bedridden witch: Elements edition

Bedridden witch: Weather edition

Bedridden witch: Nature edition

Witchcraft for the chronically fatigued

Spoonie witch masterpost

[gyllenhaalstories]

BODIES IN THE SAND — ELWOOD DALTON 🎂

summary: it’s your birthday and dalton wanted to make it special.

warnings: eating, mostly fluff & smut (making out, thigh riding). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2730

gifs credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: today is my birthday and i am, for the fourth year in a row, making it everyone’s problem with a (very boring) self indulgent fic. 🎈 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

The dock master waved at you when you passed by. You did not leave him enough time to repeat his speech about watching out for the damn crocs like a broken record. You had visited the Glass Key Marina so many times since meeting Dalton, one could think the old man would spare you the lecture. Whatever. This time, you ignored him. You stormed towards the wooden pier on a mission.

Dalton, now confident in Billy and Reef's abilities to handle the unruly patrons on their own (if they remembered to lift with their knees), allowed himself a night off from time to time. The pay as the bouncer of the roadhouse supported him plenty anyway. He did not splurge much, judging by the fishing box overflowing with stacks of cash. When he did spend his money, he would buy all the books Charlie recommended to him or he would treat you to his new favourite food, conch chowder.

You were usually the first person to know about his sporadic vacations, except for today. You drove to the roadhouse and Laura greeted you with a perplexed smile as to why you were there without Dalton. Frankie walked down the stairs from her office and expressed the same level of confusion. "Dalton called, said he's sick. I think the boat dreams are getting to him. Took him long enough." She explained before helping her employees to get the bar ready for another night. Dalton, sick? You stormed out of the bar with the same determination that made you beeline to The Boat.

"There you are." Dalton, who sat on the railing of the boat, stood up and turned around to greet you. The look on your face, painted with surprise, satisfied him, it was worth spending the entire afternoon decorating his corner of the marina. "Happy birthday."

You stood on a creaky wood plank and took in the scene. Orange balloons matched the colours of the sky as the early sunset reflected on the water. There were garlands and streamers, basically anything that could make the dock look festive. You scoffed at the Happy Thanksgiving banner attached to the back of the boat that clashed with the rest.

Dalton quickly justified. "I know... 'Was all Charlie could find." He worked on the ribbon of the balloon he had previously secured on the railing and held on it tight. He raised his leg to get off the boat, but you interrupted.

"I appreciate the thought. This looks so..." You spun on your heels and admired the decorations for a few more seconds. "This looks really nice. But that still won't get me to climb on that thing. It's literally sinking." You pointed at the rusty boat that the dock master constantly referred to as a frying pan. You wholeheartedly agreed with the older man.

"It's not sinking." He leaped from the boat to the dock. The tone of his voice failed to convince you. "... Yet." You both nodded in agreement. Not yet. Soon enough, Dalton would be taking a nap with the crocodile.

You let him come to you.

He tilted his head, eyes squinting at you. "You know, those little footsteps of yours sounded furious. Everything okay?" He clenched his jaw, already bracing up for bad news. It was all he seemed to attract: bad news.

"I should be asking you! Are you okay? I went to the bar and Frankie said you were sick."

"I don't get sick." He shook his head lightly.

"Then why did she tell me that?"

"Oh, I asked her to." He marked a pause, as if that was enough information. You pressed him to grant you with more details. "I thought it was a good excuse." There was a hint of pride in his grin.

"A good excuse that worried me a lot." Your attempt at reprimanding him failed miserably, especially when his grin widened while he stepped closer to you.

Dalton carefully tied the ribbon of the balloon around your right wrist. He then flicked the balloon, watching it bop. "Charlie and I have been planning this for a little while. Couldn't find a proper banner in time." His chin pointed at the Thanksgiving wishes.

"You can say something cheesy to make up for it." You suggested with a chuckle.

"I'm thankful that you're born?" Although he said it like a question, he was certain in the sincerity behind his words.

"That does the job." You both exchanged a moment of laughter. "Thank you for taking the time to decorate for my birthday."

"There's more." He guided you off the dock and through the makeshift path to the beach, always hovering a hand over your lower back to make sure he would be quick to react if you fell.

You let Dalton walk by the shore. Although you did not mind feeling the water run over your feet and ankles, he had insisted enough times that it was safer for you to stay on the other side. So you just let him do what he wanted. Your hand brushed over his a few times and you caught sight of the smirk on his lips.

He also noticed your head was turned towards the water so he pulled you to stand in front of him. He lost no time to hold your hand when you reached behind to grab his. Dalton mouthed a quiet wow when he took in just how beautiful you looked with the pink sunset sky.

Things were simple with Dalton. He did not talk much about what lead him to Glass Key, but you learned enough snippets of his life to know he wanted things to remain this way: simple. He liked the way you weaved yourself through the routine he built since working at the roadhouse. You'd visit before work, at work, after... You would hang out at the bookstore with Charlie, you would sit by the bar with Laura. It all felt simple. He did not hide his appreciation for the time you shared. He showed honesty in his intentions with you when a kiss turned into a lot more one too many times. Plenty of whispered praises, plenty of love filled gazes. You took it one day at a time with Dalton. And today was a special day in more ways than one.

Dalton bumped against you when you stopped walking abruptly at the sight of the makeshift picnic set up. Beach towels laid on the sand and held in place by a bunch of rocks and a pretty conch shell. It looked a little funky but he knew you could not care less. "After my first shift at the bar, Frankie told me this whole sales pitch about the place." He let go of your hand so you could wander towards the beach towels. "She said this was a beautiful spot to have a drink with someone special." Frankie was talking about the roadhouse, not the beach at the back of the marina but... It was close enough.

"She must be right." You sat down on the towel, Dalton joined you. He attempted to say something else, but the balloon floating in the evening breeze distracted him. You watched him intently as he untied the ribbon from your wrist and attached it to the handle of the cooler.

You exchanged a smile and enjoyed more of the sunset. You wondered to yourself how people could live in a beautiful place such as this and forget to pay attention. How could someone get used to a view like this? You certainly could never. You knew Dalton felt the same.

And Dalton knew what you were thinking about. He had travelled quite a bit, both for work and to escape it. He faced the same reflection time after time. "I don't know." He broke the silence, answering your unspoken question. "Maybe they don't have the right person by their side to remind them to appreciate the moment."

"I like the sound of that." You shifted closer to him and his hand slid along your lower back to find its place on your hip. "It's romantic."

"Wait 'til you hear about what I baked for your birthday..." He let out a small grunt when he stretched his arm towards the cooler to pull it closer.

"You can bake?"

"Nope." He opened the cooler and tilted in your direction. "But Charlie can." Kind of. He let you take a peak inside to admire the cupcakes that he prepared with the teenager and with Stephen on supervision duty.

You found it so endearing how he formed a bond with Charlie. Dalton even grew to like her comparisons to western novels and cowboy boots wearing broody heroes. You leaned in to admire the desserts and chuckled at the sight. "They're all squished."

"Shit." Dalton whispered at the sight of the dozen of misshapen cupcakes. He pulled out the tray and set it on the beach towel. He selected one that sort of held its shape during the transport from Charlie and Stephen's house to the beach. "I swear, I frosted them all nice for you." He grinned apologetically.

You grabbed the cupcake from his hand and took a bite. You swallowed thickly and tried to contain a funny face. "These are..."

"Burnt as hell." He stole a bite from the same cupcake and grimaced. He looked down at the rest of the desserts and began to explain that he was sorry, that he really tried to make your birthday special.

You interrupted him with a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "There was frosting." It was not entirely false, but you hoped this would stop the train of thoughts.

He still looked unsure, he worried that he had messed up.

So you kissed him again, on the same spot. You would usually let him lead and make the the first move so he would not feel trapped, but you wanted to reassure him. "Spending time with you is a nice gift on its own. So this?" You gestured around you. "This is great. And this." You held his head in your hands for a few moments, waiting for his lips to curl into a smile. "It's all I need to have a good time."

The smile stayed glued on his face even when you pulled away. You reached for the cupcake again and Dalton took it from your hand to put it back on the tray, slamming the cooler shut for good.

"You can't waste the cupcakes, you worked so hard to bake them for me." You would have eaten a couple of the sweets had he not stopped you, you wanted Dalton to know you liked the gesture.

"Then the crocodile can have them." You nodded, agreeing with his idea.

"Maybe he'll spare you for another night."

The sound of yours and Dalton's laughter blended together as one. "That's exactly what I was thinking." He replied.

"I know I just said I'm having a good time, but..." You crawled to kneel between his legs. You sat back, keeping a safe distance to let Dalton decide. "We can make it even better."

He considered the implications of your offer. Now, he felt like he was the one being celebrated. You were a real treat, kneeling before him with a gaze he had seen many times before. You wanted more... You wanted him. Dalton leaned in, glancing between your eyes and your lips.

You let him come closer until your mouths met in a gentle kiss, mirroring what you did moments ago.

His nose brushed against yours while he left you longing for another kiss. The small nod of his head told you everything you needed to know.

You erased the distance completely and kissed him again with your head tilted to the side.

Dalton's fingertips caressed along your arms and guided you to wrap them around his neck. He deepened the kiss when he felt one of your hands cradling the back of his head.

You hummed when his hands began to explore your body. The gentle touching up and down your back grew in eagerness.

Dalton's hands gripped firmly on your hips, pulling you closer. He placed a hand under your thigh and positioned you how he wanted. He took it slow, one step at a time. His hand travelled back up to the curve of your ass that he squeezed a little bit harsher than you expected.

The whimper you let out only encouraged him to keep going while his feverish touches fuelled you to take this further. Your tongue traced his lips before he parted his mouth open.

Your tongues danced together while he let go of you briefly to unbutton his shirt. Immediately after, your hands were all over him. Your fingertips followed the shape of his collarbone down to the curve of his pecs to end on the valley between his abs. You printed each and every detail of Dalton in your mind.

Your loving touch spread goosebumps on his skin, or perhaps it was the breeze getting cooler. The sunset reached its last instants, the sun appeared to be swallowed by the ocean far beyond the horizon. The marina was peaceful, but not quiet. Soft whimpers and grunts filled the silence as the waves slowly hit the sand.

You paused to catch your breath, Dalton could not take his eyes off your kiss swollen lips. "Wanna make you feel good." He whispered against your lips before leaning in again to let his tongue invade your mouth. His hands rested on your hips, squeezing the flesh and making your body move back and forth.

You ached from the lack of direct contact with him, you needed to feel him. But, again, you wanted to respect how far he seemed willing to go.

So he put his words into actions. Dalton made you straddle his thigh, trying to adjust the best he could to make sure you were comfortable. With his hands on your ass again, he began to make you grind on him. At first the movements were tentative, he let you adjust to the friction between your core and the clothes. But when you moaned at his ear, he could no longer hold back.

You rocked your hips back and forth, succumbing to the ever-growing hunger for more. More of this heated intimacy, more of Dalton's warm skin on yours... More.

Every time a door opened, Dalton closed it by repeating that you were a nice person, that you did not want to know him in that way, that you did not want to get close to him.

Yet, you waited. You showed him you had all the patience in the world for him. You showed that you were not out to get him, that you simply wanted to make Dalton feel good too.

You succeeded. The more you waited and reassured him that you would respect his boundaries, the more Dalton wanted to explore what lied beyond those limits.

"I don't want to stop." You murmured at his ear, trailing kisses from his ear and along his jaw until your lips connected again.

"I don't wanna stop either." His grip tightened on your hips, forcing you to slow down. "But since you refuse to get on the boat with me..."

You remained categorical, he would never convince you to step foot in that death trap. "We can go back to my place."

"Oh yeah?" Dalton kept you immobile, pressed down on his thigh. Your whine of complaint sounded like music to his ears. "You think you can wait that long?" It was quite the drive between the beach and your home. If either of you had the genuine intention to leave, you would have done in a while ago. "I'm not too sure about that."

You scoffed at his assumption. "Can you wait?"

Dalton answered your question by capturing your lips with his in a rough kiss. He slowly, carefully, helped you to lay on your back. He guided your legs apart to make space, his gaze meeting yours while his hands caressed your thighs. He let the tension build, he needed you to give him one more sign that you wanted this just as much as he did. When your hips bucked forward, your body pressing more against his, he grinned. "I've waited long enough."

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Cookies stuffed with fruit and nuts and topped with glaze, sprinkles, and candied orange peel. End ID]

Cucciddati (Sicilian cookies with dates and figs)

This Sicilian fig cookie was one of my great-grandmother's Christmas specialties. Crisp, buttery shortbread surrounds a rich, sweet filling of figs, dates, raisins, nuts, citrus, and spices, and the whole cookie is then topped with an orange juice glaze. The result is a complex, decadent, festive dessert that is also quite pretty. My great-grandmother always used rainbow sprinkles on hers, but you can also go for nonpareils, citrus zest, or candied citrus peel.

Time and place

Sicily is broadly known for having different sweets in different regions that are strongly identified with particular holidays: each village has its own patron saint with its own feast, and its own special sweet. Cucciddati are eaten throughout all of Sicily during Christmastime, but they are perhaps particularly associated with Palermo and Calatafimi. Usually the first cucciddatu of the season is eaten at the l'Immacolata (Feast of the Immaculate Conception), on December 8th.

Cucciddati are (like most foods) a mix of various regional influences that reflect the history of their birthplace. North African culinary influence on Sicily dates back at least to the Islamic conquest of the island from the 9th to the 11th centuries AD: citrus, almonds, and dried figs are prominent examples of it. Cucciddati may also have been influenced by "buccellati di Lucca"—ring-shaped loaves of bread studded with raisin and anise—that were brought from Lucca (in Tuscany, Italy) to Palermo along with a group of merchants who immigrated in the 14th century.

However the ancestors of modern cucciddati came together, some of their ingredients must certainly have been introduced after this time. The chocolate in the filling could not have been added before Spanish colonization in the Americas.

Language and history

These cookies are known as "buccellati" (singular "buccellato") in Italian, or as "cucciddati" (singular "cucciddatu") in Sicilian. Either word may also refer to a ring-shaped loaf of bread, a ring cake with a similar filling, or, indeed, any pastry with a hole in the center. The word "buccellato" comes from the Latin “buccellatum”, meaning "soldiers' biscuit" or "hardtack." One speculative etymology derives "buccellato" from the Italian "braccialetto," or "bracelet"; but this seems less likely.

The term "cucciddati" originally referred to ring-shaped loaves of bread that were divided and handed or thrown out into the crowd during Sicilian festivals, such as the festival of San Giuseppe in Palermo, or the Festa del Crocifisso (Feast of the Holy Cross) in Calatafimi. In centuries past, these loaves were so large that they were carried looped around one shoulder, like a rope: but, in modern festivals, they are much smaller. These loaves might be plain or, as one 1875 text indicates, flavored with seeds including anise and sesame.

Biblioteca delle tradizioni popolari siciliane (1900) describes the throwing of the bread at the Festa del Crocifisso in Calatafimi:

Entering from the Palermo gate, [the procession] is made up of farmers, all on superb, saddled mules, adorned in the most beautiful ways. Each of them has a large candle with the usual ribbons, and two buccellati laid on it from above so that they rest on the farmer's hand. They proceed in pairs, but the last grouping is of three: two of them each carrying a little horse of wood or cardboard; the other, the one in the middle, a little cow, also of wood or cardboard. Great is the delight that the people take in the sight of them: but they take even greater delight in the so-called carrozza (carriage), a cart covered in laurel and covered with buccellati, at the top of which is a beautiful and auspicious handful of ears of corn [...]. It is pulled along the road by four pairs of oxen covered in flowers and ribbons, and farmers stand on it, who never tire of breaking the loaves one at a time and throwing the pieces up to the people on the balconies and windows and down to the crowd; and everyone eagerly tries to eat it, like blessed bread. (translation mine)

The book also quotes a popular Sicilian-language song, in which the villagers hail the cart, with its presents of bread:

'Scìu la carrozza, chi già Iu sapiti, Era càrrica assai di cucciddati, China di li burgisi tutti uniti, Jittannu pani pi li strati strati The carriage comes out, and you already know it It was all full of buccellati Full of the burgisi all united (Who were going) throwing bread in the streets. (A "burgisi" is "one who rents the lands of others; a rich or well-off peasant.")

It is not said that any of these loaves had a fig filling, and I would assume they did not. Figs do appear in association with cucciddati in an 1892 article on Palermo in Natura ed Arte: it mentions "a’ buccellati di uva passa e fichi" (Italian), also known as "cucciddati di passuli e ficu" (Sicilian)—that is, "cucciddati with raisins and figs." They are listed as an example of festive bread or folk sweets ("pane [...] festivo"; "dolci e delle ghiottornie popolari"), as opposed to everyday bread ("pane quotidiano"). There is no mention, however, of the cucciddati being thrown during festivals.

I suspect that these words ("buccellato" and "cucciddatu") came to refer to a fig-filled pastry, as well as a plain ring of bread, through this process: the words first meant "a ring of bread"; for this reason, they came to be associated with any ring-shaped pastry; a pastry (whether cake or cookie) which was shaped like a cucciddatu, but with an additional filling of dried fruit, was referred to as a type of cucciddatu ("cucciddati di passuli e ficu"); and, eventually, this phrase was shortened to just "cucciddati."

Today, cucciddati may retain this ring shape, but they may also be cut into individual portions (as pictured above).

Recipe under the cut!

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Makes 24 cookies.

For the dough:

1 cup (120g) all-purpose flour

1/4 cup (100g) granulated sugar

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baker's ammonia (optional)

Pinch table salt

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) vegetable shortening or non-dairy margarine, softened

1 Tbsp neutral oil

2 Tbsp cup soy or oat milk, or as needed

1 tsp vanilla extract

For the filling:

1/2 cup dried figs

1/4 cup dried dates, pitted

1/4 cup raisins

Peel of 1 mandarin

1/4 cup almonds, toasted and chopped

1/4 cup walnuts, toasted and chopped

2 Tbsp zuccata (cucuzza squash jam); or substitute marmalade or apricot jam

2 Tbsp dark chocolate chips (optional)

1 Tbsp brandy

1 stick cassia cinnamon, toasted and ground

4 whole cloves, toasted and ground

Small chunk nutmeg, toasted and ground

Some recipes include a greater variety of nuts. You may also use an equal amount of almonds, walnuts, pistachios, and filberts or hazelnuts.

Use 1 Tbsp orange blossom water, or a few drops of fiori di sicilia, instead of brandy for a halal version.

For the icing:

1/2 cup vegetarian powdered sugar, sifted

1/4 tsp vanilla

2 tsp orange juice

To top:

Sprinkles, or candied lemon or orange peel.

Instructions

For the dough:

Whisk dry ingredients together in a large bowl.

Add shortening or margarine and oil and mix to combine.

Add vanilla. Add milk slowly while mixing until everything comes together into a soft, non-sticky dough. The dough should not crack when pressed.

Cover and allow to rest while you prepare the filling.

For the filling:

Toast nuts in a large, dry skillet on medium heat until fragrant and a shade darker.

Toast spices in a dry skillet on medium-low until fragrant. Grind in a mortar and pestle, or with a spice mill. Sieve to remove large pieces.

Mix all filling ingredients in a food processor or meat grinder, and process to desired texture.

To shape:

Divide dough into four equal pieces and leave the ones you're not working with covered.

Roll out dough on a piece of wax or parchment paper into a rectangle of about 5" x 10" (13 x 25cm).

Take 1/4 of the filling and roll it against your work surface until you have a cylinder of the same length as the dough.

Place the filling along the dough lengthwise, then use the parchment paper to roll the dough tightly over the filling. Press the seam to seal, then place the log of filled dough seam-side-down.

Cut the log into 6 equal portions. Repeat with the remaining pieces of filling.

Bake cookies for 12-15 minutes in a 190 °C (375 °F) oven, until they are golden brown on the bottom and around the edges.

For the icing:

Mix all ingredients in a small bowl and whisk to combine.

Dipped cooled cookies into the icing. Top with sprinkles or other toppings, as desired.

[simp2537]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔄𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔢

A/n: All series triggers will be bellow. I’ll say this now, as sweet at alice! Reader is she’s deadly. That’s all the future context I’m giving. Enjoy. 😉

Word Count: 464

Trigger Warnings: Gore, Blood, Horror, Cursing, Child Abuse, Human experiments, Child abandonment, Angst, Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, Insomnia, etc

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊

Aizawa stared ahead with his eyes hurting. He had no idea why Nezu had insisted he go along on this mission. As he roamed the halls of the building he could help but feel uneasy.

This building had a creepy nostalgic feeling. It’s felt  familiar, yet unnatural. There was a scream and Aizawa darted down the hallway as his comm came one. 

“I’ve got the west wing.” Aizawa said while throwing open a door. In the room was a bunch of tanks filled with strange colorful creatures. In different jars were strange plants and mushrooms. Blood covered the room. 

Bodies filled the floor while flowers and mushrooms grew out of their bodies. Aizawa gaged at the sight and the smell of blood filled his nose. Another scream filled his ears and Aizawa ran towards the sound.

Aizawa froze in his spot at the sight before him. A glowing portal was behind a small figure of a little girl. Nurse, doctors, and guards dead bodies surrounded her. 

Her arms, legs and neck were bandaged with dirt and blood seeping through. Blood stained her hands and she slowly turned her head towards him. Aizawa gasped at the figures behind her. 

A women around her late twenties with long dark blue hair, olive skin, blood red eyes, and a bloody sword with thorny vines covering it. The woman was dressed in a red shirt and black pants. The throngs seemed to infect her body, creeping up her arms and her legs.

A man around his early thirties with brown hair, fair skin, golden eyes and he was, holding a bloody musics sheet along with a blue rose bleeding on his shoulder. The man was dressed in a blue shirt, and brown pants. The blue roses slowly turned red from blood, one slowly grew out of his bloody wound in his forehead.

The second woman around he early twenties had golden blonde hair, tanned skin, emerald eyes, and a bloody crown on her head. She was dressed in a green dress with a ribbon in the back and small ribbon in her hair. As she shifted her head, her face seemed to decay.

The last people were two girls around eighteen, with snow pale skin, one with cyan eyes, the other sunset orange, both girls had white hair. The taller one was dressed in a light yellow dress with ruffles at the top, and the other in a golden yellow with a red skirt overalls. Each girl had blood on their mouths and necks. In each hand was half of a bloody ace card imbedded into their hands.

As the portal behind the girl turned off the figures disappeared. The small girl collapsed and Aizawa caught her before her head could hit the ground. As the lights went on he could see her features.

Her h/c hair was covered in blood. Her s/c skin was covered by dirty and bloody bandages. Her hospital gown was bloody and gross. A large bruise formed on her left side of her face. 

As his back up ran into the room Aizawa couldn’t move his eyes from the small girl.

Divider credit @sisterlucifergraphics

Edit: I’m going through some of my fic and making them look a bit prettier and fixing some of the grammar.

[twiilys]

something something about white being the colour of authority : the white Peacekeeper uniforms, "white-coated assistants" (p83), "trainers in fitted white jumpsuits" (p130), "Gamemakers draped in snowy gowns" (p132), the Heavensbee's "white marble building" (p153).

something something about Snow targeting the Covey by making black the D12's colour in the Quell, when he knows how much they love their colours. and how little mention there is of vibrant colours in D12, where everything is faded and covered in coal dust. it's almost like wearing colours in itself is an act of rebellion by the covey (and lenore dove especially):

"... [Lenore Dove's] faded overalls and shirts concealed snips of color, a bright blue handkerchief pecking from her pocket, a raspberry ribbon stitched inside her cuff." (sotr p16) "Her in a faded green dress, an ivory ribbon tying back her hair, lips tinted orange." (sotr p18)

+ LD's bright orange paint she uses to write rebellious slogans

something something about dividing the colours between the districts, so that there cannot ever be another rainbow ruffle dress.

bonus: the tributes colors in the second quell

[anitalenia]

s u m m e r & o c e a n d i v i d e r s ⋆⭒˚｡⋆⊹₊ ⋆

credits to me. feel free to use and save. of course credit would be appreciated but it is not required. I’m just making these for fun <3 | requested by @justcallmesakira ( I hope these are to your liking, if not don’t hesitate to tell me. I know I said three days but I was up all night and decided to just do them. I gave you a lot of options if you couldn’t tell 😭 and I put some simple line dividers at the bottom, I really hope you like them 🫶🏻✨)

[bernardsbendystraws]

Pink Bow Dividers

Like & Reblog this post. Tag @bernardsbendystraws when using please <333

[delopsia]

fae (forget about everything) | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 2,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader. Wedding guests, the Reader's wedding outfit, and the general wedding theme are left ambiguous and up to your personal interpretation. Includes flashbacks both to previous fics and never-before-seen moments. A harmless wedding prank. Mentions of food (cake). Dividers are by enchanthings. Brief Summary: After all these years, you finally marry them. You can't help but remember all the things that led up to this very moment.

This fic is delicately named after Forget About Everything by Marcus Warner. This fic was written with this song in mind, but you are welcome to imagine any song that you wish 💐

An autumn breeze twists past you. Rustling through the pristine white of your clothes, rummaging high up into the trees overhead, swaying back and forth, orange and red leaves beginning to fall like rain. You're beginning to understand why Bobby insisted you do this at the beginning of the season. 

It's exactly as you remembered it being.

Crisp. Yet warmed by the gentle glow of the sun, already in the beginnings of her descent from her throne in the sky. The light catches on the archway, a delicate crafting of flowers around a wire frame that you can no longer see. If you tilt your head to the side, you can see through it, the ends of a white aisle runner leading out into a gathering that isn't meant to see you just yet. 

It's almost strange to think of how you once stood in this very spot all of those years ago. Armed with nothing but your tattered little wallet and a few shopping bags, entirely unaware of what was about to hit you. 

You can still hear it. Rhett's pitchy little apology, the shake in his big hands when he helped you up from the ground. Two o'clock on a Monday afternoon was way too early to be getting a drink with a cowboy you'd never known a day in your life, but how were you meant to know it would lead to this?

That you would run into a near identical version of that same damn cowboy; with shorter hair and the biggest eyes you'd ever seen, absolutely bewildered about why you would ever think his name was Rhett. 

"I'm—I'm sorry, I'm not Rhett," there isn't a damn way this man isn't Rhett. He looks and sounds the exact fucking same, only Rhett certainly didn't have a pair of wire frames perched on his nose. The guy looks down at his hands and holds one out to you, "You left this on the bench."

Your wallet. 

"Oh." God, were you really that distracted by Rhett's backside that you forgot to grab your wallet? As you take it from this, Not Rhett guy, it seems to be in perfect shape, only a little warm from how long he's been holding it. "Thank you?"

His hand rises to scratch the side of his neck, "you're welcome." But his eyes had might as well be on the ground because they don't lift to look at you.

"Are you sure you're not Rhett?" Your mouth is moving on its own; this absolutely has to be the same guy. "Because I swear I just...spoke to you a few minutes ago."

Not Rhett shifts his weight, those eyes finally darting up. Blue as ice, but nowhere near as bold and free as Rhett's were. "I've never met a Rhett in my life if I'm being real honest with ya."

Nothing could have ever convinced you that in a few years, you'd be marrying those strangers. But here you are, two o'clock on a Monday afternoon, twisting your clammy fingers into the bouquet you forgot was in your hands. 

They're an odd mix at first glance, but Rhett insisted that rather than struggling to pick just one favorite, it includes everyone's favorites. Your beloved choices, blended amongst Bob's bluebonnets and Rhett's Western Spiderworts, wrapped up in a ribbon borrowed from a friend who had some extra lying around. 

...hm. Strange. You don't recall adding these little white flowers to the arrangement. Five tiny petals a piece, oddly reminiscent of something from a cherry tree. 

Does it smell like cherries? 

"Eugh," your nose wrinkles. Reeling back from the bouquet as if it just bit you.

What the hell are those? And why do they smell like...that?

A petal breaks off, twisting and dancing through the air like a sugar plum fairy, landing daintily on the tip of your shoe. It blends in a little bit too well, as if it were hand-crafted to match the white of your clothes. So much time spent meticulously choosing this outfit, only to be worn once for a handful of hours. Maybe twice, if future-you feels spontaneous and wants to pointlessly crawl back into this. 

"It's...cute?" Rhett tilts his head to the side, his voice strained as he forces the false compliment past his lips. He's trying. So artificial that the assistant helping you visibly winces, but it's still better than Bob's scrunched nose. 

You haven't seen that look on his face since the time Maverick quoted a misleading Facebook post like it was gospel. 

The shape of this one doesn't flatter your figure...in the slightest. The sleeves are a little too tight around the wrist, yet somehow poofing out at the shoulder, not quite built for your figure. It's not much better in the chest, awkwardly sticking forward. You reckon you could use this as a pocket to store your belongings in.

"Absolutely not," so stunned by its ill-fitting nature that you've almost forgotten to make a remark about it. 

"So the...second to last one is still the top pick?" Bob sounds just as lost as you are; at some point, all of your try-ons have begun to blur together. 

The woman next to you clears her throat. "Is that the one we'd like to go with?" 

Well...

"But I thought y' didn't like the texture of it," Rhett chirps before you can even begin to open your mouth. 

If you're entirely honest with yourself, you were beginning to think that you could just tolerate the texture for a few hours. It's not as if you'll be wearing this every day for the rest of your life. What else is there to go with? Four stores, countless hours, and well-thought-out opinions, and that was the best you could find. 

There's nothing that you see here. It's so hard to pick something else amongst the sea of black and white fabrics glaring back at you, the occasional splatter of color caught up in the middle of it all—dresses, blazers, skirts, suit jackets, slacks, ties, tiaras. It's all the same. 

Something reflects over in the back right corner. Just a mirror awkwardly catching in the overhead light. 

"What about that one next to the mirror?" You don't recall seeing that one before. 

Getting into it is probably the hardest part. The thin fabric is so delicate that you're convinced the slightest tug may cause it to rip. 

But it fits. Hugging all of the places you had hoped it would, no awkward chest pockets, it doesn't even poof up around your joints. Cecelia's gifted pearl necklace blends perfectly with the material; the dainty blue pin from Bob's momma looks as if it were made to fit with

You know it's the right one when they fall quiet the moment you step out of the dressing rooms. Two pairs of big blue eyes gazing back at you with a familiar glisten. 

One of these days, they'll realize that they look like puppies when they see something they like. 

A gentle tune begins to play. For a moment, you manage to trick yourself into believing that the trees themselves are playing the song and not a handful of speakers cleverly hidden among the branches. 

All of those rehearsals must have worked because your feet begin to move before you realize what's about to happen. Already drawing near the corner, delicately turning, and—

Your heart lurches. 

Wow, this little crowd looks a lot bigger all of a sudden. Did a busload of people squeeze into the remaining seats? Because you think they did. 

There they are, time seeming to slow as they turn their heads in unison, big smiles growing impossibly wider. The autumn breeze twists past once more, ruffling the flowers in your hands and through the ends of Rhett's hair. Shorter than it was three days ago, the only way the hairdresser could tame those curls without fully chopping them off. 

Even from a distance, you catch the way Bob's eyes suddenly widen, darting off to the left.

The cakes sway dangerously in the wind, the table perhaps a little off balance, as Archie and his wife scurry to stabilize it before it can properly tip. Out of all the potential disasters lurking in the back of your mind, the potential of the cakes falling wasn't even on the list. With how he had you two trying to make it from premade packets from some start-up company you'd never heard of. 

One blink, and you nearly miss it. The swift drag of Bobby's fingertip smearing the artificially dyed sweetness onto Rhett's thin lips. Leaves just a big enough mess for him to lean in and press his mouth to Rhett's, that soft pink tongue darting out to lick it off. It ends as quickly as it started, with Bobby turning back to the counter, already beginning to pour another pack of sprinkles into an empty container.

Rhett's wide eyes meet with yours. Bewildered.

...huh.

"What do we think of lemon?" Bobby's speaking as if nothing ever happened. Acting it, too.

You're not entirely sure what he means by that. "I'm sorry?"

"Cake flavors," holding up a non-descript packet of mix. "There's lemon in here."

Rhett's nose wrinkles, and you can't help but wonder if he's recalling the sourness of the lemon pie you two tried to put together for Bobby. Worst damn welcome home present you've ever made.

"Is there a difference to the icin'?" Rhett asks, poking at one of the bowls.

"They're all the same." Bob's head shakes, sprinkles audibly pouring out of the packet and into yet another bowl. Who's gonna wash all these dishes, anyhow?

Rhett's eyes meet with yours. Brows furrowing, like this is the most absurd thing he's ever heard. If the initial confusion hadn't already worn off, you reckon you'd be feeling the same damn thing. Who does this, and why are you just letting it happen? Is your life so devoid of joy that this is what you've allowed yourself to resort to?

Or is Bob Floyd just very, very good at convincing you to blindly follow his lead?

All of that effort, debating on flavors and bickering about why lemon absolutely does not pair well with red velvet. Maybe separately, but in layers? As a part of the same cake? Absolutely not. But mixing flavors is hard enough as it is when it's a traditional couple of two. A trio? Hell, is what it is.

Three individual cakes make a lot more sense than cramming three vastly different tastes into one big thing. But even that was a challenge. Bob, with his stubbornly chosen lemon and Rhett's favorite red velvet, yours settled right between them. So vastly different, yet somehow, they manage to tie into a cohesive theme. 

You see the bump in the aisle runner this time, a tree root that has had you stumbling every rehearsal, but this time, it's not getting you. Not today. Not when so many people are watching.

There's a wateriness behind Rhett's eye that you didn't anticipate. From Bob? Yes. You've seen that plush bottom lip start wobbling over a Disney movie, but Rhett...you're not sure why it's got you so surprised.

Even from so far away, you can feel their warm gazes taking you in. They've seen you in this before. Have helped you decide on so many of the little pieces, your shoes, whether or not to use gloves. Veil? No veil? Accessories?

They're just as familiar with this look as you are, and yet, it's as if they've seen you for the first time. Bob covering his smile with his hand, Rhett's eyelashes fluttering like tiny little butterflies. And it's as if the world around you disappears right then and there. 

It's so difficult to keep your pace. Fighting against yourself to not rush forward and run the rest of the way. Was the aisle always this long? One foot after the other, past your friend sitting closest to the aisle and Bob's momma one row ahead of them. In the corner of your eye, you catch her grabbing Cecelia's hand.

Rhett and Bobby are both situated to your left, leaving you to step to the right. It's a narrow turn, forces you to sidestep a little bit. Natasha glides forward, one of her hands finding your side, helping you stabilize yourself as she takes the bouquet with her other hand. It's so seamless that you hardly realize she's done it, only notice the flowers are gone when you no longer have something to idly squeeze. 

Bob's wavering hand reaches out, enveloping yours. Rhett's is a little sturdier, but his palm is just as clammy as yours is. In the back of your mind, you've got the feeling that the crowd is already beginning to set off Bob's nerves, regardless of how familiar all of these faces might be. 

Frankly, you're just glad that you made the collective decision to keep the vows a private thing. You can't even begin to remember your last name right now, never mind entire sentences. 

"What the hell d'ya even say fer this?" It's Rhett who breaks the silence, peeking up from his blank notebook like a deer caught in the headlights. You'd thought he was writing this whole time, but now that you look at it, he's just been drawing a stick figure on an equally stick-shaped bull

...or maybe that's a horse. 

"To publicly declare your love and your feelings to your partners," Bob doesn't lift his head, but you don't see his pen moving, either. "To make it clear to your families that you're committed."

Rhett drops the pen, letting it roll across the table and over the edge. "Well, that's dumb."

"No, it isn't," now Bob's reacting, but it's difficult to give someone a bewildered look when you also have to squint to see their face. His fault for leaving them on the nightstand again, stubbornly traversing this blurry world for the sake of 'not wearing them for once.'

"But y'all already know how much I love you," Rhett throws his hand up."Why does declarin' it in front of my aunt make that any more special?"

"Because it makes it—"

"'n who gets married if they ain't already committed to the relationship?" 

Bob's brows knit together. You're not sure if that's irritation, an inability to see, or if he's simply never considered this before. "I thought this was something you wanted to do."

"I," you start, putting all of your emphasis into that vowel, "thought this was something you wanted to do."

Surely you can still make changes to the ceremony three weeks before the wedding. 

Right?  

"And now the rings, a symbol of your love and faithfulness."

Rueben reaches into the pocket hidden inside his suit jacket, pulling out a tiny red box, opening up and it's—

empty?

He tosses it to the ground. Reaches into his pocket and pulls out another box. Nothing. Tosses it to the ground, too. 

Jake looks into his pocket. Pulls out a foam sword. Tosses it. Danny searches through his front pocket and pulls out caution tape. And then it's another empty ring box and another sword. A fly swatter. A rock. 

"I got it!" Archie tosses another ring box forward. 

Empty.

There goes a toy plane. And a fork. Another foam sword. A bottle of Advil. A brand new deck of cards. A duplicate of Rhett's cake topper? Why did Danny have a paperback titled 1001 Cool Jokes? Another empty ring box. There goes Rueben's tie, and—oh well, he just yanked Jake's off in return. 

Archie sneaks forward, his hands dramatically patting Rhett down. And Rhett's trying his best to say something through his giggles, but it dissolves the moment Archie's hands shove into his pockets. 

There's another box hiding in there, those three little rings safe and sound inside. 

You get to go first. Trying your best to remain steady as you slip Bob's golden wedding band onto his shivering ring finger, then carefully pass the two remaining rings into his palm. Bob reaches for Rhett, holds him a little firmer than you did, twisting the ring onto Rhett's calloused finger like a screw. 

Rhett takes your ring from him. A delicate little thing that the three of you designed. You've seen the blueprints for it, but...it feels like the first time you've laid eyes on it. Plucked right out of your daydreams, unintentionally bumping into your fingertip as Rhett gently slides it onto your ring finger for the very first time.

You hear what the officiant is saying, but none of you are truly listening. You know they aren't. Bob's smiling a little bit too much to be focusing. Rhett's gazing into your eyes like he's drowning in them. 

The sun hits their eyes in just the right way. Illuminating the deeper color lurking in Rhett's irises, such a dramatic difference compared to Bob's baby blues—intense but delicate. Perfect opposites and...yet the same. 

"I now pronounce you married. You may now kiss your partners."

But first, all three of you have to quit grinning like a pair of idiots, or else you might knock a tooth out in front of everyone you know and love. 

[mirroreddreamscc]

Shoes Velma Dinkley - Mistério S.A (Post 3/3)

Hello my mirrors, Today I bring a post, which refers to my childhood, my favorite cartoon, I divided the post into 3, The complete set will include the hairstyle, Glasses, hair ribbon bow, outfit and shoes! I hope you like it!

Take amazing pictures and always remember to tag me on instagram @MirroredDreamsCC!

SHOES

New Mesh

Base Game Compatible

28 Colors

HQ MOD Compatible

There is only the original orange and red variant of the shoe, the rest of the colors are the white sock and shoe colors.

Feet credit: RedHead

Rules

You can recolor my items, but for nothing in this world include Mesh, if you do the recoloring check me!If using my items for photography, use the #MirroredDreamsCC

Any problem with the piece, let me know immediately! I'll fix it as soon as possible!

DOWNLOAD HERE

[levi501ackerman]

Comic | Hange x Reader

masterlist AO3

Summary: Hange worked on your graduation gift for weeks, only for you to end up forgetting about them.

Megan's Note: another short exploration of anxious attachment, bargaining, and resentment. self indulgent. I was re-reading my diary and remembered this happened. Yeah cringe but I feel better. Based off something that happened 7 years ago . . . Posted: 2/4/25

Word Count: 2k

There’s something despicable about finding beauty with the sun casting reminisce of light through broken glass. It refracts color from the cracks of the shards. Purple . . . blue . . . green, yellow, orange, and blood red. The warm ribbons trailed down their fist, mimicking the saturated shade from the reflection. 

A bitter thump pulsed through Hange’s hand, aching and demanding to be sedated. The delicate skin stretching over knuckles was punished by the temper that delegated the impulse. 

The consequences of the desperate attempt to dispose of the bottled rage set back Hange. They drove to your house after a careless daze of wrapping their hand, even though it was later than planned. You were more important to them rather than the hand, staining bandages with blood. Though, you couldn’t care less about Hange. 

At least, that’s what Hange gathered based on your response to their numerous messages. They texted and waited for you to respond. Earlier in the week, you gave your word and they relied on it—leaving room for error and nothing but disappointment if you were to break your word. And you did . . .

Hange’s forgiveness was too generous for a person like you. They were too accommodating and helpful for a person who didn’t want it and didn’t care for the acts that starved them of the respect they had for themselves. That’s what they resented and argued with themself about during the duration of the drive. 

Your text taunted them and displayed the sorrowful truth that stared Hange in the face while Hange darted their eyes to look elsewhere. 

I forgot about you

Your promise to call after graduation speared Hange in the heart that swelled at the thought of you. A heart that ached when they saw you laughing with anyone but them. A heart that drummed in their ears as they stumbled over their words while you scrunch your face trying to comprehend. A heart that skipped a beat when they caught you looking at them. A fragile heart that beats to the rhythm of your attention.

You knew about Hange’s gift. They told you about how they finished it the day before. You knew about Hange staying awake until the early hours to finish your gift. They told you.  

So when they pulled up to your house, they saw you sitting on the concrete wearing your dark red graduation dress. They couldn’t look at you. They refused to let your mistake divide the plans they fantasized about in their head—the thought of you opening their gift and gushing at their work. 

They thought you’d get the measure of their rage with the slam of their car door. But even if you did understand, you didn’t cripple with the duration. They held your gift in their hand and the fantasy they dreamed while working on your gift was torn by the sharp dose of reality. You forgot about them.

Behind the lens of Hange’s glasses, tears welled in their eyes as they walked to you. It was another layer of hate. An annoying side effect of frustration was the tears that another would interpret as weak sadness. But they were boiling and tears were spilling over, dripping down their cheeks. Hange wiped their eyes, not wanting you to see them cry but also wanting you to know that your words clung to them. They leached on their soul and drained them until there was nothing left but an angry and resentful shell. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry Hange . . .” You said as they walked up your driveway and could see the pink of their eyes. Hange gripped the present they worked on for two weeks, wanting to throw it at you. They wanted to pull you into the depths of their wrath that could suffocate you if you happened to pluck the cap.

Hange struggled to reply and they knew they wouldn’t get a word out without their voice cracking. They managed to place themselves into a ravine where your attention and approval brought them to the surface.

“I shouldn’t have forgotten about how you wanted to give me your gift. I know you worked hard on it.” Your words fed them generously, but to them it felt like an illusion. Like you knew the things Hange wanted to hear you say but withheld it from them until you needed to bargain. 

They walked along the line between the fate of succumbing to your apology or the fate of pushing you away with the tempting vulgar words they wanted to speak.

They thrust your gift toward you. Hange made sure to hold it with the hand they punched the window of their car with, beckoning you to ask how they hurt your hand. It worked.

“What happened to your hand?!” Your sweet, concerned voice lured them away from accountability for your actions. “Hange, are you bleeding?!” You took the gift from Hange, allowing you to see the damage their anger did to their window. “Hange . . .”

“I punched my window,” Hange said flatly, with hints of fault for you to detect. You gasped, struck by their honesty and the gravity of their actions. 

“W-Why did you do that?” A feeble voice came from you, allowing Hange to decide whether to reprimand you. But they didn’t want to push you away from them. 

“Open my gift.” Their gaze was sharp and threatened you to comply. 

You opened the gift and Hange watched as you unveiled the work they did for the last two weeks.

A comic book. 

More like a composition notebook with copy paper taped to the front with a drawing of playful stick figures of you and them drawn on a decadent background with a catchy title, bulging out to the reader. 

“Wow, Hange, you really weren’t lying.”

“Why would I lie about making you a comic book?” You sighed defeatedly. 

“Hange, I’m just amazed I’m holding it. You’ve been telling me about it and I’m excited to finally read it. Thank you.” The adoration for their gift coerced their temper to stay at bay. 

“Congratulations on graduating,” Hange’s tone planted the guilt and the remorse they wanted you to drown in. 

“This is the sweetest and nicest gift I’ve ever received . . .” You held the composition notebook, truthfully admiring the homemade project. “Thank you, Hange and again I am so sorry I forgot to call you after graduation and your gift should’ve been my number one priority.”

“Read it.”

“What?”

“I’ve wanted to see your reaction.” Hange folded their arms, shielding themself from you being able to wrap them around your finger. Usually, they bent and concave their schedule, time, and help to please you, but they built a fortress surrounding themselves. 

Secretly, they wanted you with them. They would tear down every brick if you asked, but simultaneously, you had to be outside—enduring the cold, your forgetfulness deserved. Hange turned their back on you with a sliver of hope that their withheld attention compelled you to seek after them, like an odd sense of validation that you’d like them enough to beg for access. 

You and Hange sat on the driveway. While reading, you tried to blanket the thick tension with praising compliments for their drawings. The drawings Hange meticulously drew and colored for weeks. The drawings Hange hoped you would admire endlessly and imprint in your mind, just like they did. 

The comic book was a light-hearted story where two friends had to travel through the twenty-six A to Z forests and make their way to the last forest to find and defeat the enemy. The enemy was a ridiculously silly drawing of a tater tot with a black eye mask. Hange thought of it because of how much you loved tater tots and hated when there was a black spot on the tot from the potato being bruised. When you showed Hange the tater tot with the dark spot, Hange declared they eat every tater tot with the bruising, so you didn’t have to. They were your hero on a small scale that grasped at the pride boosting Hange’s ego. 

You gushed at Hange’s art when you turned to the page where stick figures Hange and Y/N entered the G Forest. Hange drew their rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Hange’s rage simmered and crumbled as you gushed at their project, just like they fantasized you would. 

“That page took a whole day to draw . . .” Their tone was friendlier and a window of opportunity to seep through the crack of their rage presented itself.

“Hange, I can’t believe you drew all this and created this comic book for me.” You leaned into them and nudged their shoulders. “You have talent, that's for sure.” 

With the playful nudge, you broke off the last brick of their fortress and Hange’s guilt set in. They regret ever being angry with you. Hange bargained with themself among giving you the benefit of the doubt. After all, you did just graduate. 

Their heart fluttered when you laughed out loud, your head thrown back, and your eyes shut from the apples of your cheeks curling upwards from your smile. Hange’s heart thumped in their chest. Your laugh and joy they caused were vital and they’d go through hoops and barriers just for your happiness, even if it meant starving their own to nourish yours. 

After forty minutes of you reading and admiring Hange’s comic book, it finally ended. All of the work Hange put into drawing the pictures, making the story entertaining and funny, came to a mellow and bittersweet end. You closed the composition notebook and gave Hange the sweetest smile. The fond smile that Hange thought accentuated your features and hypnotized them, luring Hange further into the depths of an abyss of restless thoughts of you. Without a doubt, they curled around your finger again, contently wanting to please you.  

“So, what did you think of my gift?” Hange asked as if they didn’t hear you praise their comic book all the while reading it. 

“Hange, this is the most special gift anyone has ever given me . . . It’s incredible that you made this and—wow! Thank you. It is so obvious the amount of effort you put into this just for me . . .” Hange didn’t want you to stop talking. All the sweet words that flowed from your mouth went straight to their heart. It swelled at your attention and engulfed their mind. “I am truly sorry. I should have called you after graduation. I should have made you my priority . . .”

Hange picked at the bandages that wrapped around their throbbing hand. Just hearing you say your regrets and imagining if you did put them as a priority made them feel pleased—a glimpse of what could have been felt almost as good as the fantasy contradicting the reality. 

“I forgive you . . .” Hange said and the question in their mind urged them to speak. All the thoughts they had about you and the possibility of you being theirs was so close. 

“You’re so talented, Hange. I love this so much.” Hange stared at the concrete of your driveway, searching for the courage to ask their question. 

“I’m glad you like your graduation present. I was so excited to g-give it to you.” Their shaky reply exposed the nerves that flustered them even more. Hange gathered the courage and leaped, diving into the unknown abyss that vulnerably sacrificed their ego. “Y/N, Are you gay?”

Hange’s heart thumped in their ears and their clammy hands gripped the pants that covered their legs. They found you endearing and attractive for so long and kept their feelings to themselves. For the months coming up to graduation, they were worried about never seeing you again or you forgetting about them. Hange wanted your adoration, and when they came up with the comic book idea because they knew you loved comics so much, they knew it would grab your attention.  

Hange fantasized about taking you out on dates and showing you off to their friends. During class, their mind drifted to you and wondered how you were doing. At night they thought of you mewling and gasping as you laid on their bed while they knelt and ate your pussy. Thoughts of you conjured out of the blue and swarmed their thoughts. You infected Hange and their silly crush turned into a sickness that your attention cured. 

“No.”

[thevalkyriesshadow]

Moodboard by iris_mindplace on Insta

Gwynriel art credit: venusfolk on Insta

Divider by @strangergraphics-archive

A Waltz of Shadows and Ribbons

A fluffy Gwynriel ficlet inspired by Gwynriel as the Waltz aesthetic!

Gwyn and Azriel meet to rehearse the waltz they'll be performing in the Winter Court while on a mission. The waltz is an elegant, flowing dance that requires trust from both partners...along with lots of hand holding and touching.

Gwyn entered the great hall of The House. A room she’d never been in. One that she hadn’t ventured in yet in the handful of months she’d been living here. When she received the note from Azriel that this was where they’d be rehearsing she was admittedly nervous. A grand ballroom with only Azriel and Gwyn inside, occupying the room. Touching. Holding. Dancing with each other…

Read the rest under the cut or here on AO3!

Wiping the nervous sweat onto her Priestess robes, Gwyn gawked at the space as she entered. Windows that stretched from floor to ceiling showed the beautiful setting sun outside. Velaris was on display tonight, with lights twinkling against the deep oranges, rosy pinks, and soothing purples of the nighttime coming to life around them. 

Intricate moulding outlined the windows and edges of the room in a leafy pattern. Her eyes followed them around the perimeter, inspecting every aspect. Admiring the way the designs sprawled and converged together, creating a space that felt like art itself.

Faelights sparked to life in the sconces around the room, making Gwyn jump and gasp at the hissing sound as they flickered brightly until settling to a perfect, warm glow. Even a few floated above her head. Gwyn reached up to touch one, but it floated just out of her reach. Of course they were safety proof against curious minds like hers.

She studied the floor then, the bright marble mottled with a grey design, no doubt picked to hide scuff marks from the countless shoes that would dance across it. Her flat shoes whispered along as she travelled across the tiled floor. 

Her attention was pulled everywhere. Every new detail jumped out at her until a shadow passed in front of her, pulling her attention away from the magnificent chandeliers dripping with crystals to the darkest corner of the room.

Gwyn nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized someone was standing there.

Her hand flew to her chest, “Azriel –” she gasped. Then her eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips as she shot at him, “How long have you been standing there?”

A small curl formed at the corner of the Spy Master’s mouth, “Long enough.” He stepped out from the shadows. His wings tucked high and proud behind him, no doubt chuffed with himself that he caught her off guard. He wasn’t in his usual leathers, choosing a pair of black pants and a black button down instead. The material hugged the muscles that bulged when he moved, tightening around his warrior form. Gwyn hoped she looked half as cool in her Priestess robes as he did in his casual attire.

Azriel scanned her robes, his gaze simmering as his throat bobbed and he said, “I’m glad you chose a dress. As that is what you’ll be wearing for our mission.” He eyed the hem of the soft blue silk, “What shoes are you wearing?”

Straight to business with this one. “My flats. It’s these or my training shoes.”

Azriel waved a hand, “No worries.” A pair of sparkling silver heels dropped beside her, no doubt provided by The House. The faelights twinkled around them as if confirming Gwyn’s suspicions.

She bent and scooped up the heels – the extremely tall heels… “I – these are really tall. Are you sure –”

“If you can’t handle a pair of three inch heels, then maybe this mission isn’t for you,” Azriel replied, his voice low, but his tone playful.

Gwyn huffed, kicked off her flats, sat on the floor, and put her shoes on in the most unladylike fashion. She stood, a tad wobbly to start, but she stood. And she breathed out at that. “There. Step one. Done. What’s next?” She put her fisted hands back on her hips, looking a lot more confident than she felt.

Gwyn had never danced professionally, or with any sort of training for that matter. She literally felt like a fish out of water, and she was more nervous than a Lady before her coronation day. 

She had nearly fainted when Rhys asked her to be a part of this mission. Her qualifications as a scholar and warrior made her top choice. Seeing as Rhys needed some sort of information from the Libraries of the Winter Court. 

But in order to complete the mission, she’d need a partner. Cue her next wave of nerves when Azriel, her best friend and long time crush (a secret she held near and dear to her heart) was paired with her. Then she all but fell over when Rhys told her she’d need to know how to dance as part of their guise for being in the Winter Court.

Now here they were, their first waltzing lesson and Gwyn thought she’d explode with nerves and excitement.

“Well first,” Azriel began, sauntering closer to Gwyn. She’d guess that he was the epitome of chill, if it weren’t for his shadows that twirled excitedly around the talons of his wings. The dark tendrils seemed to buzz with anticipation as he drew near. They really did give away everything hidden beneath that cool exterior. And it settled something in her that she wasn't the only one feeling apprehensive for the task at hand. “We need to warm up.” He stopped a few feet from her. His cedar and night-chilled mist scent wrapped around her. “We don’t need you pulling anything before the mission.”

And with that, Azriel and Gwyn began their warm up. Pliés and relevés, sashays and twirls across the floor. Azriel was patient, showing Gwyn everything. By the time their warm up was done, she was sweating and panting for water. They hadn’t even begun waltzing and her legs were already worn out and tired.

“Ready to waltz?” Azriel kept his hands tucked behind his back as he walked out to the middle of the floor, waiting for her to join.

Clearing her throat and holding her head up high (She would not let Azriel see how exhausted she was already), she followed him.

“The first, and most important thing to remember about a waltz, is the timing. There’s a distinct one-two-three, one-two-three, you follow.” Music began to play gently throughout the hall, coming from a small, orb-like object off to the side. Gwyn recognized it as Nesta’s Symphonia. 

She watched Azriel as he stepped forward with his left, to the side with his right, then his left foot following. Counting out the one-two-three as he did so. Gwyn copied him.

“Wait, you’ll be doing this –” He stood side by side with her showing her how her right foot would go back, and her left to the side.

She huffed, “Wouldn’t it be easier to, oh I don't know, have us in the proper positions while you show me?” She turned to face Azriel, her new height difference bringing her to look directly in his eyes, rather than needing to glance up slightly. She had to admit, the heels made her feel more and more confident the longer she wore them. Azriel on the other hand – his confidence wavered; his hands slid behind his back again.

She understood then what was bothering him. What would come back and haunt him from time to time. Healing was a journey, one Azriel would always be embarking on. A journey Gwyn promised she’d take with him. Without missing a beat, she grabbed his elbows and slid her hands down to his wrists, pulling them out from behind his back until she was holding his scarred fingers in hers. His puckered skin was rough and cool against her calloused, freckled skin.

“If we’re going to be a believable pair on the dance floor, I’m going to need to hold your hands Azriel – or have them hold me in whatever way they hold a partner for the waltz.” She glanced down at his hands, then up to his face where he wore a warm smile.

He cleared his throat and nodded, “Right, um –” His voice was a bit shaky as he started. But Gwyn was patient. Waiting for him when he was ready. He guided her left hand to his shoulder, tucking his own under her arm. “Hold your elbow up. I’m supporting you, but not really. It’s more of an illusion. It’ll look sloppy and lazy if you just let it sit.” Her heart pounded against her rib cage as his hands slid over and around her, His fingertips dancing across the expanse of her back.

She gave him a wry smile and followed his instructions, holding her elbow aloft. “Okay. Now what?”

“Then,” he began, his voice stronger this time, he took her right hand in his, cupping his palm against hers, “I hold your hand here, again, keep your elbow up. If I let go, your arms shouldn’t falter. They should be steady and hold true. Like a statue. This is called a closed hold.” She nodded. Straightening her posture and holding herself like said statue. 

Her breasts brushed his chest, his large hand that was firmly placed between her shoulder blades pushed her closer to him. 

Everything stilled for a moment. Her cheeks heated under the Shadowsinger’s gaze. He was so close. His lips mere inches from hers. She could feel his chest against hers, rising and falling, as he breathed. His eyes searched her face, wildly scanning – “Is this okay?” He asked, breathless. His eyes dropped to her lips as she answered as breathlessly as he.

“Yes.”

He nodded, “Good. Um, now –” His left foot moved. “Right back…to the side…yes, slow. Take your time – careful!” Gwyn’s heel caught under her and she wobbled slightly, but Azriel held her to stay standing. “Good?” He waited for her nod after her initial embarrassment, and continued. “Again.”

Over and over they practiced the first basic step until they were gliding in a straight line across the floor. One boxy waltz step after another. By the end of the lesson, Gwyn could do it with her eyes closed. Azriel could back away and her posture held firm as he watched her glide by herself. Interrupting her here and there to correct the tilt of her torso or the position of her toes.

Many of their rehearsals were the same. They’d practice a specific step over and over until Gwyn could do it in her sleep. Until every move was second nature. 

And every rehearsal brought Azriel closer to accepting that his scars would be on display. She couldn’t be sure, but she felt that her complete acceptance and gratitude for his mottled hands helped to put him at ease. The more they touched, the more flair he put into his arm work. The more his hands found hers, the more she melted at every touch. 

Having Azriel in her space, so close, touching her back and hips and hands everyday was rewarding. But it drove her mad as she constantly had to focus on stifling her scent. Focus on the dance moves rather than his stupidly handsome face and the way his sweat soaked hair clung to his forehead.

It drove her to the point of incessantly touching herself when she got back to her room after rehearsal. Imagining Azriel’s thick, scarred hands traveling down her sides, across her hips, curling between her legs... This waltzing practice was only scratching the surface of that itch.

The time had come to start focusing on the more difficult moves she’d need for the mission and Gwyn was not prepared for what came next.

“Today…we’re going to tackle the intricate pas de deux that comes before the end of this particular waltz,” Azriel announced.

Gwyn tilted her head and teased, “You talk as if it’s hard to do? I think you’ve forgotten. I’m an expert now.” Gwyn twirled and sashayed around the room before coming back to Azriel who stood in the middle of the ballroom, now smiling ear to ear.

He ducked his head as Gwyn box stepped up to him, holding her arms out, ready to take him across the floor. 

Azriel chuckled and picked his head back up, licking across his lips before saying with a sigh, “You’re facing the wrong way.”

Gwyn’s brows rose and knitted together in confusion, “What?”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he smoothed them down her arms, forcing her to relax her hold. Then with a twirl of his finger he said, “Turn around, Priestess.” Gwyn swallowed, but followed his command, turning until her back was to his. 

She waited. Wondering what he could possibly be doing. Then his breath tickled her ear, “Traditionally, this waltz is a celebration of relationships of any kind – with this section of the dance showing true trust and dependability.” He brought his hand around her shoulders, holding out a thick black ribbon. “They tie a ribbon around each other’s eyes and complete the rest of the dance blindfolded.”

Gwyn shivered at Azriel’s nearness, how his chest pressed to her back. The curve of her ass against his hips. “We have to do the rest of the dance – blindfolded?”

Azriel hummed, “Yes.” His other hand came to rest against her hip as he continued, “How does that make you feel?”

Honestly? 

Horny as hell. But she couldn’t say that.

So instead she said, “Nervous…unsure, but intrigued. Show me.”

Azriel made an approving sound behind her, the deep tone of it sending a vibration down her spine before he brought the ribbon to her eyes and tied it around her head. 

She was met with complete darkness, with the tiniest sliver of light at the bottom. Not enough to help her see a godsdamn thing, but enough to give her a thrill of not exactly knowing what was going to happen next.

A few steady, pounding heartbeats passed before she heard his voice again. This time directly in front of her. “Now you put the blindfold on me,” he said, lifting her hand and placing a silky smooth ribbon in her palm. 

Careful not to poke him in the eye, Gwyn felt for his face, her hands cupping his chin first. She felt the muscles in his cheeks pull up forming a small smile. She thumbed his sharp cheekbones, then placed the ribbon across his eyes and around the back of his head. Tying it off, she kept her hands on him, letting them settle on his shoulders. 

“Perfect,” he said, his voice low and husky. He cleared his throat and took her hips in his hands, pulling her into him. “This particular waltz combines the elegance and grace of a waltz, but the passion of lovers.” 

The heat was palpable between them as they got into the basic waltz stance. Azriel’s touch felt charged, prickling with anticipation. Gwyn’s breath was heavy, her heart pounding as she relied on Azriel’s guidance, his hands pawing her as he began to show her the delicate twirls and intricate box steps they’d perform together. 

They came to a sudden stop after their set of combinations and Azriel, from behind her, said, “Here you’ll spin, twice, coming around to face me – plié – then I lift you, before bringing you back down to finish out the dance with a pose of our choosing.” His fingers slid up her arms, goosebumps forming in their wake as he urged her to lift them and show off her long lines before she spun…once, twice…just as he instructed. 

She dropped into a plié and just as she started to spring back up, Azriel’s large hands grabbed her under her arms and lifted her – she squealed, not expecting to be lifted so high.

Then she was being lowered down, slowly, sliding against Azriel. First her thighs, her dress rising as she dropped down. Then her hips and stomach until she was chest to chest with the Shadowsinger. Their breaths heavy and panting in a syncopated rhythm.

His lips were again, so close, their noses brushing. If she tilted her head up…

“Not bad,” Azriel said, his words hot on her skin, “Again. This time without the squeal.”

She was on fire. Every part of her body shivered and shook with anticipation everytime they started this section of the routine anew. 

It was challenging to dance in such a fashion. Those Winter Court couples must love to torture each other. But…Gwyn loved it. She loved the closeness she felt with Azriel. The romantic air of the dance, even though they weren’t a thing, was palpable. The added blindfold made it feel like the accomplishment of a lifetime every time they completed the dance with little to know mistakes.

It took hours…days, to perfect the dance, like a relationship – it takes time. It takes care and attention and…love. The poetry of dance was beautiful and this dance? The waltz? It was steeped in that elegance and freedom of expression. A dance that is a clean slate for the partners to do with as they pleased. To tell their own story.

It was the last day of rehearsing with Azriel. Tomorrow they’d be in the Winter Court, dancing and gliding across a different marbled floor, performing an intimate dance in front of others –

And it was intimate, hers and Azriel’s rendition of the dance at least. She could feel it every time they held hands. Every time they touched and turned with each other. Every time the dance ended they were left breathing heavily, panting for each other.

Every time their noses would nust together, their fingers grasping... 

Gwyn wanted him and if she wasn’t mistaken – Azriel wanted her too.

Someone had to take that leap. Someone had to take those tangible moments of romance and ignite that spark.

So when Gwyn walked into the ballroom that evening, she’d called over to Azriel who was taking the Symphonia out of his bag and said, “I have an idea for the end pose for our dance!”

Azriel stood tall, brows raised, “Oh?”

Gwyn nodded, “Mhmm…but I can’t tell you.”

“And why’s that?”

She shrugged, “I think it’ll speak for itself.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, letting a small smile play on his lips as he sauntered towards Gwyn. His hands were in his pockets, exuding cool power as he joined her in the middle of the dance floor.

“Well then let us wait no further.” Azriel scooped his arms beneath hers, supporting her. “Ready Berdara?” 

“Ready Shadowsinger,” She replied, squaring her shoulders and getting into their starting pose. Nervous butterflies flitted about her stomach. 

Her head was turned to the side, looking off across the ballroom. She couldn’t see Azriel’s face, but she felt the way he inched closer, saw his shadows swirling excitedly around any part of their body’s that touched.

The Symphonia came to life and the two began their dance.

Gwyn and Azriel twirled across the floor. The first section of their dance comes to them like second nature. They swooped and tilted together, holding each other in a firm, assured hold as their feet stepped in time with the music flowing from the musical device.

She could feel the skirt of her dress hug and fall around her legs as she moved, Azriel’s thighs brushing hers occasionally, his body a constant next to hers. They danced as if they were on cloud nine. As if they had no other worries in the world.

The time for them to don their ribbons had arrived. As practiced, over and over, Gwyn came to a gentle halt in front of Azriel, her back to his chest and her left arm extended out. Reaching…reaching, until arcing up and back. She bent her arm, her fingers brushing the side of Azriel’s face, a tender gesture; a distraction really. It gave Azriel time to take the ribbon from his pocket and wrap it around her eyes. 

With adept hands and practiced movements, Azriel was standing before Gwyn, her hands roaming up his chest, slowly. Feeling. Exploring. Before finding his face, and donning his ribbon.

Her heart raced, her palms slightly shaking. 

Their pas de deux began.

Three standard box steps, arcing across the floor, before Azriel took Gwyn’s hand, twirling her out from him. He tugged her back, releasing her so she could hold her arms above her head while she spun around and around in a line of quick turns until she found herself back in Azriel’s arms.

His hands wrapped around her waist, halting her oscillation so she faced away from him. Scarred fingers danced up her sides, sliding higher and higher, his fingertips just brushing the sides of her breasts. Gwyn breathed out, feeling the exhilaration of the spins spiral out into a coiled pleasure. She raised her arms as his touch traveled along them until his fingers were lacing with hers.

Arcing and stretching into each other, the most intimate section of the dance played out. Azriel touched and Gwyn turned, melting into him. Gwyn kicked a leg out and Azriel sashayed along with her. A story of a female and a male, growing together, worshiping each other –

They came to that sudden halt and Gwyn’s legs shook. This was it. 

She spun once…twice…plié…jump. Azriel held her. Firm and true. Held her longer than he ever had before gently then ever so gently, he brought her down – turning slowly. 

Her toes touched the floor, her weight distributed from the balls of her feet, to her heels. 

Here we go…

Gwyn’s hands slid up Azriel’s torso, the Shadowsinger stilling beneath her touch. Realizing this was her secret addition. She heard him breathe out as she travelled higher and higher, gliding over slick sweat skin and into damp hair.

Azriel’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as she rose up into a relevé, and kissed him.

The music hit a crescendo, driving forth the eruption of nerves and excitement that lived within her. Azriel stilled – but only for a moment, surprised by the unseen act of romance. A second later, his fingers tightened around her hips and he tugged her closer, his mouth slanting with hers as he deepened the kiss. 

As suddenly as she surged up and kissed him, she stopped and came back down on her heels, peeling away her ribbon. Taking in the sight of Azriel’s half-masked face peering down blindly at her before reaching up and letting his ribbon fall away. 

His cheeks tinged pinked, his hazel eyes shining with admiration in the dim light of the ballroom. 

The shadows around the room pulsed and the moonlight glowed brighter as it streaked through the windows, something sparking between them. 

“Gwyn,” Azriel breathed. 

“Azriel,” she replied.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he said, “That was our best run, but…”

“But?” 

“I think we need to run that last part again.” His eyes twinkled before he leaned in. His nose and lips grazed hers before he pressed his lips to hers again. Gwyn melted, taking in the feel of his mouth soft against hers, the way he tasted as they explored. Every tingling nerve ending exploded again and again the longer they kissed, the longer they held each other. Hands grabbed at shirt colors, fingers danced across shivering bare arms.

Gwyn let out the softest whimper as Azriel pulled away. He gazed down at Gwyn, his lips wet, his eyes blown wide. “I like your addition, Gwyn.”

She raised a brow, “Do you? I couldn’t tell.”

Azriel chuckled and he brought his hands up to cup her face and kiss her again, gently. And way too quickly, “From the top?” he asked.

“From the top,” she repeated, a smile blooming across her face. He took her hand as she passed him the ribbons and entered the dance floor, holding Gwyn out like a goddess to be revered. 

The music flowed out of the Symphonia, and Gwyn and Azriel’s pas de deux began again.