#they waltz and fall in love | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scorple · 2 years

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bc i have no control over my life and bc brennan HAD to have Hob say that Rue made him feel beautiful here you all go. [ao3 link here]

Rue has never known someone to look so beautiful.

When they’ve calmed their pulse enough after the feeling of Hob’s hands on their arms——and oh gods if they had only known the way his hands would be so big, large enough to wrap around the thick muscle of their wing——and the vision of their claws together, Rue can only turn and stare. They’re not sure if it’s the soft light of the candles and magic giving way to the brilliant flashes of orange and red of the fireworks, but Hob is resplendent.

They watch him stutter apologies, barely hearing any of it, too enraptured with him. Perhaps it is a trick of the light or maybe the fantastical feeling of attending a ball and being the one someone pursued, but Rue can not tear their eyes away from the nervous pull of Hob’s mouth or the gentle flick of his ears as he asks for their dance card, so sure it was already full.

Perhaps it is the sheer disbelief in his eyes when they say, “Captain Hob, look around you. Who?”, like he can not imagine that there would not be throngs of fey waiting to dance with a 7-foot tall owlbear in a ballgown.

Or perhaps it is in the way they think they see that gleam of Goblin greed behind his eyes when he realizes he has them to himself. It's that same glint in his eye from the forest when they commanded him and he nearly let his instincts take over.

But instead, perhaps it is the careful look in his eye when they ask for his card in return. There is something holding him back and making him hesitate. When he waxed poetic over Rue’s qualities and the foolishness of the other fey, he had seemed so confident, so eager but when Rue asks for the same, offers to write their name on his card, he almost seems to fold into himself. There is much to be rebuilt within Captain Knickolas P. Hob.

They know that the events of the last night were hard on him. Rue was the cause after all, the one who set his mind going and forced him to think about how he has been treated. They know these things and yet they still have this burned urge to push him, keep pushing until he can finally see his worth.

Perhaps then, it is when they call him a gentleman and his eyes widen and his breath catches in a way that is both adorable and attractive.

It could be all those things that have left them here, but if Rue had to put coin down on it, they would say that it was, perhaps, the way his eyes never left theirs as he placed his card on the soft of his tongue, past his sharp teeth, and swallowed it down.

It all leads to the same place after all.

Rue wants him.

*********************************************************************

There is not much in the way of gentleness in the Goblin Court. Hob has been privy to many sleeping piles—-though he does not profess to loving the whole situation, what with there being too many bodies touching his and too many smells clogging his nose—-but even those come from necessity and not desire.

This is not the same at all.

Rue touches him like they want to cherish him. Every move from them is soft and slow. They take great care to never surprise him with a touch without a sound or word of warning first and it makes something tighten pleasantly in his stomach. It takes him a moment to realize why because it seems like ages ago that he grabbed them by the arms to ‘protect’ them and then stammered out his weakness to sudden and intense changes. So Rue has adjusted and erased sudden from the situation.

Now the intense part, that is a different story.

Everything they do sparks something within Hob. The way they trail a hand along his back, claws catching slightly in the soft fabric of his coat. The way they bend close to speak to him, breath ruffling the fur on his cheek despite the music not being too loud to speak farther away. The way they guide him through different dances, never laughing at him but instead giggling with him as he makes misstep after misstep until the music turns slow and the night grows later, the shadows longer.

Every single moment of it is like a delicious torture Hob did not wish to escape from.

When the music is slow he feels a little more in control but then realizes that a waltz cannot be done without touching and his hands ache for Rue.

“Captain—-” Rue says, voice almost a bit shy for the first time this night. “Captain, do you know the steps to a waltz?” They are picking gently at one of the beautiful flowers on their dress in a way that makes Hob think they don’t even realize they’re doing it.

He clears his suddenly dry throat, feeling his ears go hot. “I’m afraid—-in the Goblin Army I mean—-”

Rue’s eyes crinkle in the way that he’s come to learn as a smile. “Not a lot of time for waltzing, I suppose.”

“And a fair lack of those tall enough to do it with!” Hob returns, chuckling loudly before tapering off. Rue lets out a soft laugh that sounds almost like the wings of a bird in the night, flapping overhead and Hob’s mind rushes to think he is the cause for such a beautiful sound.

They make a show of gesturing to themself, teasing lilt to their voice. “I don’t think that will be a problem tonight, Captain Hob.” He cannot stop the way his eyes rake over their form again and finds his mouth drying in a familiar way. They are so beautiful here in the darkening night, shrouded by moonlight and candlelight alike. When he doesn’t say anything, Rue hesitates. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to push or make you feel—-”

Hob shakes slightly, like a wolf waking from a nap. He never wants to be the reason they hesitate. “No, never, Rue. I would be honored to dance with you if only you would show me the way.”

He swears the room gets brighter every time they smile.

************************************

“I will take the lead, then,” Rue says, more confident than they feel. A waltz is a waltz is a waltz and they have been doing them for millenia over many Blooms and in even more late night fantasies in their room alone, but they have never waltzed while in love.

Someone had told them once that the dance changes with each partner. One might be stiff and formal, another silly and playful, but no one ever prepared them for what it would feel like in love.

As a rule, most owlbears cannot fly. There may be some adapted to it in the mortal realm, but Rue has never been privileged enough to do so.

Waltzing in love is the closest approximation to what they imagine it might feel like.

Hob is an excellent student and an avid listener who follows orders beautifully. They take him off to the side of the dance floor for a song or two and show him the most basic steps they know. He is attentive to their instructions and appreciative of their words of affirmation. They teach him to lead and to follow and when he completes a series of both steps well, Rue claps delightedly and says, “Yes, perfect, Captain!” Hob stutters for a moment, just long enough for Rue to notice and smiles shyly.

“You are an excellent teacher,” is his response. “I can only hope to someday be half as masterful and graceful as you are.” He ducks his head and Rue is glad because it makes him miss the moment where they almost reach to touch his face. “I am unworthy to be your student.”

That stops them for a moment.

Rue considers Hob carefully before taking him by the arm and heading for the dance floor. They will address his comment when his mind is focused on the steps and not on impressing them. “Come along, Captain.” They feel his arm relax under their grip and they smile. “Let’s put our lessons to the test, shall we?”

“Whatever you desire, Mistrex,” he says, voice soft and low as he follows them without question.

*******************************************

“Would you like to lead or follow?” Rue asks out on the dancefloor as a new song begins.

Hob considers this for a moment, thinking about the way it felt with their hand pressed into his lower back and how it had made him think of words like safe and wanted. “F-Follow, I suppose,” he stutters out. “Unless you—-”

Rue interrupts him with a kind smile and an offered hand. “I would love the chance to lead you in a waltz, Captain.” He rests one hand in their outstretched paw, careful of his claws getting tangled in theirs—-though would that be so bad?—-and the other on their shoulder. It ends up right above the fabric of their dress and the feel of their feathers under his palm makes his heart race.

“Are you ready?” Rue whispers to him, soft enough for no one near to hear but loud enough to know that they are still intent on checking on his comfort. Hob nods, voice stuck in his throat and then their hand is pressing warm through his jacket and into his very bones. He doesn’t even realize when it happens but with a gentle pressure they begin to waltz.

The thing about a waltz is that done right——or supposedly with the right partner——it can feel ephemeral, like weightlessness and care, a gentle celebration between two dancers meeting on a dancefloor to become each other’s world for a few moments of time.

Hob supposes that they have done this one right after all.

He’s been worried that he might make a mistake by stepping with the wrong foot at the wrong time or by turning the wrong direction when needed but each time he has the thought, Rue is there with that same——gentle, warm, perfect——pressure and guides him through it instead. Without much time to practice (and only pictures in books hidden away in his tent as he thought of one day dancing like this) he was worried that it would be hard.

Instead, waltzing with Rue feels as easy as breathing.

The first time he glances to their face, they are watching him with a soft look that makes something well up behind his eyes and he must look away to blink through it. Rue studies him throughout the waltz and he grows accustomed to the look enough to see a curiosity beneath it. He wants to ask or he supposes answer, whatever questions they have but before he knows it, the song has ended and the dancers stop to clap for a brief moment.

Rue curtsies playfully and offers out their hand again when the next song begins. “Would you like to lead the next one?” they ask, and Hob knows his choice this time.

He smiles and says, “I think I’ll continue to follow, if you don’t mind.”

***************************************

Rue is in trouble.

They have spent the last two songs desperately trying to get up the nerve to tell Hob how they feel. It has been rattling around in their head since last night, not dimmed in the slightest with the passing time.

I love him.

The thing is they’re terrified of an answer. For their whole life, they have been content with the lot they’ve been handed. They’ve never pushed past the expectations into something new that they were unsure of because to try and then fail? Unthinkable. If they make a mistake with Hob, they think it might just destroy them.

Underneath the fear, however, something dangerous lurks. Hope.

It comes in waves from Hob as they dance and speak quietly over the music. He is funny and kind and so hard on himself. Nearly everything he reveals comes with a caveat or amendment against himself. Rue wants to brush back the nervous pulling of his brow when he does this, when he makes himself seem smaller, less than.

It’s nearing the end of the night when they finally work up enough courage to say something real to him. They have led every waltz, Hob seemingly more comfortable to be held than to have the responsibility of holding and they cannot deny the pulse of pleasure they feel when he relaxes into their grip and lets himself go.

“Thank you for dancing with me tonight, Captain,” Rue says softly. “Not many would desire to be my dance partner in this form.” Apparently it is their turn to be the one with worrisome doubts.

Hob’s hand squeezes theirs just enough for them to notice, almost like a reflex. “I stand by what I said before our first dance, Rue,” he replies, voice rough. “If the fey here do not see your beauty then they are foolish and quite honestly not worth another thought from you.”

Rue laughs. “Well then let me thank you for the gift of your name.” They have been rolling that around in their head alongside I love him since he had whispered it in their ear hours ago. “Knickolas Pnackolas Hob,” they say, feeling like they can taste the very sounds. “It’s very you.”

“Silly you mean?” Hob says, that sad edge back to his voice.

Rue clicks their beak at him and he doesn’t flinch back. He looks at them with confusion and caution, eyes wide. This man. “Sincere,” they say, tapping at his back with a claw. They continue listing accompanied by a gentle tap each time. “Charming. Endearing.” Hob seems frozen, mouth hanging slightly open and disbelieving. “Pleasing. Delightful.” Here they pause, unsure about giving too much away before pushing forward. “Beautiful.”

****************************************************

“Beautiful,” Rue says.

Hob has known many beautiful things over his time as a fey in this realm. He has seen more sunrises than any other goblin, watched the color spread across the sky in brillant arcs. He has seen a full moon reflected on the gently moving ocean, her face reflected back like a mirror. He has seen a garden filled with peonies tended by the most beautiful creature of all. In all his time and in all his travels he has never felt beautiful himself.

Until now.

“Beautiful,” Rue says and it sounds like truth spilling over their beak and music as it finds his ears.

Ahh, that’s what it is, he thinks to himself. That is what he’s been feeling all night while wrapped up in Rue’s arms and sharing slow waltzes around the room. He feels beautiful.

Many of the other fey have begun to leave, some alone and others in couples or pairs but Hob cannot bring himself to stop dancing. He does not know how he will be expected to carry on tomorrow and the next day and the next having had this night.

“You—I’m—Delloso,” he finally manages, voice caught tight in his throat. For all his verbosity, for his ability to speak without saying anything at all, Hob can think of nothing besides their name. Before he can say anything else, the final song begins and they dance the last dance of the night. They don’t speak this time, but when Rue pulls him into the first step, it seems as though the space between their bodies has become just a little bit less.

Hob thinks that if this is his last night on this plane, he will die a happy Goblin.

#captain k.p. hob #delloso de la rue #acofaf spoliers #acofaf fic #acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #dimension 20 #battlemaster of ceremonies #ruehob #they waltz and fall in love #i just need rue to take care of hob and show him love and kindness

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