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elmidol · 5 years ago

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There is a Necessity in Balance (NSFW)

Three Blind Tooke Part Two Precarious Harmony

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Warnings: oral, vaginal sex

Three Blind Tooke

Part Two: Precarious Harmony

Chapter Thirty-Nine: There is a Necessity in Balance

Urvno entered your bedroom shortly after you had finished the cocoa and cookies. Kylo had left with Rey to address the Knights of Ren. A part of you suspected that their absence was also to ensure you were more forthcoming with the physician than you may have been when in their presence. He would not yet draw your blood for testing. Urvno informed you that you would fast that night to ensure that he could do so the following morning. In the meantime, he seated himself on a stool that he had brought with him. The datapad he carried was tilted your way, and you glanced over the information displayed. He had outlined what sort of dietary changes he wanted for you. These would assist in boosting your metabolism; it was a reminder that your uterus was not the only organ damaged by the lightsaber.

The First Order physician was someone you trusted with your health. He had always excelled at keeping you alive. You had harbored so much hatred, resentment and, yes, fear during your time on the Finalizer and Starkiller Base. Urvno has been the only individual—aside from Kylo Ren and General Hux—with whom you had let down even a fraction of your guard. You found your body readily relaxing in his presence. This contrasted with your unsteady relationship with General Hux. With the red head, you always had walls up. His cold eyes constantly searched for weaknesses in your armor. Tooka. A pet, which the man clearly viewed as being replacable.

One of the sweets that your mother had baked remained on the plate that was set on your bedside table. This you grabbed whilst the physician scrolled past the data outlining the dietary changes in favor of bringing up information regarding the exercise regime you would start with. It included images—scans, to be exact—of the weak points in your anatomy. Your upper body strength had not suffered quite so much as your lower extremities. You bit down on the cookie.

A second instance of Urvno scrolling revealed the first weapon that you would learn to wield. You fought to control your facial features. At any moment, until they left, either Captain Phasma or General Hux could walk into your room. They could see your expression and become suspicious. You clenched your jaw to prevent yourself from mouthing its name. That would be a huge mistake for the aforementioned reasons.

This was a projectile weapon, although you would not equate it with a blaster. A lanvarok. You had never wielded this, much less could not remember having any personal experience seeing it. It was a weapon used by the Sith if your memory served correct. The projectiles were controlled via the Force...which you did not have.

Rey, you realized. Kylo Ren was leaving you with Rey in part for missions like this first one. The target that would be killed by the lanvarok was a known collector of Sith artifacts. That meant black market. Deals went sour all the time. It made perfect sense to you. You only hoped that Rey could bring herself to assist you. Your Force bond would help guide her hand despite the distance that would be between the pair of you and the target. There were Force sensitive beings throughout the galaxy, ones that kept their powers a secret.

Your skills as an LDS and Rey’s capabilities as a Force user.

Initially you did not realize that you had started to hold your breath. Only the building discomfort alerted you to the manner in which you were agitating your lungs. A steady exhale followed by a slow inhale. You drew the tips of three fingers back and forth along your forehead. The training that you would undergo involved strengthening the connection you had with Rey. When it came to the first target alone, it was an individual with plenty of credits to toss around for protection. The Knights and Rey, or maybe Rey alone, would focus on them while you placed yourself into a position to fire upon the target. You would observe through a scope, your bond alerting her to the moment you pulled the trigger, and from there she would take control of the projectile.

It only made sense for at least one of the Knights to be present on this upcoming mission. Otherwise one of the bodyguards could overtake Rey, if not prevent her from fulfilling her part in the assassination.

The weapon’s capabilities in hand-to-hand combat would prove useful when you were confronted with the hired guards and mercs that protected the perimeter.

Of course, the new Supreme Leader of the First Order wished to keep his name out of the mission. He would not be involved in arranging a meeting. That’s my job as well, you thought. Not that you were surprised. When working with the splinter cell of the Resistance, there had been one mission wherein you had been responsible for a similar act. At that time, though, your target had been a First Order officer.

A tap by Urvno’s middle digit eliminated the data on the screen. You reeled back a fraction, startled by the suddenness of the action. Your eyes darted to the door to your bedroom. No one there. No sounds of footsteps. You supposed that there was no true reason for the physician to risk being caught regardless. It wasn’t as though you were physically ready to work with the weapon. Nor did you know if it was already on-planet. It was your target that you would be researching. Learning their routine, how they arranged meetings. That information would take some digging.

You settled back against your pillow and stared at the familiar patterns on the ceiling that had long ago been traced by your mind. This room was so small compared with your memory of it. Large when contrasted with the bunks and shared quarters that had been your life since leaving home.

Urvno did not rise from his position. He was content to observe you, the man likely assessing how your behavior altered now that you were not in enemy territory. He was the one out of place this time. That was...nice. Relieving.

“What do you think?” you asked. Receiving no answer, which you attributed to the vagueness of the inquiry, you elaborated. “You once tried to prevent us from meeting together. After Starkiller… Now we’re married. Does it terrify you that I may not survive? Or do you have more hope that it will be possible?”

He drew a hand down the length of his face. There were exhaust lines on his features. How had you missed those? Or had you conditioned yourself to ignore whatever glimpses of morality there were on the faces of those in the First Order?

You could hate so strongly. Hate blinds people. It was a lesson your parents had taught you, and that Ip had reminded you of on more than a single occasion.

“Don’t be afraid,” you told the man, the gentleness in your voice half faked and half genuine. An echo in the mind: that line, by countless voices. Your father. Kylo. Ip. Kylo. Yolo Ziff at one point. Kylo. Your stomach clenched. How was your former enemy, your current husband, among those names? That part of his humanity that complicated things. The phrase spoken as a manipulation tactic then more softly, earnest. “I guess that isn’t fair to say.”

For the first time since you had met the man, the final sliver of coldness melted away from the man’s gaze. There had always been a sort of wall in place before. A barrier that stated you were Resistance and he was First Order. Urvno reached for your hand, enclosing his around it. Something a parental figure might do. Your eyes stung. There was a tightness in your chest that clenched, unclenched, clenched again. You dared not lean too much on this man, not physically nor emotionally. But you kept your hand in his, and drew comfort from the contact.

“We were all told that Snoke was overthrown due to a betrayal he had dealt the First Order. I signed up to serve the cause, not a single being.” You had done that as well, which was why when Kylo Ren and General Hux had mocked singular beings you had been able to ignore their jabs. But whenever they ventured to curse your beliefs, you had lashed out in retaliation. “The galaxy is far from what it could be.” This view you shared.

By pushing for the galaxy to demilitarize, the New Republic had crippled those in need. They had allowed attacks on Outer Rim planets, and they had allowed the First Order to grow in the shadows. The military did not exist solely for war. That was something your father had taught you. Protecting the weak, similar to how the Jedi functioned, that was the role of the military as well. It was what General Organa had tried to remind the New Republic of. And she had been deemed a warmonger.

Deciding that enough time had elapsed, that it was becoming too familiar, you withdrew your hand from Urvno’s. The physician stood. He verbally repeated the dietary changes that would be implemented, as well as reminded you that fasting was imperative for accurate results. There were several things he wished to test for. A mini exercise routine would be copied to a basic datapad that he would bring. You took basic to mean childlocked. No extra features. No means of giving into temptation to contact the Resistance. That was fine. You were committed to the mission. Most important, to staying by Rey. She was the Light, along with Luke Skywalker. A beacon of hope that the Resistance and its allies would fight alongside. That was your duty. You didn’t need anyone else to tell you as much.

I need to find a way to read up more on Sith lore. This could be a trick. A way to manipulate Rey to give into the Dark side of the Force.

“I’ll follow your orders,” you said. There was wiggle room in your words. You did not promise the extent of your loyalty nor its duration.

As soon as he left and you were alone in your room, you rose from the bed and walked over to the window. There was life, vivid and brilliant. You had missed Naboo and its sights. Space was gorgeous in its own right, but it could not compare with home. On this planet were the people you had known while you had grown. Some of them had pretended there was no looming war. That had been your mother. Misguided. Hopeful.

Hope was that double-edged blade you had never mastered. One day you would, this you swore to yourself.

On the other side of the window pane, Rey and Kylo stood opposite one another. Their postures were different from what you had observed when they sparred. A lingering sense of peace buzzing in the back of your mind; the impression via your Force bond that the young woman was calling upon the Light. She was looking to your husband for guidance on...you did not know what. There were countless things she could be asking. A former scavenger. A young woman who had been waiting on Jakku, some backwater planet, for her family to come back for her. Now thrust into this war, into the position of symbolizing hope for many. She, like all living beings, had her doubts. There were vulnerabilities that she had to be hiding.

I had many teachers, even those beyond Ip, you thought. She’s had to be on her own. And now that she has both Skywalker and Kylo… You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth and lightly bit down on it. But Kylo can’t learn about Luke’s connection with Rey.

“Tooka.” You startled at the voice that broke through your internal musings. The muscles in your legs tightened, though your torso remained more limber, allowing you to twist around with a certain amount of ease. You met the man’s gaze for but a moment prior to staring at the ground.

The eyes were the key to the soul. At that moment, you were guarding a secret: that your mother still lived. General Armitage Hux was skilled when it came to reading others. You knew that he could read your moods. Always searching for your weaknesses. Avoiding his gaze could prove a fatal act if it was for a prolonged period. As soon as you gathered your bearings and successfully placed your mental defenses, you took a deep breath and looked his way. Acted for all the world that exhaustion had been the reasoning for your behavior.

“General.”

“Grand Marshal, actually.” Oh, how he loved his titles. This one caused you pause. Kylo Ren could very well be weaponizing the promotion; it would assure that Hux failed to act on plans to overthrow the new Supreme Leader until for a time. Stroke the man’s ego and he would remain content until other obstacles in his quest to obtain power were eliminated. The Resistance first of all. Unless Luke Skywalker was the foe he feared most. “And you, his wife. New names that place us under him.” Unspoken: I shan’t remain under him for very long. The Supreme Leader is dead; long live the Supreme Leader.

You cautiously stepped forward, your eyes searching his face. His flesh was tight near his eyes. Mouth pulled into a frown. This was not gloating. Now that you were paying attention, you saw the underlying resentment that contrasted the victory such a promotion granted him over others. Others who were, ultimately, already beneath him even before Snoke had been overthrown. Grand Marshal Hux walked into the room only to pause in his steps one stride later. You wrapped your arms around your midsection, cupping your hands around the limbs to keep them busy.

“Is the rank official yet?” you asked when silence had stretched on another fifteen seconds. He quirked an eyebrow. “You seem the sort of person who’d want a whole ceremony and parade.” The redhead barked out a laugh filled with amusement. His shoulders were still shaking when he brushed past you to peer out the window. The thoughtful hum prompted you to twist around and return to your former position, albeit this time beside the Grand Marshal.

There would be no parade in his favor; and whether or not he wished for one, it did not matter. You observed him via your peripheral and his reflection. This took some time and effort on your part. Any time Rey or Kylo would shift, your eyes refocused, eliminating the opaque version of Hux. His attention shifted to the former Jakku scavenger on occasion, however he was predominately fixated on Kylo Ren. Armitage’s upper lip curled in unconcealed disgust and frustration. Hatred. A slight blessing for the Resistance. The newly deceased Supreme Leader Snoke had been wise to create that wedge; the pair would have overthrown him sooner. And now? Now it gave the fragmented Resistance a fighting chance to regroup.

“It must kill you to be cooped up here.” This was not a jab at you. His voice and tone were both too soft for that. You side-eyed the man, attempting to learn his motivations. “I’m no fool, tooka. I know you are always plotting.” He gave you a once-over. “That may explain things. A subconscious realization that you needed to be kept weakened. Never enough power to overthrow him. Perhaps he was not quite so blinded by his personal interests as I had allowed myself to believe.” His chest puffed out, his nostrils flaring. Grand Marshal Hux crossed his arms behind his back and tilted his head to the side—towards you, as though you were some co-conspirator. “That won’t last once he leaves this planet, will it? You are a stubborn woman. Not that stubbornness always stems from wisdom.”

There was the jab you had been anticipating. A weak attempt; it attacked your views without becoming too personal. His plans to overthrow Kylo Ren had a place for you. “So… We both know I’ll never give up—something I’ve said since I was first captured.” A deflection that lacked a proper closure to the conversation. Here the Grand Marshal turned his head to stare directly at you. You, on the other hand, started to watch Rey. You could see the side of her face. Her jaw tight, her eyebrow pulling inward, an indication that she was glowering in agitation at the older Force user.

The pair outside had their similarities, but they were ultimately, drastically different from one another in key ways. Kylo possessed a selfishness that Rey did not. He had grown up with so much only to decide it wasn’t enough. Rey had owned almost nothing but made the best of it. They were bound to clash from time to time.

Hux is witnessing this as well. He’ll want to use Rey.

You cleared your throat, noticed the subsequent twitch that came from your companion, and confirmed the young woman had caught his attention as well. Grand Marshal Hux smirked instead of becoming flustered. He did not utter another word to you. You clenched your jaw whilst the redhead exited your room. Everyone believed they were in control. So delusional. You wanted to be in control, however that did not mean that you deluded yourself into believing that you were. You did what you could. Fought against your restraints. Made progress. It was why you did not ignore Rey.

She had not altered her expression. It was that frustration with Ren that Hux would play upon, the same way Snoke had done to him and Kylo. In some ways, you might be forced to utilize that frustration. If that was what it took for her to correctly assist you with the lanvarok. The difference being that you would be working with her.

Hoping that the calmness you sometimes felt from Rey worked in the reverse, you closed your eyes and tried to think of happier times. In solitary confinement, such things had helped to keep you sane.

Instead you felt a spike of irritation that rushed through you, stabbing at the back of your head. You reeled forward. Hands shooting out, you caught yourself on the edge of the window, tough your forehead hit the glass all the same. You dropped down to your knees. Out of sight should Kylo or Rey look up in your direction. It hadn’t been a soft thud. A roll of your eyes. Inward curses. The Force was not your friend even if it existed inside of you.

Even from your room, you could hear the front door open. It hit the wall hard enough that it was obvious it bounced back towards the individual entering. Wood meeting flesh. They caught it with their hand. Either Rey or Kylo; you were unsure which you preferred to see. As long as they separated from one another, you did not care. Light could consume darkness. Darkness could consume light. Both were difficult for you to handle. That was when you didn’t have a headache. You growled low in your throat whilst running a hand along the point of impact. Flinched at the spike of pain. Another swear left your lips, this one different from the one you had uttered when first you had injured yourself.

Footfalls on the stairs. You held your breath to better hear their sounds. At last you identified the owner. You twisted around without rising from your spot. This allowed you to greet the young woman the moment she entered your room. Your eyes tracked her movements all the way to the bed, upon which she sat. Thankfully it was on the edge and facing you. Her lips were set in a frown that bespoke of a previous pout or snarl.

“Are you okay?” Your inquiry was not immediately paid much heed.

She blinked, knit her brow, and visibly thought of what you had asked her. Once the question registered, Rey drew her legs up off of the floor and crossed them while she answered. “Kylo is able to sense Master Skywalker to an extent. He knows we’ve had contact...and lying to him doesn’t completely work.” Oh how well you knew that to be true. “He said he will speak with the Knights of Ren so that they can help me… Help me while I distance myself from Skywalker. He sounded sympathetic.” So did she as she spoke. Rey did not yet want to relinquish the idea that one day Kylo Ren could turn back to the Light, however you could tell that she was realizing it was something he would have to choose to do. No one could force him.

What were you supposed to say to that? You wished to comfort her without lying to do so. You chewed on your bottom lip while ruminating on which approach, what words, were best suited in these circumstances.

It took you but a minute to realize you had an answer for her.

“A grudge like what he has doesn’t fade. And… You want the Knights to trust you, to feel comfortable, I know that. I don’t know their history with Skywalker—if they have one.” Rey nodded in thought, her facial features relaxing. “Hate helps him. The Dark side feeds on it, and he’s allowed it to consume him for years. You don’t have to give up hope, Rey. We do what we can. We’ll do it together. Actions can speak louder than words. The bond you share with him might help him feel how it is to choose the Light every time that you do.”

Just then, you were allowed to feel it. The warmth as more of Rey’s agitation faded away. She gave you a small smile. It brought to mind the question, or repetition of the question, of her capabilities with a lanvarok. How adept would she be with the weapon? Furthermore, how skilled would you be? The warmth rushed through you in waves. Just as the fears and doubt coursed through you, that sense of contentment from her helped to ease the worries.

“Kylo wants me to train with a lanvarok,” the former scavenger said. She knew how to play ball in this court. Grand Marshal Hux and Captain Phasma would not be surprised to hear this information if they were eavesdropping. You nodded, locking gazes with the brunette. “As a polearm, I shouldn’t have much trouble. I used a staff on Jakku. And it’s impervious to lightsaber blows, which may come in handy.” Rey cupped her hands together on her lap. “There is a distance of only five meters if I practice with a different model.” The model that you would use. A frown tugged at your mouth. That wasn’t enough distance, not for your comfort. “One of the Knights has been tinkering with it, finding a way to make a hybrid so that it can be fired from a further distance.”

The unspoken portion: there was a chance that this hybrid would never see the light of day. And where would that leave your mission? You could do it, technically speaking. They would be watching Rey’s lanvarok. Your smaller model could be concealed. Once you pulled the trigger and she took control of the projectile...no one would see it coming.

“You have your work cut out for you.” Translation being we have our work cut out for us. She understood what you meant and nodded.

Once you were able to study more about the target, you would grow comfortable with the task. You looked in the direction of the space heater. You had turned down the temperature, neglecting to shutdown the device until some of the tenseness in your muscles went away. That tension had lessened after your time with Urvno, and again now that you were with Rey. If only your mother could be there; you wouldn’t need the space heater at that point. The differences in opinion that you and she had did not negate the fact that it was such a relief to see her in person. To know that she was alive, that she loved you—or part of you, the part of yourself that you sometimes missed. Even with the hurt that she felt, she had made you cookies. This was proof enough that she cared. She was, in her own way, accepting the differences.

At night, when all becomes quiet in the house and darkness surrounds the building in which you had spent your childhood, you laid in bed with your back to Kylo Ren. It was not to snub him. The man was watching you in that familiar manner. Studying not your behavior but your very existence. As though you might disappear if he blinked. A small part of you had wanted to sleep with Rey instead, to whisper and hope that no one overheard your discussion of how to handle the future mission. You were tired of being out of the game. As soon as you had settled down in bed with your husband, however, it had been easy to relax. It served as a reminder that you were smarter than that; taking needless risks would ruin everything.

You turned around to lie on the opposite side and stare back at the Supreme Leader. This was not how you had expected your life to go. That thought reminded you of conversations you had had with him in the past. There was no fading away into reminiscing. You clung onto the present by scooting nearer to him. Kylo dipped his chin; you had slipped further underneath the covers, and your face was more in line with his neck.

With the lights out, there was much of him that you couldn’t see. That would play in the reverse. You reached a hand out to touch the side of his face. This tangible connection that he refused to make himself. A contrast to your history with him, although you were aware of the reasoning. Reasonings, actually. He did not wish for the Grand Marshal to hear you in the throes of pleasure. Nor did he want to exacerbate the genuine exhaustion that plagued your body. Lastly, he was silently pouting over your fondness for the female Force user.

She missed Finn. Kylo had informed you of this, substituting Finn’s name with the label of traitor. Guilt was drowned by hope, which was a relief for you. There were already far too many anchors holding you down. You would break each and every one of those chains in time.

The flesh underneath your fingertips was harder when you touched his scar. Smooth in its own way. “I miss bedtime stories.” Back when monsters weren’t quite so real.

Kylo embraced you with a single arm then drew you more tightly to him. You did not struggle. Closed your eyes and breathed in his scent. He smelled clean. And suddenly you thought of the ashes, the ones he had smeared across you on the day, or perhaps night, you had been reborn as his prisoner, his guest...as Tooke. What had happened to those ashes? The electronic tooke pet was on the bedside table, its settings on silent mode so that it wouldn’t keep either of you up all night. Things. Symbols. You did not want to be materialistic, that wasn’t you. It hadn’t been you, your mind corrected. Now there would always be a part of you that craved the feel of something tangible.

He asked you why you missed the bedtime stories that you had heard growing up, and you found yourself unable to articulate your reasonings. There were countless. The few that made any sense sounded immature, childish, whimsical, foolish. You were too jaded to speak them aloud.

“It doesn’t matter. I just do.” A soft sigh escaped him. You felt the heat of his breath on your eyelids as your lashes fluttered. His hand slipped up underneath your shirt, its palm meeting the small of your back. You rested your forehead against him, closed your eyes, and let yourself drift off to sleep.

Morning began early for you. Urvno drew your blood for testing, and you followed both Rey and your husband to the front yard where they planned on training. Captain Phasma stood off to the side. Her helmet on as usual. The Grand Marshal, on the other hand, had his facial features exposed. The distaste in his expression when his eyes drifted to Kylo; the passing interest whenever he considered Rey. So long as Luke Skywalker remained alive, Hux knew that it was wise to keep a Force user nearby. Phasma would go along with him if it meant surviving. Together, these two could potentially eliminate Kylo Ren—and the galaxy would be all the worse for it. A First Order run by two merciless individuals. Perhaps together they had dealt with the senior Hux. Such thoughts made you sick to your stomach.

Two Knights of Ren, one of which handed Rey a staff, joined the Supreme Leader. She would be facing multiple foes. Later on, in the absence of the triumvirate, Rey would wield the lanvarok. It was here on the planet somewhere, the polearm version that she would be in charge of.

They started slow. Rey ducked under the swing of the taller Knight’s blade. A moment for breath then the second Knight charged her and aimed for her feet. She used the staff to give herself leverage, landed on her feet behind the Knight, and knocked one end against his back so that he stumbled. Another breath. Kylo Ren came at her with his lightsaber ignited. Having observed him on the battlefield, you instantly saw that he was holding back. There was no aggression. His movements were slow, allowing Rey to see where the blow would land so that she could catch it. Had she been wielding the lanvarok, there would have been different angles for her to use. You noticed her eyes dart to those points on the staff. It was mental work as much as it was physical.

The training was for your benefit as well. If you were unfamiliar with how Rey handled the weapon, you would fail the mission. Maker, you wished that the Grand Marshal and chrome armored woman would leave Naboo, that they hadn’t arrived at all. It would have been easier to train. These limitations were irritants.

But, father, you taught me patience. You relaxed where you sat. All tension in your body faded away, melting in a similar manner from back during your training with the splinter cell. Those days in solitary confinement that would have otherwise driven you insane. You taught me how to live. I’ll succeed. I won’t—I can’t disappoint you.

Kylo Ren told Rey to use the Force on a stone that he handed to her. He wanted her to balance it in the air, to keep it afloat, as she maneuvered through another staged attack. That was a trick. Balancing one’s focus on the polearm and the disc; a staff and a rock.

Captain Phasma remained off to the side for the duration of the training session. Grand Marshal Hux disappeared into the house three quarters of the way through. It wasn’t arrogance that made Armitage leave. He trusted Phasma to take care of whichever Force user would be of less use to them. Or to find the weaknesses of both. You were glad that the Knights did not leave Rey’s side when Kylo did.

The man you had recently married made a gesture with his hand as he walked past you. You rose, heeding and accepting the invitation. He entered the room that he had been frequenting. Your father’s study. “He told you.” You murmured a timid response of I finally asked. There was no need to state that the First Order officer had baited you into asking. Kylo knew the redhead well enough to already know this. “How much?” Hinting at an illness, that’s all. A snort from him. Kylo twisted around, his eyes pinching in the corners. Mouth twitching into an expression of annoyance. “Would you like to know more?”

“Yes.” You were breathless, desperate. Your husband nodded, raised a hand, and called upon the Force. There was a hidden compartment in the wall to the study. You took a step backwards when it slid open. Secrets. Kylo allowed his compassion to bleed through, stating that children were often oblivious to things they did not wish to see. Signs of illnesses. Focusing instead on the times when your father was in remission. Kylo gifted you with the comfort of privacy. You sat on the floor of the study with the files that told you your father’s true medical history, and you cried in despair and awe. Your father had been stronger than you have ever known.

Eighty-five minutes passed before you left the solitude offered by the study. You did not want to be alone anymore, and it was not Rey that you sought. Kylo Ren was seated on the end of your bed. His elbows rested on his knees. His hands cupped together with something in his palms. His jaw was moving, though his lips remained pressed together. No sound from him until you were inside of your room with the door closed. Only then did he look up and inform you that the electronic tooke had died.

“The battery?” you asked without pausing in your steps. Kylo shook his head. “Oh.” You did not know how you felt about that. It seemed such a small thing. Miniscule. Unimportant. It was a game that could be started over. You withdrew the device from the leather-clad hands, bent down to place the object on the floor, and rose back to your full height. Kylo Ren remained watching you. “It’s okay.” You had taken a second to assess the way your muscles felt, how strong your fatigue was. “It’s okay,” you repeated just as you sank down to your knees. His parted to make room for you. One hand immediately went to the back of your head. Its twin had met yours with freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing. He did not ask you why you wanted this. The truth? It had become a familiar sort of release that you craved whenever you experienced intense emotions. It was a connection with Kylo, who had seen your father through your eyes. You could not experience this with anyone else. Even your mother, whom you would speak with as soon as possible, couldn’t do this for you—allow you to feel as though you were floating beyond your body.

Your mouth was wet with saliva, which instantly slicked up his length as you took him into your mouth. Ren snapped his hips forward. You shoved him back towards the bed, the hand on the back of your head bringing you along. He groaned. The sound so hungry that it sent heat through your body, down to the tips of your toes. You felt your inner walls clenching, felt the wetness of your juices in your panties. The sensation of arousal was something you wanted more than an orgasm, at least right then. That buzzing in the back of your head. It would become louder as you came then fade away. You wanted to hold onto it. Which was why you let him rise on his second attempt. Kylo fucked into your mouth, and you set your hands on his thighs while letting him control the movements of your head.

His heavy breaths were loud, they had to be for you to hear them over the pulse in your ears. Your eyelashes fluttered. Through tears that formed as his cock slid along your tongue and towards the back of your throat, you stared up at his face. Kylo had been watching you for as long as he could before he let his head fall back. His breath hitching between gulps. He was close. Your throat bobbed each time you swallowed his cum. Only when he softened, as your tongue continued to tease his sensitive length, did he pull away.

Kylo Ren tucked his cock away, walked around you, and helped you onto your feet long enough that he was able to get you onto your hands and knees on the bed. You delighted in the sensation of teeth nipping at your shoulder through your clothing. “I don’t want to cum,” you whispered. Tried to whisper. It was not a scream, was less than a conversational tone even, but it wasn’t a whisper.

You knew that he understood your meaning without further explanations. One hand toyed with your breast. A gentle massage. Just enough to tease you. The other hand finding its way between your legs. Three fingers rocking back and forth, bringing you close to the edge. Then the contact was broken. Your inner walls spasmed. So close. Your body screamed at you that it was so kriffing close to release. That delicious buzz.

“Oh...kriff...yes….” A shudder ran through your body. Arousal ebbed—and he knew it. Kylo hooked only two fingers between your legs this time, wedging them between your outer lips with ease. He manipulated the wetness in your underwear and used it to slide his fingers back and forth against your clitoris. You rocked into his touch. “Please.” Please keep prolonging this moment. Don’t let release come. Don’t let this moment end then fade away.

He whispered your name. Your body reacted to that as well. It was almost too much. “I can give you what you want,” he purred. Air felt so thick. How could you breathe? You were panting, that was how. Panting and nodding, because he could. He could and he was. “There is no resistance.” Or was it capitalized in his statement? Was he denying your association with the Resistance? Did it matter?

It should, a quiet voice said.

Should did not equate to does. The name of an organization should never define its existence, shouldn’t claim to own a set of morals or views. Your mother somehow opposed both the First Order and Resistance. Two extremes?

“I need more,” you whimpered, wanting the buzzing to return. Craving it. Needing it—it needed to drown out those thoughts. Those thoughts would otherwise make you wonder what your father would have wanted. You would never know, and you could never know. All that you knew was that he had wanted you to live, that he might have been afraid to die but he did it with a brave face. And that was what you wanted to do. You wanted to do what was right, but suddenly the galaxy wasn’t black and white with the First Order representing evil and the Resistance representing good.

There needed to be a gray area, otherwise the war would never end.

“More,” you cried out when Kylo did not immediately respond. He chuckled, albeit not cruelly, and kissed the side of your neck. His tongue swiped along the shell of your ear. Body pressed tightly against yours, pinning you to the mattress and toying with you. Then he showed you, once more, how skilled he was with words. Dirty whispers that brought out a: “Slow down, I’m not ready to cum.”

“Shh, I got you,” he said, easing off. Holding onto you. Not breaking the contact, and following your lead, your needs. “We’ll do this together.”

He may have been talking about sex, or the, or both. There had to be more than just light or just darkness. Gray. A balance. Sometimes the light was blinding. Sometimes you needed that darkness. Sometimes, you felt, you really did need him.

“Yes...please… Please…”

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #three blind tooke #elmidolfanfic #precarious harmony

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skittymon · 8 years ago

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Leopardite - 5

Prompt: Surprise

Obsidianshipping (Shun/Masumi)

Sorry if it looks like Shun’s relationship with the LDS trio regressed - he just came out of duel with Obelisk Force and IS PISSED.

The finals were a disaster.

The Obelisk Force intervened with the tournament and carded countless Standard duelists - including nearly all of the Youth duelists. It was only when did the Junior Youth worked together did they manage to drive away the Fusion duelists and come out victorious.

Shun and the surviving duelists were named Lancers, and Reiji made the decision to tell the people of Standard about the inter-dimensional war.

The Lancers depart tomorrow, giving the Standard duelists the day to say their goodbyes - leaving Shun with nothing to.

The XYZ duelist doesn’t make an effort to leave LDS grounds, but he can’t find it in him to stay in a bedroom all day. To tell the truth, Shun’s a little antsy after waiting for so long to get his revenge on fusion.

“Yuto...Ruri...” Shun lets out after looking at the clear which reminds him of distant peaceful times. “The time has finally come. Those fusion scum will finally pay.”

Focused on his thoughts, Shun does not notice the sounds of footsteps or take notice to the faces in his view.

“Kurosaki.”

Shun turns and narrows his eyes slightly. Yaiba and Masumi.

The Lancers have been formed - there is no reason for him to feign friendship with them anymore.

“What do you two want?” Shun asks the two LDS students. They falter for a moment, not being used to Shun’s cold and distant voice and attitude. The two don’t take a huge offense though, the XYZ duelist was just attacked by invaders and saw some terrible things.

“We-we, ah,” Yaiba speaks, “wanted to wish you luck. On your mission as a Lancer.”

“Ah,” Shun responds. We doesn’t want to say thanks. Too many XYZ duelists have said the same thing to him and were never seen again. Luck has nothing to do with surviving - it’s all skill, and Shun has plenty.

Silence casts over them and Shun is about to walk away when-

“Did the same thing happen to Hokuto?” Masumi asks.

Shun’s gaze soften as she continues, “Was he turned into a card like the duelists in the in the finals.”

He’s not their comrade but they’re both victims of this war, so Shun replies, “I don’t know for sure, but that’s most likely the case.”

Masumi lets out a terrified gasp and Yaiba’s breath hitches, and in response Shun closes his eyes - he still remembers the first he was told his comrades got carded as if it was yesterday.

“Is that all?” Shun asks when the two somewhat regain their composure.

“Ah, yeah,” Yaiba breathes out, still off put from Shun’s attitude. “I guess we’ll see you when you get back.”

Oh yea, they still don’t know. Well there’s no reason to keep this act anymore.

“Once we defeat the Academia I’m heading back to Heartland.” Shun tells the two LDS students.

Both duelists look at Shun with wide eyes and Masumi frowns, “Heartland? Where’s that?”

“In the XYZ dimension.”

The surprise on the two duelists’ faces speaks volumes. Shock, confusion, sadness, and even a bit of anger.

“You...You’re not from here?” Yaiba stumbles back and the feelings of betrayal in his voice are clear as day.

Shun doesn’t respond, they already know the answer and there’s no point giving confirmation.

“W-when did you arrive,” Masumi continues when she realizes Yaiba is too consumed with this new knowledge to continue.

It takes a few moments for Shun to reply. With the limited resources that the resistance had, it was often hard to know dates since the duel disks only had a clock in them. When he arrived in Standard, he had no idea what day or month it was and didn’t know until he happen to pass a store the had showed the news - which included the date. But by that time Shun had been in Standard for at least a few days.

So Shun replies with “Around three months.”

“You’re lying!” Yaiba shouts. “We’ve known you way longer than that.”

“And you’ve been deceived by Akaba Reiji,” Shun counters. “He altered your memories so I could blend in here.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Masumi shakes her head. Her heart feels like it’s in an endless pit and her arms are shaking. Why is Shun doing this? This isn’t like him. “Why would he do that? He could have just told us you were new!”

There are tears forming in her eyes, and Shun feels something pull at his chest. Why should he care? All that time they spent together was just him acting so he could maintain his cover.

Have I come to like Masumi?

As quickly as the thought came, it vanishes. He cares for Ruri more and she needs help right now, this fusion user can’t even compare to his comrades back in Heartland.

Then why do I feel like this...?

“We met before,” Shun finally replies. “The three of you challenged me to a battle royal.”

The two realizes Shun’s talking about Hokuto but that still doesn’t make sense. Why would they challenge him to a duel like that? That’s hardly fair to Shun.

“How come?” Yaiba asks, more curious then anything.

“I attacked,” they don’t need to know I carded him, “one of your Professors. Ma- Mar-something.”

Suddenly a fog is lifted from Masumi’s mind and the word spills out of her mouth, “Marco-sensei.”

Marco was the one who encouraged her.

Marco was the one who would help her with her fusion summoning.

Marco was the one Masumi has a crush on.

Marco also went missing and it was Shun who did something to him.

So why isn’t she as mad as she should be.

“Hate me, curse me, I don’t care.” Shun’s voice drags Masumi out of her thoughts. “I told you the truth and that’s all there is to it. I lied to you and pretended to be your friend, and now that silly little game is over.”

The XYZ duelist doesn’t stick around to see how Yaiba and Masumi react to his words, it’s not his problem anymore. Their little game of make-believe is over and Shun has more pressing matter to attend to.

The two LDS students are too busy trying to figure out which memories are true or not so neither make an attempt to catch up with Shun or see him clench his jacket near his heart.

His chest aches, but why? They aren’t his friends and he has to save the truly important people in his life.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll never see them again anyways.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and Shun sleeps less than he usually does that night.

#arc v rare pair week #arc v #yugioh arc v #shun kurosaki #masumi kotsu #obsidianshipping #skitty writes #this one is bad im so sorry

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shayweston-blog · 8 years ago

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So, Who is Ollie?

Anyone who knows me already knows who Ollie is, but if you don’t know me you may be wondering why I have a blog about Ollie and so far haven’t said a word about him! Allow me now to skip forward about 20 years to the present and tell you about him.

Ollie’s story begins where Spirit’s story ends, and Spirit’s story itself is a long and vibrant one. I’m not going to delve deeply into that story right now or this blog will become a memorial to that valiant horse and that is not its purpose.

I will say that when I first learned of Ollie (Whose registered name is A Ali Imdal….…“Ali” …..“Ollie” ) Spirit was at the top of his game in his young career as an endurance horse. We’d been competing for almost two full seasons and he was showing himself to be a really good horse. Not top notch, sell to the Sheik in Dubai kind of talent but he brought home the blue a lot and we were a strong team. He was my dream horse, and all I wanted or needed.

Until I found out he was dying of congestive heart failure at 10 years old.

The experts couldn’t tell me how long he had to live, just that it wasn’t good news. At best, maybe another year. I retired him from endurance last June and eased him into a life of leisure. Friends started sending me information on horses for sale, that might be good for endurance. I wasn’t really looking for another horse just yet ; I wasn’t prepared to turn my back on Spirit. Even if I’d wanted one we just didn’t have any room on our property for another horse.

As it happened, though, around August I heard about a court-ordered auction of 28 Straight Egyptian Arabians to be held very close to where I live. Not thinking of looking for myself, I decided to go look at the horses and see what they were like, so I could spread the word to anyone interested. It was an opportunity to see some really nice horses. You see, I kind of knew who theses horses were; I had stumbled upon them by accident while surfing online a year ago. It was a herd of Arabians owned by H. Frank Sutton of Howell, who had spent 40 years breeding and showing Egyptian lines. About a year ago he had held an on-line auction trying to sell the horses for outrageous prices. The horses stuck out in my mind for this reason alone…..the least expensive one was a filly with a reserve price of $8000!! The horses in the photos were beautiful, to be sure, but I couldn’t believe they’d be worth what this guy was asking for them. I also knew a man who was a friend of Frank’s, who was riding a gelding he’d purchased from that farm in endurance. He was a young horse but already Don was doing well with him and even winning an LD (Limited Distance) ride or two with him in his first season . Aseel was the horse’s name, and I had admired him but still doubted that these horses could be worth tens of thousands of dollars. I’d never paid over $1000 for a horse in my life and didn’t plan on doing it any time soon. Plenty of cheap Arabs out there needing homes ! Apparently I was not alone in my thinking, since the horses hadn’t sold on Frank’s online auction. I was curious about what had happened in the year since, and went to find out.

The horses were at a run-down old horse boarding barn in Hamburg, Mi. At one time it was probably a beautiful place but it had certainly seen some hard times and a distinct lack of TLC. The lady who owned the farm (Jenny) came out to meet me; I had called to ask permission to see the horses before the sale and she was expecting me. Clearly Jenny had seen better days, too. She was friendly but had the guilty look of a cornered, chain smoking, very fat raccoon. The first thing she said to me after hello was, “ This isn’t my fault.” What? Then began the story of how Frank had signed a boarding contract with her to keep these 28 Arabians for him (6 were stallions) while he made arrangements to disperse them in a herd sale. Frank was having some serious health issues and medical bills, etc, had caused him to lose his home and farm about a year before. At some point, according to Jenny, he just stopped paying his board & feed bills. So, Jenny stopped feeding the horses. Her story is different, but what I saw there could have been only that -- these horses were starving.

I asked to see the stallions first. They were inside the barn, in stalls that hadn’t seen sunshine through cobwebbed and boarded up windows in decades. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness and the stinging ammonia, the first horse I saw was Ollie. He was standing at he front of the stall, eye pressed against the woven wire stall front so he could see who ventured near. His eye showed white around the rim, although he was absolutely still in his stall. His forelock and mane were matted, his halter was frayed and might have been some color of blue once. He blew on my hand when I held it up to his fine muzzle. Looking deeper in to his stall, my breath caught in my throat. I could see ribs, backbone, and the sharp pelvic bones that you’d expect on a starving dairy cow. His hooves were so long it looked like he was standing on short water skis. I asked Jenny how long he’d been in the stall. “oh, about a year, I think, since Frank came and did anything with the stallions”. A year. In this stall. My stomach was churning. I was barely listening to Jenny as she continued her story of getting the humane society and animal control to try to help these horses (later it was proven that she never called either group) and her struggles to get legal possession of these horses and their papers from Frank so she could sell them and recoup her losses from caring for these animals when he wasn’t paying his bills to her. I didn’t really care what she was saying, honestly, and I still don’t know who is at fault for how those poor horses ended up in the condition that I found them in. I decided the important thing was to try to help in whatever way I could to get the horses out of there and into good homes.

“Can I take photos?” Jenny was more than eager to have help. I don’t think she ever thought beyond being able to dump the horses once the court gave her permission to do so. She had no networking skills, no knowledge of social media, no connections in the Arabian world to advertise these horses to the kind of homes they’d be appreciated in. Now she had horses to sell, she wanted top dollar and she didn’t know where to begin.

As I moved away from Ollie’s stall, he tilted his head sideways and stuck his muzzle out of the small square hole in the wire which allowed food to be placed into a grain box. I stroked the side of his muzzle and whispered , “I’m going to try to help you.” When I moved on, the muzzle stayed where it was, pleading silently with me to come back. I knew I would.

The other stallions, four of them (the fifth, Frank’s foundation stallion Ali Rashan, had died a few months ago I was told) were equally starved and unkempt. Oddly, only one of the horses seemed “mental” after being confined for so long.... the stallion “Pasha” hid in the corner and was terrified of everything. I took pictures of it all, including the gelding who’d had his facial sinuses smashed in by the kick of another horse and never had any veterinary attention. The herd of mares and a few geldings out in the field did have hay -- a moldy , trampled round bale that the weaker ones couldn’t hope to get near. They were a little better off than the stallions, at least they’d had fresh air and the ability to move around and keep some semblance of muscle tone. With few exceptions they were a scrawny, neglected and needful group of horses. The auction was in three days, and rescue couldn’t come soon enough for most of them.

I went home and couldn’t get them out of my mind. I was contacted by Jennifer Edwards and her husband Josh, who own Ambiance Arabians here in Howell. They’d learned about the sale and seen the horses, and they asked me if I’d forward my photos to a rescue group who specializes in Arabians, so they could get to work on funding the purchase of these horses. The fear was that kill buyers would pick them up cheap, especially without anyone really knowing about this quick and poorly advertised sale. The rescue wasn’t going to let that happen. The news of these once beautiful and valuable horses and their plight swept through the horse community and social networks like wildfire. Local horse people who could jumped in to clean up, photograph and identify these horses and match them to their registration papers before the auction took place in just 3 days. Donations to the rescue began pouring in from all over the US and Canada. It was a huge effort that came together quickly and it was beautiful to see and be a part of.

For two days I went back to the farm and visited the horses. I couldn’t stop coming back to Ollie’s stall. Here was a 5 year old, purebred straight Egyptian Arabian stallion, nothing but skin and bones and matted hair. He’d rubbed his tail on the stall wall until it was scabbed and raw. I never got a very good look at him, he was never brought out of his dark stall until the morning of the sale. He was one of the horses that needed help YESTERDAY. He looked the most starved, and he was eating his pelleted pine bedding and manure (which he no doubt thought was food since I‘m pretty sure his stall wasn‘t regularly cleaned or bedded EVER). With the sale fast approaching and people stopping in to see the horses or help with the auction, Jenny started throwing hay and bedding to the stalled horses, at least. Lots of people were not as quiet about the horses’ condition as I was, and Jenny was starting to feel some heat by folks who were outraged that what had become of these once beautiful Arabians.

For whatever reason, I think it took a while for people to realize who’s horses these were, and what they had once been. If I hadn’t just by coincidence seen Frank’s advertisement a year earlier, I wouldn’t have had a clue. If you DID know, then with the click of a computer keyboard it was all there on Frank‘s website…the gorgeous glossy photos of each and every one of those horses at the height of health and beauty, groomed for show, wearing fancy halters or Arabian dress. The photo of Ollie at the head of this blog is one of those photos, from “before”. It was almost inconceivable that the horse in that dank cobwebby stall could be the same animal.

The day before the sale I approached Gary with mingled hope and trepidation. I wanted to rescue one of these horses and it was my great hope that I would be able to buy Ollie. I was pretty sure he’d put his foot down and say no way. We really didn’t have room for another horse and it would take some major shuffling -- even boarding one of my horses elsewhere -- to make it happen. I showed him the current state of the horses, and then I showed him the pictures of the same horses before they fell on hard times. I explained why I felt I needed to help. I think now that Gary understood more than I did about why I needed another horse. I think at that time he had a better handle on Spirit’s diagnosis and condition than I did, and he knew that Spirit probably wasn’t going to make it through the winter even with the best medical management we could provide. He said yes, knowing that I would have an empty place to fill in my heart soon enough.

On Auction day I showed up with $1000 in my pocket and a heart full of hope. I went straight to Ollie’s stall, where lots of people were gathered around showing interest. In just three days of getting hay he was looking better. I walked away from his stall and visited others, afraid that if I was too interested in him, it would generate more interest in him from other buyers! Get away from him, I was saying in my head. He’s mine! It was announced that, since there was a lot of interest in the stallions they would be sold last. Any of the mares and geldings that didn’t sell the first time would be run through again after the stallions. There were a lot of Arabian people here, and they all seemed to know each other. THEY knew who these horses were, and they talked about bloodlines and show records and such. I kept hearing people whispering about the “Imdal horse”. I was a nervous wreck. What if he went too high and then I didn’t get a chance at any of the horses because I waited for him? I could only hope that nobody wanted the stallions very much. After all, in the end they’d be more expensive if they needed to be gelded, and were a pain in the butt to handle and house in general. Their veterinary bills would be far more than their sale price. Especially for those on-line buyers who would have to make arrangements long distance for temporarily boarding/ treating their horse until they could ship the animal home….who wanted to deal with a stallion in that situation? I was taking a chance, but from the turnout I knew that even if I didn’t get Ollie, the others would all find homes. A kill buyer was there, but the rescue was ready to outbid him on the horses that went cheap. That was the point -- just get these horses out of a bad situation and find them good homes. I tried to remember that as the auction got underway. This was about the horses, not about me.

The oldest, scrawniest mare went first (I think I heard she was in her late 20‘s, a revered old swaybacked broodmare). She sold for $500 and my heart sank. That was half of what I’d brought with me for Ollie, there was no way he was going to go for what I could afford if this old broodmare brought $500! I sighed and settled back with a heavy heart to watch the rest unfold. I was going home with an empty trailer.

The mares and geldings all sold to private buyers anywhere from $500 to $1800, I believe. The kill buyer left the property with an empty trailer! Yes!! Even the rescue didn’t need to buy any of them…the community came forth to save these horses and the horses weren’t let down. Some of the horses sold to people who weren’t even there, who had bid sight unseen on them. They either just wanted to save them, or they wanted the mares for a straight Egyptian breeding program. Pennsylvania, California, Florida, even Canada got a couple. Volunteers jumped in to care for the horses until they were well enough to ship to their new homes. It was truly an amazing effort for these needy horses.

When the stallions came through, I had all but given up hope of owning Ollie. There were too many people waiting for him to come up, and the bidding was fast. I hung in there until $900 and suddenly I was bidding against only one other person. And I felt like they were hesitating…..could it be? The bids reached $1000, then the auctioneer threw the ball in my court. I looked at Ollie, prancing around in the ring, screaming at the mares, all fire and spirit and and every little girl’s dream of a wild white Arabian stallion….and I nodded at the auctioneer. This was the first time I’d seen Ollie out of his stall, moving, and to anyone who could see beyond the neglect he was magnificent. I nodded to the auctioneer again, and again. I would go to $2000 for this horse, I decided, and damn the torpedoes. Would the other bidder? So far the highest priced horse had been $1600 I think. I didn’t have the money on me beyond the $1000 I had in my pocket, but the bank wasn’t far away and I knew they’d let me go get it after the auction. Gary would kill me, but hey -- if ever there was a time to pay more than $1000 for a horse, I determined that this was it.

Ollie was at $1700, and both us bidders were slowing. Again it was my turn. I raised my number to the auctioneer, indicating I’d go $1750, then I met the other bidder’s eyes and smiled. I don’t know how they interpreted my smile, but they didn’t bid any further, and a big cheer went up from the crowd. I think many of them knew I’d wanted Ollie from the beginning and were rooting for me. Suddenly, Ollie was mine!!! I think I was in shock. Then the dam that was holding back days of want and worry, anxiety of the fate of the horses and the power of my own hopes and dreams burst open. The happy tears came in a hot, embarrassing rush as I tried to choke my own name out to the scribe keeping track of purchases. People were hugging me and slapping me on the back and laughing at my tears, and some people were crying with me. Suddenly Frank himself was standing in front of me. Nobody could believe he’d had the balls to show his face there, but he came to see his horses off. He leaned in and said to me, “You got the best horse of the bunch there”. All I could do was nod and wipe my eyes. I couldn’t have agreed more.

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kevinmoyer · 8 years ago

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Romantic Vintage Inspired Wedding in Texas :: Lexie & Sam

Photography by Alixann Loosle Photography

Since Sam and Lexie first bonded over their mutual love of the Lone Star State while working in Washington, D.C., it only made sense for this sweet couple to celebrate the start of their marriage with an elegant affair in Dallas, Texas. From glowing tea lights to gorgeous, flowy, long-sleeved bridesmaid gowns, their day was filled with the most romantic, ethereal details. And in a true show of selflessness, Lexie has some amazing tips for making your wedding just as much about your guests as it is about you as a couple. Be sure to read all the way through for Sam and Lexie’s hilarious proposal story—it’s proof that a fabulous engagement can still start off with the words, “Yeah. Ok…”!

The Ceremony

Why did you choose this location for your ceremony? We chose to get married in the Dallas Texas LDS Temple because of our faith. As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we believe that marriages performed in temples are sacred and bind a husband and wife for eternity. Throughout our lives, we dreamed of going one day to a temple with the one we love to make promises with God and each other. We specifically chose the Dallas Temple because Sam’s uncle could officiate the wedding. It made our day even more special to have the ceremony performed by a beloved family member. To top it off, we two native Texans couldn’t imagine a better place than the Lone Star State to tie the knot.

Your ceremony in three words. Sweet, simple, sacred How did you go about planning your ceremony? The LDS temple marriage follows a standard pattern. Our ceremony began with words from the officiator, Sam’s uncle. We then made simple vows to one another and to God, and ended things by kissing one another, exchanging rings, and hugging all those present.

Though Lexie and Sam went for a classic and timeless look, they included elements that brought a bit of whimsical, vintage-inspired flair to everything. Lexie completed her bridal look with a beautiful jeweled crown, and her bridesmaids wore romantic long-sleeved gowns in a dusty shade of blue. Don’t they look so dreamy, all together?

The Reception

How would you describe your reception? We loved all of the details of the wedding! We really wanted our wedding to be natural, classic, and a real party for all of our guests.

Why did you choose this location for your reception? Union Station: The venue provided an incredible backdrop for our event. After walking into Union Station for the first time, we thought, “we could do absolutely nothing to this space, and it still would be a beautiful wedding reception.” It’s tall arched ceilings, historical charm, and grand windows with views of downtown completely won us over. Though Union Station is unbelievable, it’s design is simple enough to complement any wedding style. We also loved the fact that the whole space was ours for the night. There was plenty of room for our 300+ guests to move around and enjoy the night. We used the smaller front room for a mock-tail hour, and side rooms for the food stations and a children’s room. It made our reception feel so special, because we weren’t running into other weddings or feeling cramped.

What inspired you when you were planning your wedding? We wanted our wedding to reflect our personal style. We wanted things to be classic, with whimsical twists. We wanted everyone to feel comfortable and for things to feel natural and effortless.

What was the best advice you received as a bride? The best advice I received was to relax and enjoy the day!

What advice do you have for other couples in the midst of planning a wedding? The biggest advice I have for brides-to-be is to let go and enjoy your day! To make this possible, think through as many details as possible before the day of. Luckily, I had a superstar of a mom and a seasoned wedding planner who thought through everything well in advance. Because those details were taken care of, I was really able to enjoy every minute of the wedding we had taken months and months to plan. Along with that, make sure to take in all of the wonderful details of your wedding. Spare a moment to really look at the florals, table settings, and design elements. Eat the food and drink the drinks. It was really special for me to experience every detail we had worked so hard to plan. Another piece of advice I would give, is to really think about the guests attending your wedding. It’s easy to get caught up in florals and china patterns, but if you want you wedding to be memorable—make it fun! We provided a well-stocked children’s room with baby-sitters, to allow parents to enjoy the evening. We made Texas-themed gift bags for all of our out-of-town guests and took the bridal party to a Rangers game a few days before the wedding (since all of my bridesmaids flew in from Utah just for the wedding and had never been to Texas before). By taking care of the details beforehand and by thinking about our guests during the planning process, we were able to really enjoy the whole wedding experience with all of the people we love!

Says bride Lexie, “While we did have a large cake (that was nearly entirely fake!), we also put smaller one-layer cakes on each of the tables that guests could eat from. Since we anticipated left over cake, we also provided cake boxes for guests to take home extra cake.”

To add a little playful flair, Lexie and Sam hired caricature artists who drew darling portraits for all their guests. Says Lexie, ” we learned later that the kids and families absolutely loved it. One little cousin got herself four different caricatures!”

What was your favorite moment or part of the reception? It’s hard to narrow it down to just one. We loved all of the personal moments–when Sam’s brother sang for us, Sam’s groomsmen dance, and our private last dance together once everyone left the reception space for the send off. We also loved dancing the night away with all of our friends and family!

What was your first dance song? Our first dance song was Annie’s Song by John Denver. I danced with my dad to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, and Sam danced with his mom to Isn’t She Lovely by Stevie Wonder. Something both Sam and I cared about was the music. We both LOVE to dance and really wanted our wedding to be a party to remember. However, I had been to weddings where there was a stark contrast between the classy service and the dirty booty-popping music played at the reception. To avoid this mood switch, we chose to play all retro music throughout the reception. While we dated, Sam and I bonded over our love the 60s, 70s, and 80s music our parents played on our family road trips. We felt like the retro music would get people dancing, without making our grandparents feel uncomfortable. The music did not disappoint. Once the dancing began, it became quite the party. We even had my 85-year-old grandma can-can kicking on the dance floor! We got tons of compliments from both old and young guests. Some people even wanted the link to our playlist! Working with Jim was a breeze. His online system allowed us to easily handpick all of the songs we wanted and create the dance party of our dreams.

Is there anything else that helps tell the story of your wedding? This is the story Sam wrote that we had in a basket next to the sign-in book at the wedding.

It all began when Sam noticed Lexie in a political science class, he introduced himself, and she promptly forgot about him. A few months later in April 2016, both moved out to Washington, D.C. as interns in the BYU Washington Seminar program. They became friends over their mutual love for the great state of Texas. They remained so for a few months until Sam carefully devised a plan to exit the “friend zone”. While playing ping pong one night, Sam bet Lexie that the loser of the game would pay for the other’s dinner one night in town. Sam conveniently lost and took Lexie out for her favorite meal, chicken strips.

After what he calls their first date (the details are contested), Sam hatched a plan to take advantage of their unique situation before she returned to Provo and other suitors. They played tennis, went to the National Zoo, attended an Orioles-Rangers game, and ate more chicken strips than either cares to admit. On Lexie’s last night in D.C., he took her to ride bikes around the National Mall. As the sun set over the Tidal Basin, he asked her which of the memorials was her favorite. “The Jefferson,” she replied, and off they rode to the Jefferson Memorial. In sight of the White House and the Washington Monument, they kissed for the first time.

Nearly a month later, they met up in Provo. They learned more about each other as he watched chick-flicks and she attended basketball games. Some of the most memorable experiences included several of Luke’s concerts, trips up to the Elmer’s cabin and the Prier’s house, watching Lost, and helping each other (competing) in an African Geography and a Middle Eastern Politics class at BYU. He quickly learned that she was much more than just a pretty face, and she learned just the opposite (see Sam’s biceps).

Sam got the OK to propose to Lexie while at Macaroni Grill in late January. Lexie gave Sam a few guidelines for the proposal which he tried to follow to little avail. The primary requirement was that the proposal be a surprise, because Lexie gets anxious when she knows a big moment or decision is coming. All was going smoothly until she sniffed out the proposal plan before picking him up to “go snowshoeing.” Tears were shed (hers), the surprise was ruined, and he had to improvise. The snowshoeing plans scrapped, they zoomed up Provo canyon to the Prier’s house in Heber City, followed the trail of rose petals to the balcony, where the box sat with the ring inside. After taking out a few mementos and slips of paper with “things I love about you” written on them, Sam asked Lexie to marry him. He took “Yeah. OK.” as good enough, and they began planning their wedding!

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