#xodette

[sieliebte-blog]

✿

                                  ( meme. accepting !! )

4. cheek kiss.

        When Duck had approached her with the news that she was going on a date with Fakir, Rue had her reservations. Not that she didn’t like Fakir. On the contrary, she liked him a great deal now that they weren’t trying to KILL each other ( however, there were times when it was really tempting to strangle him ). He could still be awful to deal with on most days— argumentative, prone to moodiness and brooding, quick to toss out “Idiot!” and “Moron!” when he otherwise couldn’t think of how to react to a situation. When she thought about that, she was even more grateful to have someone as sophisticated and gentlemanly as Prince Siegfried. 

        Duck deserved her own prince— she deserved much more than that, even, for all her sacrifices. She deserved all the happiness Siegfried’s story had to offer. If Fakir was what made her happy then who was Rue to question it? Rather than sit and stew over the ordeal, the newly crowned princess ushered her friend into her bedroom, sitting her in front the large-mirrored vanity. Clearly Duck had no concept of how to prepare for a date, so Rue was more than happy to fill in the blanks. Starting with her lovely red hair.  

        ❝You should wear it down more often, you know. It’s very pretty.❞ She runs a brush— gold and ornately decorated– through the girl’s fine hair and marvels at how soft to the touch it is; like duck feathers. O-Oh! You think so? is Duck’s nervous reply. Decided, then, that wearing her hair down would be the best choice for this special day, Rue set about pinning some strands back with flowers. The finishing touch is a bright sunflower tucked behind her left ear, as vivid and cheerful as her dress of the same hue.

        Satisfied with her work, Rue gently nudges the girl out of the room with a playful grin tugging at her lips and presses a sweet kiss to the girl’s cheek.   ❝You look beautiful, and if Fakir says anything less than that, I’ll box his ears.❞ R-Rue! You don’t h-have to—-! 

                      ❝Now! Off you go! And I expect ALL the details upon your return.❞

[schwxnprinz]

✿

send me a ✿ and i’ll generate a number | accepting

4. cheek kiss.

          Those eyes are not so empty anymore, not as they were the first time     that they gazed upon her. Now, they are glowing with warmth, brimming     with emotions and desires that bend his body to their will as they dance.     She is so graceful and delicate, so bright and pure that he has no right to     hold her as he does, to touch her with his hands — and yet, so generous     is she, to allow him the honor all the same.          Their bodies intermingle with one another, gliding across the surface     of the water as the music echoes in the ripples beneath their heels. Her     lips are fresh and new as a budding rose, but it is her cheek that calls to     his kiss, lush with a color so rich and sweet that he simply has to taste it.     Their motions pause as the music falls silent, and as his palm supports     the small of her supple spine, he leans in, and dares to brush his lips to     that cherubic apple.          He immediately feels another emotion — an emotion that she, herself,     has returned to him — for the action: regret. Her eyes well, her heart halts,     and he wonders if, perhaps, she had no desire for his kiss…if perhaps, all     that it had brought her was pain. His voice falls low, brows drawn.                                        ❝ …Tutu, I…I’m sorry. These feelings, burning                               within my chest, I…I don’t know…what to do with them.                                     I thought that…maybe my feelings would make you                                 happy, but…all that they seem to do is bring you pain.                                        You always run away…when I try to tell you how                                        I feel, so…so I thought maybe, just maybe… — ❞

[incxngruens]

Mistletoe's as good as any other reason. Even though it's not the first time she's done it her stomach clenches briefly from excitement and she leans forward. Eyes close and she brushes her lips against his own happily. It's over all too soon and she withdraws with a jovial, "Merry Christmas."

For a moment, his mind shorts out a little -- every thought and feeling and sensation leaving him all at once. It’s not the first time, but it happens with every touch of lips against lips. If he was feeling poetic, he might ascribe the reaction to some kind of leftover magic. But Fakir is neither inclined towards metaphors, nor denying the power Duck holds over him all on her own. 

As soon as he’s returned to himself, Fakir smiles. It’s not such an unfamiliar expression these days, but it still feels very new each time. Gently, he wraps one arm behind her back, letting it rest right below the curve of her spine in the space where he fits perfectly. 

❛ Merry Christmas, ❜ he replies, using this chance to take in the sight of her. He’ll never get tired of it, of that he’s sure. Her eyes -- wide with joy, her smile, her laugh, the way her excitement is written in every inch of her frame and every part of her countenance. 

[ofrelief]

▉ ▊  ╳ ┊ (  @xodette​​ • here *:・ﾟ✧  )

❛ Oh -- wow. ❜

Madoka’s eyes are practically glowing with amazement, awe written into  every line and plane of her body. ( When she appreciates, she appreciates  wholly and unreservedly. ) 

❛ So you’re really a ballerina? You take classes and everything? That’s amazing! ❜

[pasdedeuxrue-blog]

xodette started following you

{ ♪ } Tap tap tap along the cobblestone pathways of their academy, and Rue turned to find the swift movements of another in full force. In hindsight, who else would she expect to run like that? Garish, whimsical, it was almost comedic. Unbeknownst to Duck though, just the smallest smile fell. Hidden by dark curls in broad daylight. “Are we late for class again?”

[unfemmeprince-blog]

↻

Send me ↻ and I'll generate a # for what my muse will do to yours.

Sharing the bed with one another.

✿} “Ah, I hope you don’t mind sharing with me! It must be kinda inconvenient, huh?” Utena apologized profusely, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Chu-Chu had a little bit of an accident in Anthy’s bed so we’re uh, getting that all cleaned up tomorrow. At least we won’t all be cold, right?” She laughed nervously, trying to find positivity in the situation. Fitting three girls into one bed wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned when she planned a sleepover, but they’d all bond from this, at least! Hopefully.

[forsakethyname]

xodette liked x

   “ -- ah, t’would seem sights such as these are ne’er secretive    as one would hope. Or perhaps they are simply very poorly    hidden to those seeking beauty. Have you come to gaze upon    the irises, m’lady? If so, I should hate to be unwanted company. ”

[cowardisms]

"Such a waste of talent."

House of Cards sentence starters

{★} — A thin, blond brow rose up. Waste of talent?           Whatever did she speak of? Before him he            saw youth aspiring to be the very best they           could be... Or perhaps... she spoke of he?            Not in the very least offended, Howl gave a           shrug of his shoulders and placed his hands           on thin hips.

❝ If that's what you think-- even then,    I'm not obliged to agree with what    comes out of your plain, little mouth. ❞

[outoffeathers]

Princess Odette { icons package }

             ♚ 38 icons.              ♚ All made by me.              ♚ Made for wifey only.

[incxngruens]

( ❄ • @xodette ) 

He’s still mostly unsure about the whole thing -- he’s never been good at surprises. Or plans in general, come to think of it, and even though it hasn’t been all that long all things considered, it feels as if it’s been quite a while since he’s done anything without consulting Duck beforehand. But you can’t ascertain someone’s opinion about a present you’re trying to give them. Even he knows that. 

So he fidgets and paces and generally tries to burn off the nervous energy. There are still ink stains on his hands and sleeves, though he’s done his best to scrub them clean. Yes, he knows that any flaws of appearance will be remedied as soon as she arrives, but he still convulsively runs his palms against the fabric of his trousers in some vague attempt to wipe any marks away. It doesn’t work, which is absolutely par for the course. 

Some of the nervousness might be very specifically linked to this particular gift itself. Romance was never his calling (which he’s been trying to correct at every turn these past few months -- entirely for Duck’s sake), but this is beyond anything he’s ever attempted. It’s enough to drive him into a nervous fit, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, sighing repeatedly as he glances at the closed door of the abandoned chapel. He can almost see the scene play out -- he opens the door handle, waiting for the peculiar magic to take hold, only to discover that it’s failed him yet again. Leaving him as hapless and giftless as ever. 

Won’t that just make Duck’s holiday merry and bright? 

He’s pulled wholly from his thoughts when he hears an intimately familiar rhythm: the slightly off balance tap of footsteps that are now a daily constant. All at once, the heaviest part of the tension is gone all at once, disappearing like morning fog as soon as he turns and catches sight of her. 

❛ -- Hey. ❜

( and for all his worry and affection, for all his practice, he’s still a man of few words. ironic. ) 

❛ You came. I’m glad. ❜

[incxngruens]

▉ ▊┊ ✘  ( @xodette • continued ) ; 

Fakir has always and never really thought about roles. You are the knight reborn, Charon would tell him -- jokingly, at first. Then appeasing when Fakir was old and just aware enough to want what he’d always been told. And then, Fakir was older and more aware enough, Charon stopped saying it altogether. Words have power, you know; if that’s true, isn’t it terrible to continue to call yourself after the knight who died? 

The only one here who doesn’t want the story to move forward is you. 

He’s still not entirely sure what he is -- writer, knight, student, dancer, no one? But, even though it’s taken awhile, he now knows that he’s not the only one: not the only one who’s unsure themselves, not the only one of whom he does not know. 

Maybe he’s gone about it backwards (or maybe not), but Fakir’s never particularly cared for Princess Tutu. She’s always represented everything he’s -- well, stood against, yes. But more selfishly, she’s always irritated and terrified him by turns. He has never once been at peace with her aims and her existence, vacillating between wanting to tell her I can protect Mytho on my own, and stop, stop, stop don’t hurt him! Even after learning of her identity, even after what they’ve been through, he never felt particularly inclined to like her more or less than anyone else. 

No, the first living thing that Fakir felt himself open towards, notwithstanding his sewn together family, was Duck. 

Specifically, the small yellow Duck that had taken a supposed shine to him when he’d been in possession of Tutu’s pendant. Yes, he’s aware of why, exactly, she had been following him around. But that knowledge has done nothing to diminish the warm contentment he feels when he thinks of the small Duck that changed his entire world. 

Duck herself (all flailing limbs and wandering mind and her own brand of grace that isn’t graceful at all) took even more getting used to than Tutu, if only by virtue of being around more frequently. And he knows that logically, if he were to say the Right Thing, that he’s fine with Duck being a duck and that when this is all over and they go to whatever ends are being written for them (death? life? the beyond? something else?) he’ll be okay with that. 

But somewhere along the way, he’s come to find himself worrying when he doesn’t see that familiar figure bouncing around -- full of so much life and energy that she’s almost blinding. He’s come to find himself wondering how each facet of his life will affect her, and asking himself will she smile? Will she be alright? 

(If he’s being really selfish, maybe he’ll even admit to himself that he’d be fine leaving this story altogether when things are done and finding a happy ending without pages at all.) 

He takes her hand in his, but not to dance. Given the choice and the chance he’d always prefer to dance with Duck than with Princess Tutu. His grip is steady and sure as his gaze as he studies her, examines the light in her eyes and the way she holds herself. It’s true that there’s a marked difference between Tutu and Duck -- a kind of armor built from magic and confidence. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re embodying a dance god from a story. But he knows those eyes. He knows that smile. He knows those words, even if they’re spoken without stutters or pauses. 

❛ Yes. ❜

That’s right -- he’s come to find that he’s not so sure of who he is without having Duck to measure against. But that doesn’t feel like any sort of step backwards. In fact, it feels a little like progress. 

Don’t think this means that we’re working together, now, he’d said once. 

❛ Hey -- just so you know. I’m -- ❜ An apology doesn’t really cut it. At all. He’d been a terror, plain and simple, closer to a monster than any sort of man. And she deserves -- well, the world, of course. But something meaningful to start. 

❛ -- I’m really grateful to have met you. All of you. ❜

[incxngruens]

"A heart's a heavy burden."

▉ ▊ ✘ ( accepting ) ;

Fakir finds himself in an increasingly common position: studying the girl more intently than he ever thought he would when they’d first met. But he’s come to accept surprise as the new normal of his life, and he doesn’t dwell for very long on the gentle shock. 

❛ Mmm. Well, I suppose you would know better than most. ❜

His tone is light and matter of fact, but his gaze his still sharply pointed, delving deep as he tries to discern what mood has struck her now and why. (Another thing he’s becoming intimately acquainted with -- and another thing that doesn’t really bother him the way he pretends it does.) 

                                     Still, a nagging question remains. 

❛ -- Aren’t you the one always going on about how we need our hearts? Why they’re so good? What’s with the change? ❜

[incxngruens]

@xodette​ ;; 

❛ You know what it means. ❜

He exhales, but it’s not the usual short, sharp marker of annoyance he’s prone to. Tilting his head to the side ( decidedly not to wipe any sort of humorous expression from his face ), Fakir resists the urge to roll his eyes. Barely. But still.

❛ It also means that you’ve half-fallen three times already. ❜ The reply is quick and easy and matter of fact -- the perfect complement to the rhythm they’ve established until now. ❛ You’re more distracted than usual. Why? ❜

[incxngruens]

( @xodette ) ;; 

He’s not laughing, he’s just -- he doesn’t laugh, alright? It might indicate  that he’s made of more human stuff than bitterness and cynicism. Still,  there’s some sort of glimmer in his eye that might be mistaken for mirth  in someone else. And when he talks, there’s a distinct lack of bite in his  tone. 

                           ❛ How is it even possible that you’re still this clumsy ? ❜

[incxngruens]

( Fakir, leaning on railing, gazing into the distance ) My first girlfriend was a magical warrior who defied her prewritten tragic fate of futilely vanishing as a speck of light, saved a storybook prince, and helped to dismantle the regime of a villainous author controlling an entire town through the written word, only to turn into her true form of a duck and live the rest of her days with me as a literal foul. 

( Mytho, raising his voice slightly from offstage ) That’s rough, buddy.

[incxngruens]

xodette ;; 

         “-- Charon’s not here tonight. So if you -- if you wanted to discuss the plan,               you can stay. We have too much for dinner for one person anyway.”