#let alone at their confluence

[bones-n-bookles]

There's a Kit shaped impression on my chest, and a Torch shaped slot in my life

[oonajaeadira]

Patricio Keeps a Journal, Pt. 1: Winter

Good. Things. Take. Time. is a series that grew out of prompts–the whisper of a character, the asks of readers. And now, to get myself back into PATS’s head, the prompts are coming from @fanfticionoverload’s Seasons of Life challenge.

What you’re about to read are some excerpts from Patricio’s journal. Heads up they probably won't make much sense if you haven't read the ongoing series.

Each excerpt is just that–snippets that pertain to the story, taken from his presumed wider journal, each notated where it lands in the series and follows the chronology of the series.

The rules of the challenge ask for 250 words per prompt. I thought it would be a little less forced if I didn’t worry so much about that, so some may fall short of that number. And I’ll say that these aren’t heavily edited nor are they anything other than basic reactions, precisely because I wanted them to feel like the unfiltered thoughts one writes in a journal.

Let’s say that it was Shell’s orders for him to keep a journal in the first place. If his practice is his way of dealing with his demons, if he’s not going to go to traditional therapy, then “the least you can do is just offload before bed, and not the kind of offloading you do with your dick. I’m not gonna read it, but I’ll want to see words on those pages. Write a fucking play for all I care, write a manifesto about your love of pasta, I don’t give a shit what. Just write.”

I don’t have anything to write. I’m not a fucking poet. Shell says use the pen, get the words out of your head, just write anything. Anything. Anything. Tables have turned. Now I’m the one practicing letting it all out. Trying not to think too hard.  Anything.

EXCERPT 1: SNOW

TIMELINE: a few days before Good. Things. Take. Time.

…

#39 gifted me four tickets to the game at her last session. It’s Neils’ birthday. I’ll surprise him and Dan with a guy’s night out.

Got a new client coming in on Thursday. #48. I wasn’t going to approve her. Nothing in her application hints at any lingering trauma that she can’t just get treated at a legit clinic. But Shell was pushy about this one. She's got a knack for these things and hasn’t been wrong yet. Official referral diagnosis: pain is psychological tension from a recent(?) divorce. I guess it’s worth a shot. If nothing else, divorcees are usually just in need of a good fuck so it’s an easy fix. Good photo. I like her style. She’s going to make pretty faces.

Thinking about taking some time off after that. Rare confluence of three clients ending their run at the same time, it’s slow season at the office and the guys can handle a week without me, I should get out of town. Someplace quiet. Or fuck, I don’t know, someplace distracting where I can get out of my head. Maybe I should book a massage. Look at me, I’m hilarious. Who massages the masseuse? I’ll have Shell find me something. Keep it interesting. Place yer bets: seedy and cheap or golden toilets and happy endings? As long as it’s somewhere warm.

Renee posted the pictures from her honeymoon. Skiing in the Alps. She always used to hate the snow. Guess people change. Change can be a good thing. 

She’s better off. 

___

EXCERPT 2: SCARF

TIMELINE: The night of Good. Things. Take. Time.

…

Shell hit the jackpot on this one. Perfect plaything. She’s like I custom ordered a client. Recurring cluster knots all down her starboard teres major, needs a hand getting in under the port shoulder blade…can’t do it alone. Needs my hands. She needs me. Follows directions, trusts completely. Has a good imagination. That will open up more in time. I expect a challenge out of this one. Surprised the shit out of me with the beautiful thing though. Maybe shouldn’t have let her have that. Maybe shouldn’t have gone down on her. It’s fine. She’s clean. Tastes good smells good ass for days. I can get a good handful. Everywhere.

And perfect inside. Tight but not too tight, good control with the right assistance, takes direction like a dream. I’ll be able to get her to sing if she keeps listening. Mierda, her skin. My hands want to eat it. Oil it up and map it out and scarf it down. Her muscle structure is    -just-    amazing. I haven’t been this amped in months. This one hits the spot.

Giving her Thursday across the board might have come off too eager. Well, if that didn’t, offering up extra days on call probably did. Jackass.

Not gonna worry about that tonight. Bowling with the guys tomorrow night. Hope they’re ready to eat their damn balls. I’m fucking invincible.

She called me beautiful. She’s [sentence scratched out] 

Forgot to note in her file–she said she hasn’t had anyone make her come in over a year even though info says she’s only been divorced a few months. What kind of an asshole just walks away from that her? How could anyone share a bed or a house or anything with that and resist for a year? She deserves to get fucked every day. Why wouldn’t you want someone that just falls into you so willingly and fucks so pretty? Great. Now I’m angry. Not my concern. Just my gain.

___

EXCERPT 3: COZY 

TIMELINE: weekend evening, after installment #2, relieving period cramps

…

Keep thinking about Thursday. It’s not about the blood. It is and it isn’t. It’s obviously that she needed relief. It’s good to see her trusting. That can be tricky for some women. Beaten into them that they have to hide what their body does. It’s a body. It’s a unique mechanism. It has shit and blood and needs a good release now and then. Or every day for some people...another truth for some of us that the world wants hidden away.

The blood’s messy. It’s primal. It’s brutal and nobody blinks an eye if it comes from a punch to the face or a slice of the thumb. But the minute it comes from the minute it shows you what  a woman’s body is capable of… But it’s also the harshness of the color, a signal that if there’s pain then it’s real. It’s a helpful focus.

She just LETS me. There's beauty in that pliability. She trusts, she follows, she heals. The way her face just relaxes when the knots are gone. It’s almost as good as the orgasm itself. Beautiful.

Got her all warmed up in the bath, all cozy in bed. Fell asleep like a worn-out kitten and I had an urge to kiss her forehead. Poor thing just needed it today. Successful session.

___

EXCERPT 4: FIREPLACE 

TIMELINE: a couple of weeks later, evening, after installment #3, the treatment for migraine and anxiety AND includes this six sentence ficlet

…

Well shit. There’s a coincidence. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her.

Thursday came in tonight tight as a screw, migraine a good 7 or 8. I had to take it slow. Asked her to focus on some bright spots in her life, like her favorite things. I might have guessed the animals and reading, but the fanfiction was a surprise. Cute. It was best not to talk about what was causing the stress because

Her family coming to stay.

Fuck if I don’t sympathize. 

Mama got here two days ago and all she can do is complain about her hotel and American food and how everyone speaks too fast for her to keep up. It’s cold here. The hotel should have a fireplace. Why don’t you take time off Patricio? You have an extra bedroom, why can’t your mama sleep there?

I love her. But I get it. There are just some boundaries that are hard. I get you, Thursday.

Preciosa.

Fucked her five ways til Sunday. She fucked ME five ways till Sunday.. She drew blood. Didn’t even care. Mark me up, girl. Glad I could help, but damn that might have been more mutually beneficial than I’d originally planned.

___

EXCERPT 5: HOT CHOCOLATE 

TIMELINE: night of installment #4, with the undergarment ripping and the thigh-highs

…

I didn’t expect to get to play this much. I’m usually so focused on the pain and making sure the client can come in their condition that there’s not a lot of room for fun and surprises. I got to take Shell out last weekend and might have bought her too many beers and pull-tabs. It took her about three bottles to get profound. She wants to know who "therapies the therapist" and told me I should remember that it’s okay to put my own priorities first sometime. She said that people in the industry of care need to be taken care of too. She said it’s okay to have a client that gives as good as she gets. Then she went home and threw up and texted me the next day that she’s drinking nothing but hot chocolate from now on. Haha

Shit. Thursday feels good when she walks out of here. She looks like a million bucks. I did that. I DO that. THAT’s what I need. So yeah. Why shouldn’t I enjoy that? Cute tonight. She wanted me to rip her panties. All she had to do was ask, but I think she was embarrassed to?

So the new diagnosis is lack of confidence and the treatment is for her to speak up for what she wants. We’re going to get her to a place where she can ask–or demand what she needs. We’ll work on her trusting that I’ll give her anything she wants–anything. 

She’ll be able to walk out of here and conquer the world when I’m done with her.

___

EXCERPT 6: FREEZING 

TIMELINE: a couple of weeks after the previous entry

...

[….] and Niels can go to hell though because I don’t care how low key it is or how good the whiskey is, I’m not giving up my Thursdays to fill in the hole in his poker night. His basement is freezing and I have warmer places to be.

Although speaking of, Thursday canceled again. It’s been a couple of weeks. Crunch time at work for her I guess. Her portal messages seem pretty stressed. She’s apologetic about missing sessions. I can tell her she doesn’t need to apologize, I’m getting paid whether she shows or not. And honestly, it just means we’re going to have to work that much harder to get her malleable again and I can hardly complain about that. A build up’s a hell of a thing. As long as she doesn’t mess up her rhombs again. We were just making headway on that. I should ask her about her desk chair.

But I’d be lying if I said that I gave a shit about the pay. I’m allowed to enjoy my clients and be disappointed when I don’t get to see them.

At least Jean’s back on Friday. It will be nice to see her again. Now that her latest surgery’s all healed up, we can find her some good positions for her to take home. I know her partner’s skittish about the discovery phase. But she’s almost done and when the reconstruction’s over, he’ll thank me for it. He SHOULD thank me for it, she’s got a good laugh and good tits.

Jean’s a perfect example of learning to speak up for herself. I can do the same for Preciosa. Lucky for her she doesn’t have Jean’s level of pain to work through. But she’s gotta show. up. for. it. Come on, girl. I got you.

___

EXCERPT 7: MARSHMALLOW

TIMELINE: directly after installment #5, all pent up and feral

…

Now THAT. Was a successful fuck. We’re making headway here. Little slapping, little biting, she got a good few hair yanks in there. She’s learning that not only am I not a marshmallow…neither is she. Good girl. Pretty high praise response, but she’s also got a little fight in her. She’s a switch and doesn’t even know it. She will. 

There were some real emotions tonight, real anger, real tears. But when she let go I nearly wept myself. It was beautiful. She’s working too hard and she knows it. But she also knows I’ve got her when she does. Hopefully that will preempt some of the stress next time. Not even upset about that shoulder blade. We’ll just start from the beginning on that.

[....]

Just reminded me of Renee nagging about working too hard. I just remembered that I had a dream about her a few nights ago. Not really about her. She was in the background somewhere and not even angry that I didn’t stop to say hello. Then she picked up her purse and left. The light kind of shifted like, I don’t know. Felt like it was the last time I’d see her. Not in a bad way. 

It’s good. Like a door really closing.

Maybe I do work too hard. But I like it. It’s who I am. It’s my choice.

____

PATS in winter by @d4rm4nd4

SERIES MASTERLIST

[copperbadge]

The Adventures Of Joe Superfly

I haven't been able to work on Chicken Salad War much recently -- it's less writer's block and more a confluence of issues that mean when I have the time I'm too tired for something novel-sized. It's temporary, but when I don't get to write I do start to get restless.

So the other night as I was doing dishes I circled around to a small issue that keeps nipping at me, which is Ephraim. He's got the most normal name of any of the Ramblers, which is uncharacteristic of Ceece and Tully. Well, I thought, maybe they let Eddie name him, but why would they let Eddie, the oldest, name the youngest, and not the THREE OTHERS inbetween? And why would Eddie pick Ephraim?

I decided to do up a little story about Eph, how he came by his name and what his life experiences have been. Much of it's a spoiler that needs a content warning but I figured I'd share a brief fun scene. Also it's good practice for writing Eph's somewhat elliptical style of speech; he is a man who gives no unnecessary context, and sometimes no necessary context. (All the context you all need to know is that Ephraim's parents wanted to name him Cherry Windward and instead Eddie named him Ephraim Prunus.)

Noah was on dishes duty with Joan, Ed's newly adopted eldest daughter, the evening that Ephraim found Ed on the porch of the royal fishing lodge. He sat next to him companionably, rocking on the porch swing and looking out at the lake.

"How many different names do you think you'll have in your life?" he asked without preamble. Ed laughed.

"I don't know. I think once you become a king the name locks in place," he said. "I've been Theophile and Ted and Ed and Eddie, and now back around to Theophile, at least in public. And then there's 'Dad' too. Why do you ask?"

Ephraim shrugged. "Monday was telling Jes about you naming me. Got to thinking about it."

"Well, you did return the favor eventually," Ed said. "Ed has suited me. Thinking of changing your name?"

"I was thinking of going by Prunus," Ephraim said, with such a deadpan expression that Ed hesitated, then burst out laughing when Eph smiled.

"Punk," he said, shoving Ephraim gently. "I only gave you that one to make mom and dad feel better about you having a normal-ass name. Man, you could see Dad's gears turning. We can always call him Pru."

Ephraim cackled. "Pru! Funny. I guess just…thanks."

"For what, big guy?" Ed asked.

"I didn't think I'd ever see Europe. Didn't think anyone outside Santa Luna would understand," Ephraim said. "But you went all over the world and found somewhere just like home. And I get to be here too. Which means maybe…I can be other places as well."

"There will always be a place for you, anywhere I am," Ed said seriously.

"Yes but also. They get it." Ephraim put on a lilting Shivadh accent. "That's Ephraim, he's King Theophile's brother, he doesn't say much but he's a good lad. No, you let Mr. Rambler alone, he's just shy. Hello young Ephraim, point out what you want to order when you're ready." He looked back out at the lake. "They're kind. I could thrive here."

"But not just yet, huh?" Ed asked. "Not with Noah leaving soon. He's going to Aotearoa and then coming to California, where you'll be."

"Yes."

"And after he graduates?" Ed asked delicately. "Maybe both of you back here?"

Ephraim turned to him. "I don't have a five year plan," he said witheringly, and this time Ed knew he was teasing.

"You son of a -- how dare you accuse me of asking you for a five year plan! Like I'm some kind of responsible adult? Roasted by my own blood!"

"You need it, Your Majesty," Ephraim said, then sobered. "I don't know yet. We'll figure it out."

"I'm sure you will."

"If you were going to name me again, what would you pick?"

Ed tousled his hair. "Buddy, you are now and forever Ephraim to me unless someday you tell me otherwise. I can't name you again. I don't think you need it, you're only just growing into that one. But if you did want a new name, I think you'd have to come up with it yourself -- or ask Noah."

Ephraim nodded thoughtfully. "I'm okay. Just curious."

"I think if you do you should move even more towards the extremes, though. From Cherry Windward to Ephraim Prunus to, I dunno, Joe Superfly."

"Joe Superfly!" Ephraim crowed. "Joe Superfly Rambler!"

"The twins should be glad we named them Edward and Miranda," Ed mused.

"Edward Superfly," Ephraim gasped.

"It's a great movie!"

"Miranda Shaft!" Ephraim blurted, and both brothers laughed until they cried.

[eelnoise]

For the lyric prompt, 'i have my sentence now, at last i know just how you felt, i dig my fingers in, expecting more than just the skin' with Zoro? I don’t have anything specific in mind for this one, so feel free to wing it 😅

confluence

anon your brain has sent me into a frenzy. this fic is absolutely getting another part or 2 at some point because i have some thoughtssssss!!! anyway, hope you enjoy! zoro x gn!reader c/w: fluff!! zoro is injured but what else is new :)

With the most wounded of the crew still out of commission for the time being, the reality is that, for now at least, everyone is okay. They’d come out stronger from worse many times before now, and the reprieve of that alone should be enough for any one soul to rest. 

Though as soon as your tiny frets and forceful bouts of self-reassurance had qualmed enough for you to drift, taking the gentle hand of sleep’s guide and luring you off into an almost peaceful slumber does a swift series of rough knuckles rapping at the door to the tiny room you’d been given and a rumble of your name beyond it.

Your jaw tenses, the ever familiar tone of probably the single worst person to be up and about, and with haste you don’t expect, are you opening the door and looking right up at Roronoa Zoro. “What are you doing?” you lip sluggishly, brows furrowed in a strange expression that lies between annoyance and concern. “You know you need to be resting.”

“Feel fine,” he replies, pushing past you and just… allowing himself into the room. “Just tired.”

You click your teeth, but you just huff and close the door behind him. “At least sit, Zoro.” 

He doesn’t just sit, but lays flat on the bed with a harshness you’re not sure he should be exerting, and you can’t help but to sigh and smile weakly. Zoro looks at peace, both eyes shut as he stretches out his limbs, all but covering the mattress. It’s not often he looks so relaxed

Kneeling next to him, you begin to lovingly run your fingers through his hair, and a warmth floods your chest when he emits a very pleased hum in reply. “How’d you even know which room I was in? You’ve been knocked out cold for the past week.” It isn’t an attack, nor is your tone aggressive at all. If anything, it’s soft. 

He turns his head towards you, gaze locking onto yours as he feels the sensation of your fingers through his hair. There’s something in his eyes, something that speaks volumes about how much he appreciates this moment of intimacy - despite the fact that he usually wouldn’t show such vulnerability. Because even if he wouldn’t admit it, he is anything but ‘fine’.The extent of his wounds were enough to knock a fully grown elephant out for a week, let alone a human man. But what is Zoro if not durable? “Robin,” he answers, a short reply but one that makes sense the more you think about it. 

“Fair,” you concede, leaning your head on the edge of the mattress. “But you didn’t think to ask where your room was instead?” 

“Wanted ta see ya,” Zoro says casually, as if he hadn’t been on the brink of death mere days ago.

The admission hangs in the air between you two, and there’s a hint of guilt in his voice - guilt that he might have caused trouble by simply showing up unannounced like this. But then again, he never did follow social norms too closely in the first place.

He wanted to see you? He wakes up, aching and bruised, serrated with gashes and the first thing he means to do is to see you?

You feel your face flush, and you’re sure it's enough that even the incredibly oblivious swordsman would notice if his eyes were open. 

Zoro lifts his hand and reaches out, grabbing onto yours, holding it tightly as if afraid that if he lets go, you’ll vanish before his very eyes. He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Needed somethin’ real bad.”

There’s no shame or embarrassment in his voice; only raw honesty and desperation. And it’s clear that he meant every word he said - because despite how tough he pretends to be, deep down inside lies someone who craves nothing more than a little bit of affection and care.

"Anything," you reply, eyes fixated upon the man beneath the touch of your fingers. "Anything you need, Zo.”

He takes a deep breath, the grip on your hand easing. "Just... didn’t feel right waking up without ya." It's a simple explanation, but it carries so much weight behind it. Despite being surrounded by people he considers friends and family, there was something missing that only you could fill. And in that moment, as he opens his eye and gazes at you longingly, it becomes clear that Zoro sees you as something more than just another crewmate or ally - you're someone who has the power to make him feel whole once again.

You smile, and when you lean in to press a kiss to his forehead you feel yourself being pulled onto the bed alongside him. The surprise makes you gasp, though once you feel his arms around you and your back against his chest do you hum into him, enjoying the warmth he provides. "Just be careful, okay?" you murmur, snuggling into him carefully. "Don't want you to rip yourself open or anything on my bed."

Zoro chuckles softly, pulling you even closer and wrapping his arms around you tighter. "Trust me," he says with a confident smirk, "I won't rip myself apart."

His body is still recovering from the injuries he sustained while fighting, but he seems determined to push through any pain or discomfort for the sake of being close to you. And as he holds you tightly, it becomes apparent that Zoro sees this moment as a rare opportunity to showcase how much he values your presence in his life - something that goes beyond the usual camaraderie shared among pirates.

In this intimate moment, there's a depth of emotion that transcends words, leaving both of you lost in a sea of feelings and care.

It's soothing, being in his arms. You hadn't realized just how much you missed this. Your relationship with Zoro had become something soft like this, him joining you for rests, naps, and just wanting to be around you. It was something you had to get used to through his emotional misguidance, but when things had become normal you learned just how to be affectionate with him, and now it's something you cherish and love. And though it never went further and mutual sought comfort, and even if you do consider the idea at times, you’re more than happy to lie here with him like this.

Zoro's arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as he feels the warmth radiating from your body. For a moment, he forgets about everything else - the pain in his side, the lingering exhaustion, even the fact that he's currently lying on top of your bed. All that matters is being near you, feeling your heartbeat against his chest and breathing in the scent of your hair.

As he holds you, memories flash through his mind - moments spent together over the years, from teasing banter to intense battles to quiet moments of respite like these. 

Zoro smiles, and even if you can’t see it, you can feel it. It’s in his very presence around you, his joy, his comfort, his you.

"I missed you," you quietly admit into his arm, and as the words leave you his grip tightens around your waist. And, god, does it feel like home.

"Missed ya too," Zoro replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Feels good to be back with ya."

He doesn't say anything more, but the sincerity in his tone speaks volumes. Even after everything they've been through together - the fights, the arguments, the misunderstandings - Zoro still finds solace in your presence, and he cherishes each moment he gets to spend with you.

And as you lay there together, wrapped in each other's arms, it becomes clear that your relationship has evolved into something far deeper than either of you ever expected. While neither of you may have explicitly admitted your feelings for the other, there's an undeniable connection that runs through every touch and every word exchanged between you two - a leash upon your hearts that defies definition yet remains stronger than steel.

Zoro closes his eyes, letting the warmth of your body envelop him as he slips into a peaceful slumber. His mind is filled with images of you - your smile, your laugh, your gentle touch. In this moment of relaxation, all thoughts of pain and exhaustion fade away, replaced instead by a sense of contentment and satisfaction.  

For a brief instant, he feels like he's found what he's been searching for - a true sense of belonging and purpose within the chaos of the world. And even as sleep claims him, he clings tightly to the memory of your embrace, knowing that it will serve as a source of strength and motivation as he continues on his journey towards becoming the world's greatest swordsman.

You both drift off, falling deep into the exact respite that you had sought prior to his inclusion.

And it’s perfect. 

—

You wake up slowly and twist around with care, taking in the sight of Zoro's face as he sleeps beside you. His features look so calm and peaceful, and you can't help but wonder if he's having pleasant dreams. Reaching out, you brush some strands of hair away from his face, stirring him from his slumber. "Did you sleep well, Zo? Good dreams?” you query as his tired gaze meets yours.

Zoro's eye flutters open, and he smiles weakly upon seeing you sitting up. "Yeah," he replies, his voice still slightly groggy. "You were in them."

The admission catches you off guard, but you can see genuine sincerity in his expression - a reflection of the depth of feelings he harbors for you despite not expressing them outright. "Thanks for bein’ here," he adds, offering a small nod of gratitude. "Makes everythin’ seem better."

You feel your face flush, his admission not just flattering you but truly moving you. Was it due to his most recent near-death experience that makes him fawn over you so? Whatever it may be, you smile and lean down to kiss his forehead - but you're taken by surprise when you're maneuvered downward until his lips press into yours in a bit of a forceful, inexperienced kiss, but one you reciprocate in earnest.

The kiss takes you both by surprise, but as it deepens, you can feel the passion and intensity that lies beneath Zoro's inexperience. He's always been fiercely protective of you, but now it seems like he wants to claim you in a way that goes beyond mere protection - to show everyone that you belong to him and only him.

Despite your initial shock, you find yourself responding to his kiss with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer as your hearts race and your bodies heat up. This unexpected moment of heightened  intimacy feels both thrilling and terrifying, like stepping off a cliff into the unknown.

Zoro's kiss is messy, but it's full of meaning. Words he cannot say aloud are spoken though each smack of your lips and hums of joy, and as his hand finds its way to your neck to press you closer to him, you find yourself melting into his palm.

Zoro's emotions spill out through his actions - the desperate need to hold onto you, the desire to mark you as his own, the raw passion that burns within him. It's a declaration of sorts, one that speaks volumes about how deeply he feels for you even without using words.

Despite the intensity of the moment, there's also a vulnerability to it that reveals just how much Zoro craves your affection and approval. He wants nothing more than to make you happy, to know that you feel the same way about him, and as he breaks away from the kiss with a ragged breath, he looks at you with a pleading expression that seems to say, "Was that okay?”

You nod, eyes heavy lidded and lips glossed with saliva and puffy with love. And it seems as if that’s all it takes for him to continue, as at once is Zoro upon you again, this time with a little more ease. You sigh into him when his hands reach your hips, it feels so right and so good, like a long awaited tether tying you both into a knot. You want to kiss away his pain and discomfort, to hold him to you until he's healed and whole. To be his anchor and his safe haven. To just be his.

Zoro's hands grip onto your hips tightly, holding onto you like a lifeline as he pulls himself closer, seeking comfort in the warmth and safety of your embrace. He feels like he can finally let go of all the pent-up emotions and anxieties that have been weighing him down since the battle - and in that moment of release, he feels a profound sense of relief wash over him.

As he leans against you, he closes his eyes once again, savoring the feeling of being held so closely by someone who means so much to him. It's a moment of pure bliss, one that makes all the hardships and struggles worthwhile, and he knows that he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

[thegreatwicked]

Padawan: Bonded Confluence

Ask and I shall deliver! Enjoy some more R&R time with your gorgeous Master!

Padawan: Bonded Confluence

Some hours later, you weren’t sure exactly how long your eyes fluttered open and you awoke to the soft warmth of a bed, enveloped in the unfamiliar comfort of plush blankets and soft pillows. As your eyes fluttered open, you stretched out luxuriously, savoring the feeling of being well-rested and not sleeping on hard ground with just a bedroll for cushioning.

But as you took in your surroundings, a sense of unease began to creep over you. The bed was empty. At that moment, it all came back to you - your nightmare had become reality. He had not come back for you, leaving you alone once again. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your heart ached and the room felt cold.

As your panic peaked, a familiar scent wafted towards you. 

Lingering traces of cordite that even a prolonged shower couldn't dispel, the woodsy fragrance from countless nights spent among the company of ancient trees, and the charcoal-ashen scent imparted by humble campfires— aromas were woven so deeply that no amount of washing could erase them.

It was undeniably him. You snatched the pillow where he had laid his head not long ago. Each memory flooded back from his arrival at your recovery room to his whispered confessions of desire, his every sinful touch that had your toes curling, and his inappropriate use of the Force that left you breathless. The lingering dampness from your shared shower was still present, bringing back every intimate moment and solidifying the reality of what had occurred between the two of you. The comforting fragrance filled the entire room, easing the frenzy in your heart.

Not a dream.

His essence clung to every fiber of the pillow as you held it close to your chest, fingers digging into its softness letting yourself be consumed by its intoxicating fragrance and feeling instantly calmed by the ghost of his presence. He hadcome for you, after all, taking you to bed in your recovery room with such tenderness and passion. Well, mostly tenderness. 

You grinned. Yes, there had been some tenderness, but most of what existed between you and your former Master had been far more… passionate.

The familiar ache between your legs returned, prompting you to squeeze your thighs together and bask in the sensation for a few moments before getting up to find him. He was here, and you had three precious days with him. Three days of waking up like this, in his bed, maybe once this incessant war was over, there could be more days like this. More days where you could fall asleep wrapped in his naked embrace. 

But those were just fanciful musings at the moment; eyes on the target, not the horizon.

You had three concrete days with your Master and no time to waste. You released the pillow from your grip and sat up, taking in the empty room around you, true, he was nowhere in sight but you could feel his presence close by.

With a sleepy yawn, you swung your feet over the side of the bed, you briefly considered walking out to find him naked but knowing your Master there was every possibility that he could very well be on a com call with his men or even Anakin. And while the lolthcat would be out of the bag at that point, you didn’t want to force it, so you looked around for something clean to wear and the soft fabric of his discarded shirt immediately caught your eye. Without hesitation, you reached for it and brought it to your nose, inhaling deeply, letting his scent fill your senses, overpowering you with its clean yet slightly metallic aroma, like that of the charged air after a thunderstorm.

It was a silly fantasy, but one that had always stirred excitement for you; to feel the weight of his clothing against your skin and nothing else underneath, to have that smell cling to your skin.

The worn linen was soft and comfortable from having been washed and worn many times before, and it felt like being wrapped up in home. To have this simple garment that rested against his body finally caress yours, it was lovely and a sideways glance in the small mirror said it didn’t look too bad on you. The Jedi were modest beings who didn’t give much consideration or value to confidence in one’s appearance, but you knew enough about men to know that most of them universally approved of seeing their lover in their clothes. You had this idea Obi-Wan would either say something terribly eloquent, sensual, and romantic or something completely feral, filthy, and arousing and you didn’t much care which one. 

Oh, yes, this was much better than walking out naked.

True, it was no different than your own clothes aside from being larger, it stopped scandalously just a little bit above your mid-thigh and you didn’t bother with all the closures, you were fairly sure it wouldn’t be staying on very long. 

But your hunger for your Master quickly took second place for your body’s actual hunger for sustenance, or so the growling of your stomach told you so. The meager rations you’d been surviving off in the field for the last six weeks rarely satisfied the way real food did, it never tasted quite right either, but the worst part was that it almost always had no smell to it but freeze-dried and preserved food often had that distinction. Stars knew, you’d certainly eaten worse.

It filled the stomach and that was all that was required, things like taste and smell were luxuries that weren’t often afforded to you, in fact, the food at the temple wasn’t always much better, still a little on the bland side but at least it was hot. It wasn’t until you’d left the temple altogether that your relationship with food changed. Another growl. 

Your longing to fulfill your craving for the touch of your Master would have to be put on hold for a few moments.

Making your way to the small galley in his quarters, the sight of a colorful meiloorun fruit caught your eye right away and you snatched it up with carefree glee. It had been so long since you’d had real fruit of any kind instead of the calorie-dense meals afforded to you. In the field, it was rations, in medical, it had been flavorless muck fed to you through feeding tubes while the bacta’s waters worked to heal you, then back into the field, you went. 

If the food fed to soldiers was an indication of their value it was clear the Republic nor the Jedi cared very much for those who fought their battles for them, but it didn’t surprise you that the galley in Obi-Wan’s quarters as a General, saw that he had better food. Your eyes doubled in size when you saw things like roasted chuba nuts, fresh nysillin stalks, and spiced jorgan fruit chips but the ultimate test of your willpower was the uj’alayi cake that sat so lonely and unprotected… your tongue tingled with memories of the tasty sweet cake filled with fruit that you hadn't had since your time on Mandalore. 

It was hard but you limited your scavenging to some of the roasted chuba nuts and the jorgan fruit chips enjoying their satisfying crunch and burst of flavors awakened your taste buds, which had been dormant for far too long. The little crunchy snacks were lovely but the awaiting meiloorun fruit made your mouth water, the smell of it was perfect, ripe, and ready.

Peeling away its brightly colored orange and blue striped skin was like opening a present and you savored its succulent taste as it burst on your tongue. A delicate blend of citrus and honey, the sweet juice dribbling down your chin in a very unladylike manner, and you tried not to moan. It was hard not to wolf it down but previous experience had taught you that it was best to indulge slowly, after so long with such dense food the switch to richer ones could bring quite the digestive drama, you’d seen it a hundred times. 

You broke apart the rest of the fruit, gently separating the segments with care and placing it into a dish with the intention of, perhaps sharing the treat with a certain Master. Peering out from the galley, your thoughts turned to the location of your lover, so you closed your eyes and let the Force guide you.

Its gentle ripples called out to you, and with your physical hunger quelled, it was time to do something about the otherone. 

His eyes were closed deep in meditation, legs crossed, his hands folded neatly in his lap. A still hot cup of tea at his side, the steam curling in the air, much like the incense used at the temple. Sapir tea. You could smell it from where you were and it brought a smile to your face. 

In times of distress and strife, you would often brew a cup of tea just to bask in its warmth and allow its aroma to surround you, to feel the comforting ghost of your master. Sometimes, you would even spend your last remaining currency or trade away precious possessions in exchange for a few ounces of loose-leaf tea, keeping it close to in a pouch around your neck. It was your little secret.

It was hypnotic, the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm of focus and discipline, he always made it look so easy. 

Meditation had always been something you struggled with, always finding it so difficult to quiet the chatter in your mind, and while you somewhat regretted leaving him as you did, you wouldn’t change it. You had so much growing to do and it wasn’t until you found yourself with no one to rely on that your connection to the Force grew stronger.

It was no secret that Obi-Wan possessed a strong connection to the Force. But as you watched him meditate with such grace and tranquility, it was hard not to be in awe of his presence, which filled the room with its powerful energy. 

He exuded an aura of beauty and self-control that was truly mesmerizing. 

It was a breathtaking sight that stirred conflicting emotions within you: admiration for his discipline and an inexplicable urge to wreck it. 

You smiled and popped a piece of the fruit into your mouth as an idea began to take shape.

Bonded Confluence. 

That was the name of the formal practice that had long ago fallen by the wayside and largely forgotten when attachments were banned within the order. So named to reflect the converging of two rivers becoming one.

Through ancient practice, partners sought to fortify their Force Bond by aligning their minds and bodies through synchronized meditation and the exchange of physical and sexual energy. This harmonious fusion allowed for a profound spiritual and intimate bond, resulting in a state of deep meditation that could endure for hours. It was a union of sensuality and spirituality, creating a beautiful balance between pleasure and inner peace.

And if Ashoka was to be believed; the gateway to the most mind-blowing orgasms in existence. 

The notion that the intensity of physical pleasure could be matched by the tranquility of meditation and that the merging of sensual energy could extend and surpass an orgasm was fascinating.

Delicious, erotic, and possibly blasphemous thoughts swirled around in your head, and with a grin, you approached your sitting master making no effort to hide your presence. You had no reason to hide from him anymore, and it was freeing, to be so unguarded, besdies, he probably knew the exact moment you woke up and sensed your brief moment of panic.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked without opening his eyes. 

Your smile was soft and drowsy as you kneeled behind him pressing a sweet kiss to his temple.

“I think so,” His posture remained steadfast, though his handsome face split with a smile.

“What happened? A nightmare?” 

“No,” you said, shaking your head as if to brush him off, feeling silly. But his hand reached up to clasp yours and he looked at you, the concern in his beautiful eyes communicating his desire for an explanation. You hesitated only briefly before answering him, “For a moment, I thought it was all a dream,” 

You forced a smile, but it quickly faltered as you looked away. You didn't want to see the familiar look in his eyes, the one that made you think he was blaming himself somehow, like when he found you in the recovery room. The one just before he begged to know how he had failed you and hurt you. The memory might move you to tears and you had to change the subject quickly.

His proper posture wavered, and a surge of soulfulness overtook him, crashing down like a rogue wave. You hadn't intended to make him so anxious and immediately regretted answering him at all but the storm soon calmed again as he took your hand, raising it to his lips and tenderly kissing the back of it.

“Forgive me, had I known, I would have stayed by your side,” You just smiled and swallowed hard forcing the damned butterflies back down where they couldn’t make you say or do silly things. “I can assure you, this is quite real,” 

To prove his point, he playfully pinched your arm and you jerked back slightly.

With a soft chuckle, you exclaimed, "I think I'm blessed with an overabundance of proof. No dream has ever left me so sore." 

Obi-Wan's cheeks were tinged with a slight blush, an uncommon sight that made it difficult to reconcile the two sides of him. On one side, there was the serene and collected Master Jedi who advocated for discipline, serenity, and a deep connection to the Force. On the other hand, there was the man you had always hoped existed beneath the Jedi facade - a man who craved pleasure, and passion; untamed and unrestrained.

As his lips met yours, the faint taste of sweetness from your little snack clinging to your lips. He pulled you in closer as his eyebrows raised in surprise and curiosity, savoring the unfamiliar flavor on your lips.

"Or hungry it seems, is that the meiloorun fruit I taste?" he asked licking his lips.

"I don't know, is it?" you teased with a naughty smile and his grin widened.

With a playful glint in his eyes, he reached up and gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling you back to him and pressing his lips against yours. His kiss was sweet as his tongue traced the edges of your lips, eagerly seeking entrance. As you parted your lips, the taste of juicy meiloorun from your earlier snack mingled with his own flavor, making the kiss even more delicious. The warmth of his breath and the softness of his lips against yours sent shivers down your spine, making it hard to pull away.

"It seems so," he said after releasing your lips. "Is there any more?"

You plucked another piece of fruit, holding it up to his awaiting lips eagerly offering him the sweet treat. He devoured the fruit but didn’t stop there, nipping your fingertips, his teeth grazing against your skin in a playful manner, then the gentle flick of his tongue against your skin.

"Delicious," he remarked with a grin, "The fruit was sweet as well," 

It was words and naughty little innuendos like that that made your heart race for this man, and you thought back to that little idea of yours, your grin betraying your mischief.

You reached for another piece of the fruit to savor, and his hand quickly intercepted yours. Just when you thought he might pull you onto his lap, he surprised you with a tender kiss on the inside of your wrist. The heat of his lips and the tickle of his beard sent delicious tingles down your arm, making you crave more of his touch.

"Join me?"

Your lips curled into a devious grin as you pressed your mouth to his, claiming him with a slow and irresistible kiss. He was caught off guard, but soon lost himself in the intensity of the moment, feeling breathless and wanting more.

"In a way," He was intrigued, judging by the way his eyebrows furrowed together. "Have you ever tried meditating with a partner?" Your voice dripped with sensuality as your question lingered in the air, pregnant with seductive implications.

“Yes…” He replied slowly, sensing an underlying meaning. "Though I suspect our definitions of 'partners' may differ considerably," 

You gave him a sultry smile, guiding his head back to face forward. Your fingertips lightly stroked along his strong jawline before pressing into the soft skin at the base of his neck for a teasing kiss.

Of course, there were rumors of the existence of Holocrons concerning the connection between sex and meditation but you had certainly never seen them. If such things truly existed it was certain those teachings were only accessible to Masters. Ashoka seemed to have a considerable understanding of the subject, leaving you to wonder where she acquired it and which Jedi Master she had convinced to teach her. And how?

She never elaborated on that subject, no matter how many times you would ask, she would just grin and tell you:

“You should try it sometime.”

No time like the present.

Obi-Wan glanced back at you, perhaps about to ask something but there was no room for questions now, only submission to your touch. You could feel something from him, a certain energy. Not fear or apprehension; quizzical. If nothing else could be said for your master it could most certainly be said he was a deeply curious man. 

You shifted your weight, against the warmth of his back against your chest, aligning your body with his. Your knees on either side of him, hands resting on his shoulders gently kneading and massaging the muscles. The heat from his skin seeped into your palms as you rested your cheek between his shoulder blades. He smiled a pleasant smile, he had no idea where you were going but he seemed to be enjoying it so far.

With a low murmur, your lips brushed against his skin as you whispered "Just breathe."

And he did, placing his trust in you by closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath through his nose before exhaling slowly. His shoulders relaxed with each caress of your breath as it tickled his skin. You found yourself hearing so many sounds that you might normally ignore, ambient noise that was often drowned out became crystal clear to you. 

The gentle whoosh of air vents, muffled chatter leaking in from the neighboring rooms, barely audible footsteps passing by, and a faint hum that seemed to come from deep within the walls

Most prominent was the sound of Obi-Wans breathing, and the faint thump of his heart. It was a soothing rhythm that seemed to synchronize with your own breaths. Your hands drifted down his arms, to his hands, gliding over his worn knuckles and back up again in a slow and steady motion. With each exhale, releasing any tension or negative energy from your body. 

He sighed and leaned back into your touch, his shoulders dropped, his muscles loosening, releasing all the residual stress he had been holding onto.

Unprompted, he began mirroring your movements, his fingertips exploring the curves of your bare thighs and tracing patterns along your skin, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

It felt as if there was a glowing light surrounding the two of you, created by the merging of your breaths in a continuous loop. It was a moment of complete stillness and connection between Master and Padawan. 

All distractions fell away; you were tuned into a frequency of the Force that you had never felt before, it pulsed and thrummed between you. The energy surged through your body, starting at your core and spreading out to your limbs until even your fingertips and toes buzzed with its power. Your muscles relaxed as tension melted away, replaced by a sense of weightlessness. All worries and physical pains evaporated in this moment of pure connection.

You trailed your fingers along his defined shoulders and up his neck, feeling his muscles twitch under your gentle touch. Fingers combed through his sandy hair, causing a surge of electricity to course through him every time your nails grazed over his scalp. Like a storm brewing beneath his skin, your fingers conjured tiny shocks. Down his neck, they went, following the hard planes of his muscular chest, tickling along that soft trail of hair. His breath hitched and a slight tremor ran through his body.

The act wasn't necessarily sexual, but it held a deep level of intimacy. To be in such close proximity with this man, feeling and hearing his heartbeat, and witnessing his unguarded state of relaxation and tranquility, and knowing that you were the one who put him there, was better than any stimulant.

You weren't entirely sure if this was how Bonded Confluence was practiced, but the serene feeling that surrounded you and the way his Force signature danced with yours assured you that you were on the right track. Ashoka’s guidance on the practice was limited but she had mentioned that it required discipline and you were beginning to understand why; to be so close to one to whom you were so drawn to and not give in to your physical desires was difficult

As unorthodox and untrained as what you were doing was he couldn’t deny there was something spiritual about it, the way your breathing and hearts were as one and the gentle peace and pleasure lapping at the two of you creating a connection that was both thrilling and uplifting.

You were sure to ask her many questions later because this form of meditation deserved more time to uncover its secrets further but there were other more pressing things you wanted to uncover as well. Your lips brushed against his cheek then your breath caressed the shell of his ear and your hands dared to explore him… further.

With a light touch, your fingertips moved down his forearms, over the bumps and ridges of muscle, and finally rested on his strong thighs. You felt the strain in his body as you traced the curves and angles of his hips, gently kneading the firm muscles. His lips parted with a soft gasp, arching towards your touch in eager anticipation.

The Force, amplified by arousal, crackled between you. He could sense every flutter of your fingertips as if they were on his bare skin. His trousers tightened, the fabric straining against his growing erection.

“Is this some new meditation practice, you’ve learned?”

You smiled into his neck sucking softly at the junction of his shoulder and neck, so as not to leave any marks he would have to explain later. He was trying to maintain his composure of what he thought meditation should be. It wasn't entirely his fault; Obi-Wan had always been a student of history and had perfected his meditative techniques long ago. But this situation was far from the traditional meditation he was used to and he seemed to be having trouble letting go.

That was until your fingers reached the drawstring closure of his trousers and began to gently unlace them. That's when he began to falter. Despite knowing it was a game he wasn't meant to win, Obi-Wan was not a man to give up so easily.

Your fingers traced along the seam of muscle and fabric. With a gentle push, you slipped your hand underneath the waistband, eagerly enveloping his rapidly thickening cock in your grasp, his mouth fell open.

“Q-Quite insatiable, aren’t you?” 

"Shh, just breathe, my padawan," you teased. 

Oh, how you longed to see the expression on his face when you called him by that title. 

"And what do you suggest I focus on?" 

The muscles in his neck tensed as he swallowed nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He seemed to have given up trying to clear his thoughts, evidenced by the way his hands tightened their grip on your thighs.

"Concentrate, Master," your words dripping with seduction as you continued to stroke him, "Feel the power of the force thrumming through you, driving your desires." 

With each stroke, you placed heavy emphasis on the words "feel" and "thrumming," your hand moving in sync with your words as you mercilessly teased him. He fought to contain his pleasure, but eventually, a deep groan of pure bliss escaped his lips.

His once rigid posture began to crumble as his fingers dug into your thighs, gripping tightly. 

"Can you feel it, Master?"

"Y-yes," His voice wavered, caught between a stutter and a growl. “Padawan…”

You slid your hand down between your legs, feeling the heat and wetness already there, spreading your thighs wider. Your warm breath tickled his ear as you slipped two fingers inside yourself, teasing and gathering more wetness. With your other hand, you stroked him slowly, spreading his precum over the head of his cock. The pleasure of your touch made you bite down on his earlobe, and a deep moan escaped from your lips as you continued to stroke and tease both of you simultaneously.

"You are truly testing my patience, young one." He warned again in a lower tone, but whatever threats he had in mind never came. 

You knew there would be consequences for this game later; he would make sure you remembered who was Master and who was Padawan. But oh, what a thrilling game it was!

"I apologize, Master. Let me make it up to you." 

Before he moved again to make good on his tone, you brought your fingers to his lips, painting them in your wetness. The heat of your touch made him shiver as he eagerly took them into his mouth, savoring the taste and moaning deeply as he sucked and caressed them with his tongue. The sensation was electric, sending tingles through your body and igniting a fire within you. You couldn't help but let out a soft gasp as he continued to pleasure your fingers with his tongue.

You were on cloud nine, reveling in the power you held over this fierce and formidable man. 

Your entire body tingled as he continued to pleasure your fingers, sending waves of heat straight to your core.

"Faster?" You asked him a little more out of breath than you'd intended, not your fault, you were remembering exactly what that tongue of his had been capable of.

He groaned onto your fingers, and shook his head, "Slower." He commanded, releasing your fingers and one of his hands slipped behind your head, pulling you into a kiss, flavored with the sweetness of your arousal.

"More." 

It took you to understand his meaning but when you did, you smiled into his lips, 

"As my Master wishes," 

Your hand left the warmth of his cheek and slipped back between your legs, teasing your clit for a moment before returning to your soaking pussy, first one finger and then two. You whimpered a little against his skin, never breaking stride with how you stroked his cock. The whimpering gave way to a moan when his hand left your leg and came up behind you to seize the back of your hair, adding an element of roughness that only intensified the experience.

"If you can manage my cock, darling, I think you can manage three fingers," His voice was low and held a dangerous edge to it. Even if you had initially intended to say no, it was now out of the question.

You moaned a bit more with the addition of a third finger, the wet sounds of your pleasure filled the room, an affront to the decorum of the established Jedi practice, but oh, how he approved. 

"Yes, that's it." He murmured, you shuddered, this hadn't quite become what you'd intended, but you'd never look at meditation the same way again. "Let me taste them,"

Watching how his eyes doubled in size at the sight of your listening slickness coating your fingers before he devoured them eagerly one by one left you breathless. Your combined stroking of his cock and the intoxicating scent and taste including your arousal flooding his senses elicited a moan from him that saw your cunt clench on nothing, the throbbing desire for him burning hotter with each passing second.

Each time his hips rocked forward, his forehead creased in concentration and pleasure. His moans grew in volume as he eagerly sucked on your fingers, his cock pulsing with a desperate need for release. He pushed himself deeper into your hand, gasping and trembling with desire.

“Ah-!” He groaned at a particularly overzealous touch and released your fingers from his mouth, “Darling, I think it’s time for a change of position,” 

The taut muscles in his back and arms flexed hypnotically as he reached for your waist and effortlessly pulled you into his lap. As you settled in, his piercing blue eyes met yours, radiating with an intensity that matched the ferocity of the kyber crystal at the heart of his lightsaber.

His gaze raked over you hungrily, and he seemed to enjoy seeing you in his linen shirt, only now noticing it, your smooth skin was food for his eyes from the gentle line of your neck to the dip between your breasts, down the supple slope of your stomach and finally resting at the moist warmth between your legs that he had eagerly savored moments before.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, placing his rough hands on your thighs and the curve of your backside. The sensation of the calluses from his hands added a gentle texture to his touch. The ebb and flow of the force nestled over the two of you like a blanket, in a way normal meditation could never touch you. 

He slipped under the shirt reaching up your back and back down resting on the curve of your ass, his lips hovering a breath above yours, the tiny little puffs of breath like a siren’s call to close the gap between you. Your lips began to tingle in anticipation and while it was unbearable, it was also a tortuous exercise in control and you decided to see just how long you could stand it.

His skin tingled all over from the near touches and the closes of your lips and it was clear he was struggling with the same thing you were, his hands flexed on your legs several times.

You glanced back down into his lap at his swollen cock and the need to touch him, to bring him pleasure, was overwhelming and all-consuming. As you looked up into the celestial embers of his eyes, sharing soft breaths and caught in a trance of desire, you reached down his chest and slipped your hand into his trousers once again, feeling the heat and hardness of him in your grasp.

He was thick and hard, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. Every time your thumb brushed against him, he shivered and let out a soft moan. For a few minutes, all you could focus on was the sound of his ragged breaths and the steady beat of his heart, like a drum calling to you. The intense pull between you felt almost tangible, like an invisible force bringing you closer together, drawing you in like magnets.

“Slow?”

He nodded slowly, confirming, “Slow” 

Your fingers danced over the tender skin of his length, tracing every curve and ridge with a feather-light touch. His eyes fluttered shut, overcome by the delicate sensation, and he let out a low groan as you continued to slowly stroke his cock. His face contorted in pleasure, surrendering to the blissful sensations pulsing through his body. In that moment, all he could do was feel your touch and bask in its exquisite pleasure.

Allowing himself to simply feel. 

His force signature quivered as he let the warmth and the light fill his body giving over to this meditation with you, intertwining with yours in a beautiful symphony of light and heat. You let the force guide your movements, you could feel his thoughts, his desires, his emotions as if they were your own. And it only fueled the fire inside of you even more. His raw desire and need for you radiated through the Force, adding to the already intense atmosphere between the two of you.

It was beautiful seeing him like this, a conduit for pleasure, his hand kneading your thighs with each stroke of his cock. 

But as good as it felt, the ache between your legs was growing stronger and more urgent. The desire to feel any part of him touch you there again consumed you. The air around you pulsated with your need, until suddenly Obi-wan's eyes snapped open, piercing right through you, it startled you.

Seeing and feeling your need, he pulled you close, his hand cupped your cheek, and pressed his lips to yours. Exploring every crevice of your mouth while his other hand trailed down your body. He slowly stroked his way between your legs, his fingers finding all the right spots that sent waves of pleasure through you. Your moans and gasps were met with expert caresses, his lips never breaking their passionate kiss.

“Shh, darling,” he murmured as the pads of his fingers swept through your folds gathering the wetness there, “Slow?”

You nodded and he cupped your throbbing pussy making you groan before offering the blessed relief of the pressure of a fingertip over your clit. You felt as though you might fall apart at the touch, it was somehow more powerful, more intense and the man was barely touching you. You shuddered under the softness of his fingers, hips rocking into his hand. 

Your hand slowed to a painful crawl and there was a distinct whimper from Obi-Wan, “Darling, either touch me or don’t but please, do not just stop.” 

You cursed yourself for neglecting his pleasure and quickly resumed stroking him with renewed enthusiasm. He responded with a grateful moan, guiding you with his breathless instructions until you find the perfect rhythm.

“Yes, that’s- a little faster,— Like-like that…” He groaned as you adjusted your pace to his liking.

He didn’t ask for guidance on how to pleasure you, he already knew what made you cry out for him. A finger slowly plunged inside you, offering another relief while simultaneously drawing heavenly circles around your swollen clit. Usually, such a slow tempo would have you begging for more, but at this moment, you were content to sit in his lap and whimper like a kitten, savoring every moment of the gentle touch.

When Ashoka had told you that her first venture into this Bonded Confluence had lasted over six hours, you’d outright called her a karking liar. It didn’t seem possible for pleasure to last so long, but now you were beginning to understand how it could and your mind was quickly opening up to the possibilities.

Luckily, she took it in good humor, and now you realized just how wrong you were. And now it seemed you’d be eating your words when you saw her next, there were certainly worse fates.

“Close your eyes,” Obi-Wan whispered in his deep, alluring voice. “Focus your thoughts,”

You nodded in response, feeling yourself falling deeper into the meditation. It was as though all of your senses were heightened, every touch was like a burst of starlight.

“Feel the connection,” Obi-Wan whispered, his voice warm against your ear. “Let it guide us.”

Your hips moved of their own accord as if begging for more contact and Obi-wan was more than happy to oblige. He used his other hand to grip your hip firmly, keeping you steady as he pushed his finger deeper inside of you. 

“Yes, that’s right, feel my touch, let it consume you, allow it to reach every part of your body.” 

As Obi-Wan's fingertips grazed across your skin, a soft moan escaped your lips and you felt a trail of goosebumps form in their wake. It was like an electric current running through your body, sending shivers down your spine and leaving you craving more of his touch. You were on the verge of losing control, but he pulled away just in time to prevent you from reaching that point of release.

“Not yet,” he whispered against your lips, “Stay with me,” 

You gave a slight nod, and as you leaned in to kiss him again, you could feel his breath quicken.

He was trying to extend that moment of almost ecstasy, to see how long you could both hold onto it. It was torturous, it was heavenly.

“Can you feel it?” Obi-Wan breathed against your lips, his hand still working between your legs as he held you in his lap. “The connection between us?”

“I feel it,” you sighed in response, the heat pooling low in your stomach as he continued to bring you closer and closer to climax with each passing moment.

“Hold onto it, just for a moment.”

You could feel his own arousal through the Force, your mind was beginning to blur as the pleasure slowly built inside you. You were treading carefully, like a vessel slowly filling with water one droplet at a time until it reached the brim and threatened to spill over. You were trying to maintain that delicate balance, just before reaching the point of overflow.

Obi-Wan’s lips trailed down your neck with gentle kisses as he whispered praises and sweet words. His fingers moved with skilled precision, coaxing out every single sensation possible. Having him so close, not just physically but the way your signatures melded together, flickering as they connected and crackled brought the swirling sensations to peak, you teetered over it about to tumble over, and there you held on. 

Eyes closed, you were acutely aware of every sensation as he pressed his fingertips against your skin, his breath mingling with yours, and the heat of his body enveloping you. And then, you saw it - a light that shone so brightly and purely, banishing all darkness in its wake. It seemed to dance in your vision, like an endless sea of stars twinkling in the night sky. This radiant glow filled you with a warmth and joy, unlike anything you had ever experienced before. In that moment, there was only the two of you, bathed in this ethereal light that seemed to connect you on a deeper level. Time stood still as you basked in the beauty of this moment, feeling grateful for having found this light in the midst of life's chaos.

“Let go.” 

And so you did. You surrendered yourself completely to him, letting his touch guide you toward mind-numbing ecstasy. His voice was the gentlest whispers’ so soft so sweet and it was all it took to see you tumbling over the precipice. It was a perfect harmony between physical pleasure and the Force. One minute you were floating in pleasure, the next it consumed you. Yet the vessel didn’t spill over, it remained brimming despite the pleasure that washed over you.

You were lost in a haze of pleasure as you rode out something that transcended the simplicity of an orgasm. Every touch and stroke felt like it was magnified tenfold by the force bond between you. His fingers never stopped their divine ministration over your clit, nor did he stop plunging them inside you, your body rippled around him and you shook with the strength of your orgasm as it washed over you like a never-ending tsunami, coming in powerful waves each growing weaker until you fell weak in his arms, once more, your master caught you. 

The vessel shook, but still, it didn’t overflow.

As you slowly opened your eyes, the tumultuous waves of emotion subsided and your gaze met his. The depth of his perfectly serene eyes captured your attention, shimmering and sparkling with a crystal-clear clarity. Every shade of blue imaginable danced within them, like the ocean on a bright summer day. You could see everything - past, present, and future - in those mesmerizing orbs.

“So beautiful,” he muttered dreamily as he sunk his mouth onto yours.

You began stroking him once again, wanting to give him as much pleasure as he was giving you. He groaned appreciatively at your touch, letting his head fall back. 

"Obi-Wan," you gasped, "inside me...now."

“As my padawan desires,” he murmured breathlessly.

He pulled you closer, his strong arms wrapping around your waist in a tight embrace 

His hips lifting gently to meet yours, positioning you just so, as he thrust upwards. A surge of pleasure shot through you like an unstoppable force, and you clutched onto him for dear life as he stretched you again. His hands roamed down your back before settling on your hips, guiding you in rhythm with his movements. Your fingers tangled into his hair while his hands traveled down your back, pausing at your hips before slipping under your shirt to grip your ass. Every thrust was like fire and ice, a delicious ache that built and released in waves of ecstasy.

His groans mingled with your own as he drove into you relentlessly, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you. As you moved together, finding a rhythm that suited both of you, your connection through the Force only grew stronger. Obi-Wan's touches and thrusts were now guided by your own desires and needs, making the pleasure even more intense.

Obi-Wan’s lips moved from yours to trail down your neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh as he made his way to your breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until it hardened under his touch.

“I-I’m close!” You rasped.

“I know, hold onto it again, hold on darling,” He grunted, driving himself closer, harder, up into you. “Just a moment!”

Obi-Wan's movements became faster and more urgent, driving you towards another peak of pleasure. You felt yourself spiraling once again, but this time it was even more powerful than before this time something bright swelled inside you, a euphoria unmatched by any meditation exercise ever, you floated in it, basking in its lights and warmth, feeling Obi-Wan’s heart beat in perfect time with yours. 

"Come with me," he breathed against your lips as he felt himself reaching the brink.

Gasping for air, you looked into Obi-Wan’s eyes you nodded, knowing that this was what you both wanted – to be connected in every sense of the word, so you let go again. His body moved with yours with a need that was indescribable coupled with the fierceness of your cosmic connection.

The vessel spilled over.

With one final, powerful thrust, he plunged himself deep inside you, his body shuddering with pleasure as he called out your name. You could feel the heat and weight of him filling you, his release sparking a wildfire of sensation throughout your body. Every nerve ending was alight as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you breathless and spent in his arms.

He continued driving his hips into yours and milking every last drop of desire from his throbbing cock. He whimpered and surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensations that bore down on him until he was finally as spent as you.

There were no words exchanged only the most primal of connections between two Force-senstive beings that transcended all things, all laws, all banned practices. It was perfect and it seemed to go on and on. 

But Obi-Wan wasn't done yet, when it should have ended, it didn’t his eyes rolled back and his head lulled as he gripped onto your legs, and he tipped you onto your back and continued driving into you, each stroke throbbing and pulsing

The room was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, skin slapping against skin, and the occasional moan or whimper. Obi-Wan's movements were becoming more desperate and urgent, his hips slamming into yours with a primal need that matched your own.

Your hands were gripping onto him tightly, nails digging into his back as you rode out wave after wave of pleasure. You couldn't form any coherent thoughts or words.

As his thrusts became more erratic and frenzied, you knew that he was close to reaching his climax once more. You couldn’t believe it. You could feel yourself getting closer as well, the coiling tension within you building to an almost unbearable level.

“Once more darling, once more.” He was all but pleading, the desperation in his voice, that he wanted so badly for you to come again was shattering.

You could feel your body teetering on the edge again, the intensity of his thrusts pushing you closer and closer to your peak. Obi-Wan's lips trailed down from your neck to your chest, leaving a trail of hot kisses as he continued to drive into you. The pleasure was overwhelming and before you knew it, you were tumbling over the edge once again. Your back arched off the floor as ecstasy washed over you, your entire body shaking with the force of your release.

Then the vessel shattered.

You cried out into his mouth as waves of pleasure rippled through every part of your body.

Obi-Wan followed immediately, Driving his hips into yours with desperation bordering on madness as his entire body thrummed and pulsed and throbbed with the strength of his orgasm and he cried out. Spilling inside you again, pulsing and throbbing until every last drop was spent. 

He all but collapsed onto you, Obi-Wan’s weight nearly pressing you onto the floor, but you didn’t mind at all, in fact, you felt oddly comforted by it. He was barely able to hold himself up, his whole body shook. His heart pounded against yours, both of you still connected as he nuzzled into your neck. There was only the sound of labored breathing and he trembled above you yet you felt perfectly calm and collected, it was a beautiful thing to see him this way, undone, shaken, and raw. He smiled and kissed you slowly, still seated within you, groaning every time you clenched him from the residual shock of your orgasms. 

"I-I don't, I've never—" he stammered, his voice laced with disbelief. “Padawan, where did you learn that?” he gasped against your mouth. 

“Ashoka.” He looked shocked, “She tells me it can last for hours,”

His eyes went wide, “Hours?” He blinked in disbelief.

You nodded brushing his hair out of his face, “Can you imagine it? Hours of touching and pleasure and kissing?”

He let out a small laugh. "It's hard to comprehend. I'm not sure I'd survive so long without blood to my brain." He paused for a moment before adding with a twinkle in his eye, "But there are certainly far worse ways to die.”

“We’re going to have to try again I suppose, since we obviously failed,” Your laughter bubbled up, a mixture of amusement and disbelief at the notion of your recent actions being deemed a 'failure.' It was almost comical to think that something as trivial as this could be considered a failure.

“Oh yes,” he replied with a smirk, “completely and utterly.” He agreed, “I suppose we’ll have to work on our discipline, won’t we?” Oh, how horrible.

“Later, I’m still hungry.”

“Was I not satisfying enough?” he teased, reaching over to pluck a juicy meiloorun fruit and hold it to your lips.

“Satisfaction is never a problem where you are concerned, Master. But if I’m going to have the strength to go for hours, I’ll need something more filling than fruit.”

You grinned and reached for another fruit, taking a bite before offering it to him. Obi-Wan took it from your hand and bit into it, his eyes never leaving yours as he chewed slowly. The sight was incredibly erotic and you couldn’t resist leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss once again.

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he drove his hips forward again, still buried deep inside you. The change in angle made you moan and your body tremble with pleasure.

"You need more filling you say?" he asked teasingly, his lips grazing yours in a tantalizing kiss.

“Master, please.” You moaned.

He brought another piece of fruit to your lips, then brought his lips to yours sharing the taste of the fruit. “Quite a messy eater you are.” He noted as the juice dribbled down your chin, he leaned forward with a flick of his tongue licking it up, “I think we’ll need a bath next, or maybe another shower.”

Was it good for you guys? Do me a solid and give me a reblog if you liked it so my stories can reach more Obi-Wan fans! Let me know your thoughts and give me a comment too and if you'd like to join my tallest and the Obi-Wan Swoon Squad, just let me know and you will be tagged in all my future Obi-Wasn/Reader inserts!

And a bit shoutout to my beta reader for this chapter @rivnedellshe's also writing some lovely Obi-Wan goodness so go chek her out!

#Obi-Wan Swoon Squad ASSEMBLE!! @pickleprickle @hereticpriest @December @burnthecheshirewitch @starvingbrokestudent @bad4amficideas @split-spectrum @imherefordeanandbones @aelfgiure @squeegeeweegerton. @j4desblurbs. @way-too-addicted-to-anime

If I made a mistake you're not looking to be on a taglist, my bad! Just let me know and I'll remove you! Have a lovely day!

[chuckeroo777]

Dungeon Meshi Volume 13 Part 2

Welcome back! Things are about to get crazy, so let's dive right in!

Is it any wonder the community unanimously decided this was Marcille's chimera-sona? She's cute, she's sky-fish adjacent, she has a flower crown (A hallmark of only the most mentally stable characters). What's not to love? And as Mithrun will agree, snake women are sexy.

Later, Kabru suspects Laios stumbled into saving the world, but my man was seriously planning six steps ahead. He came up with the ultimate plan to kill the ultimate monster.

Marcille is understandably upset that the lion stole her cool outfit. She wanted to show that to Falin later!

Nothing personal kid.

The demon isn't malevolent my ass. It knows what Mithrun wants. It just can't be assed to bother.

I know the right page is the important one, but oh my god. Laios, did you seriously doodle blueprints of your stupid "Falin lives in a hole now" plan? Did you seriously doodle your "female faligon" idea?

Anyway, as is tradition with ultimate chimera appearances, here is another one of my creatures!

I'll leave it to the viewer to try and figure out what inspired this freak.

Of course Laios' takeaway from the succubus was that Scyllas are cool. Fun fact, some of these details are actually relevant. The ability to change shape is apparently how he managed to return to human form, and the poop thing explains why New Melini is forested despite being underwater for 1000 years.

Marcille isn't even surprised at this point. Just deeply disappointed.

Toshiro, why are you smiling? Kabru, that looks more like awe than fear.

Bitch, I'm fabulous.

Marcille, you're the one who created the monster that vores people, that's it's whole job.

Don't worry Marcille. This disaster is due to an incredibly complex confluence of unpredictable events. In other words, it's everybody's fault! Hooray!

God, this is so funny.

Leave my boy alone! At least we can all agree the collar is cool.

Oh, that's a neat detail. Time is stopped for all the humans, but the monsters can still move.

When I first read this, I thought the plan was that now that the lion is in a finite body, we can eat it. Like, I thought that was how it was going to end as soon as they swapped. But Laios is way ahead of me.

Good to see the rest of the party came to the same conclusion I did. And Marcille's eyes are still on the prize.

Famous last words.

Rude.

Yeah, but we're expressing a desire regarding his treatment you raging douche-muffin. You're freaking infinite. We've seen you have the power to pacify monsters peacefully.

It's so fitting, that Laios, our favorite dog, saved the world by eating something he really shouldn't have.

👏Full Circle!👏

Oh Marcille. I'd have thought you'd have learned by now to have a little more faith in your brother-in-law.

Ah, dungeon food. To eat is the privilege of the living. There is no hierarchy.

That sounds like the words of a loser to me.

And that's it for volume 13! Didn't have as much to say as I thought I might. Guess this climax speaks for itself. What a powerful and thematic ending to the demon. See why I'm having trouble figuring out what direction to take my AU? Figuring out the changes to monster of the week chapters is easy. Figuring out how to do the big thematic battles against Thistle and the Demon are hard. It's hard to imagine anyone but Laios prevailing against such opponents.

Anyway, see you next time for the finale! Here, have a couple of extra Marcilles. I thought I would need more of them.

Cannibalism?

A precious image.

[katabasiseuphoriae]

Under the Night’s Veil

The night was deep — the kind of quiet darkness that only comes in the early hours of the morning when the world is still and time feels suspended. The clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM, with its soft, digital glow the only source of light in the room apart from the sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. I laid there, half-dreaming, when I heard the soft creak of the bedroom door opening. She was back.

I watched her silhouette move through the darkness, her form fuller and more voluptuous than ever. She had indulged again, sneaking down to the kitchen in the dead of night. My heart raced with anticipation and admiration as I realized just how much she must have eaten. The thought of her, alone in the kitchen, unable to resist the temptation of those two big bags of Doritos I grabbed on the way home, filled me with a thrilling confluence of arousal and affection.

She slipped into bed beside me, the mattress dipping under her newly added weight. I could feel the warmth of her body seeping through the covers, mingling with mine. My hand reached out instinctively, tracing the curve of her belly, now rounder and more pronounced. Her skin was soft and tight, a tangible testament to her late-night indulgence. She had eaten so much, beyond our carefully planned meals, and the evidence was right there, beneath my fingertips.

"You've been naughty," I whispered, my voice low and filled with admiration. She let out a soft, contented sigh, her hand covering mine on her belly.

"I couldn't help myself," she murmured, her voice laced with a mocking hint of embarrassment dominated by deep satisfaction.

My fingers continued to explore, pressing gently into her flesh, feeling the give of her newly added weight. I could almost sense the calories, the Doritos she couldn't resist, resting just beneath the surface. Her belly was slightly distended, a tangible testament to her recent indulgence. I couldn't help but smile, my breath slightly hitching as the ecstasy of arousal began to overwhelm me.

I moved my hand to cup her hip, feeling the added softness there too. My eyes roamed over her body, taking in the beautiful evidence of her growing appetite. Her thighs, fuller and more inviting, brushed against mine. Her breasts, heavier and more luscious, pressed against the fabric of her nightshirt. Every part of her was an exquisite reminder of her indulgence and our shared journey.

Leaning down, I kissed her gently, my lips trailing from her neck to her collarbone, then down to her chest. Her breath quickened under my touch, her skin warm and responsive. My hands roamed freely, savoring the fullness of her body, the way it felt more abundant, more womanly.

"You're perfect," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Every part of you is so beautiful, so irresistible."

Her eyes met mine, a mixture of vulnerability and profound recognition reflected in them. She leaned into my touch, her lips parting slightly as she let out a soft moan. I could feel her heart beating in sync with mine, our shared connection deepening with every touch, every caress.

As I gave her pleasure, my hands continued to explore the evidence of her gluttony, the softness that I found so entrancing and erotic. It was more than just physical; it was the embodiment of her trust in me, her willingness to embrace her desires, and the intimacy we shared in this journey.

In that moment, I felt a deep-rooted sense of love and fulfillment. She was mine, and I was hers, our bond strengthened by her every bite, her every indulgence. And as we lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, I knew that this journey was just beginning, and I couldn't wait to see where it would take us.

My first wg fic I’ll share here. Always open to suggestions if u got any !

-Kata

[nerevarswritingstuff]

Trouble Is a Friend - Chapter 32: Confluence - Wukong/Reader, Macaque/Reader, Macaque/Wukong/Reader, Macaque/Wukong - LEGO Monkie Kid [Archive of Our Own]

Slowly, ever so slowly, the chips fall where they must.

Chapter 32 of my fic Trouble Is a Friend is now up! Click on the link above to read the most recent chapter!

PLEASE NOTE THAT IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE EDITS TO THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS, YOU WILL BE CONFUSED IN THIS ONE. MAKE SURE TO RE-READ THROUGH THE OLDER CHAPTERS BEFORE READING THIS ONE.

New reader? Start here!

If you’d like to support me, consider buying me a coffee!

Rating: Mature (for violence and language) Characters: Reader, Original Characters, Tang (Monkie Kid), Qi Xiaotian | MK, Zhu Bajie | Pigsy (Monkie Kid), Red Son (Monkie Kid), Tieshan Gongzhu | Princess Iron Fan, Demon Bull King (Monkie Kid), Long Xiaojiao | Mei, Sun Wukong | Monkey King, Liu Er Mihou | Six-eared Macaque, Spider Queen (Monkie Kid), Nezha (Monkie Kid), Erlang Shen (Monkie Kid) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader-Insert, Reader is gender neutral, Reader wears suits and dresses because clothing has no gender, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Polyamory, What love triangle? They have two hands your honor, Emotional Baggage, Magic, Clairvoyance, Not Canon Compliant, I’ve seen canon and have elected to ignore almost all of it, Rated For Violence, I’m not kidding when I say this is a slow burn, We’re turning on the crock pot and letting this cook for the next week, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, //slaps roof of car This fic can fit SO MUCH TRAUMA IN IT, it’s about the hurt… it’s about the comfort AFTER the hurt… Fic Summary: “Hold on, firecracker. Have you heard this one yet?” You see a gentle sunrise of gold and red as Wukong’s eyes meet yours. His face softened, his other hand touching your arm, his thumb lightly tracing one of the scars. His voice was firm yet soft, grounding yet light as he spoke, “You’re safe.”

…

Oh.

He keeps going, “You’re safe here. You’re safe with Uncle. With MK. With Tang. With all of them. All these years being alone in the dark without a candle to light your way? I can see in the dark, and MK can too now! I’m sure Uncle’s got a match somewhere and all you gotta do is provide the candle.”

He scoots closer, taking both your hands now and keeping your gaze. “You. Are. Safe. Even if shit hits the fan, you will not be alone to pick up all these broken pieces anymore. I’m here. We all are.”

○○○

After years of running from your past and hiding your scars, you find relief in several wandering destinies that are intertwined with your own. And in return, you help two particularly stubborn stone monkeys find their own healing.

[sergeantelvis]

"Uptown Girl"

Summary: Love was hard, but loving someone from completely different worlds was even more difficult.

Warnings: None

Fic Type: Maybe a series, angst and fluff

A/N: My god I haven't posted in here in ages I would love to hear feed back about this story it was just something fun id come up with I mean it may just be a stand alone, remember English is not my first language please be kind!! <3

Memphis, Mississippi carried the weight of dreams on its shoulders, and in the dim glow of the neon lights, Elvis Presley found himself at the crossroads of ambition and reality. The sun had set, casting shadows over the town, as Elvis sat on the porch of his family's modest home, strumming his guitar with a weary heart.

The evening held a melody of its own—a symphony of distant hopes and the echoes of unfulfilled promises. Elvis, a young man with dreams as vast as the Mississippi itself, sat with his guitar cradled in his arms. His fingers danced over the strings, extracting a soulful tune that resonated with the melancholy of his weary heart.

In the dimming light, Elvis's features were a canvas painted with the struggles of a life not yet fully lived. His eyes, deep and reflective, held the weight of dreams that yearned to soar beyond the limitations of his circumstances. The chiseled contours of his face told a story of resilience, each line etched by the hardships he faced and the battles he fought.

As he strummed, the rhythmic cadence of his guitar became a companion to the rhythm of his thoughts. The glow of a cigarette tip illuminated his face in sporadic flashes, casting a fleeting spotlight on the complexity that lay within. Elvis Presley was not just a name; he was a confluence of passions and pains, a bridge between the simplicity of Tupelo and the grandeur of fame.

The porch, weathered and familiar, became a stage for Elvis's introspection. His voice, when he sang, was a raw, emotive force that seemed to unravel the layers of his soul. Each note carried the weight of the stories he'd lived and those still waiting to be written.

"You know you shouldn't be smokin', it's bad for ya" He heard in the background, a voice that he had heard a million times before. Sure enough, there she stood.

Elvis turned, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the dimness, to find Rory leaning against the porch railing. Her voice, a familiar melody that carried both affection and concern, had a way of grounding him even in the midst of his inner turmoil.

Rory, a vision of beauty with her tousled brunette hair and striking blue eyes, exuded a timeless elegance that seemed to transcend the boundaries of Memphis itself. Her presence brought a gentle calm to the turbulence in Elvis's soul, like a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainties.

Tall, but not towering, Rory possessed a grace in her stature that complemented the poise in her every movement. Her eyes, the colour of a tranquil summer sky, held a depth that mirrored the vastness of the Mississippi, and Elvis often found himself losing track of time within their depths.

She wore a simple, yet alluring, ensemble—a vintage floral dress that swayed with the evening breeze. The soft fabric clung to her frame, accentuating the curves that made her presence in Elvis's world a captivating masterpiece.

As she approached, the porch's feeble light painted a chiaroscuro on her features, accentuating the subtle lines of her face. A gentle smile played on her lips, a mixture of love and concern that spoke volumes. Rory's beauty was not just skin deep; it was in the way she cared, the way she understood the complexities of Elvis's journey.

"Elvis, you're letting the weight of the world get to ya," Rory said, her voice a soothing melody. She reached for his hand, gently prying the cigarette from his fingers and extinguishing it on the porch railing.

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as he met her gaze. "Rory, sometimes it feels like the world's closing in on me."

She nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the struggles they faced together. "You're not alone, Elvis. We'll face whatever comes our way, just like always."

As Elvis took Rory's hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, they stepped through the weathered front door of the Presley home. The familiar scent of home, a comforting blend of Gladys's home-cooked meals and the subtle hint of tobacco, enveloped them. Elvis's mother, Gladys, was in the kitchen, her silhouette framed by the warm light filtering through the curtains.

"Mama, we're home," Elvis called out, the affection in his voice resonating through the walls.

Gladys turned, her eyes lighting up as she caught sight of Rory standing beside Elvis. Her warm smile transformed the room, radiating maternal love. "Well, if it ain't our favorite girl. Rory, dear, come give your Mama Gladys a hug."

Rory embraced Gladys with genuine affection, feeling the warmth of a motherly love that had embraced her since she moved to Memphis at the tender age of ten. Elvis's father, Vernon, appeared from the living room, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he welcomed them.

"Elvis, son, how's my boy?" Vernon greeted, clapping Elvis on the back.

Elvis chuckled, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Surviving, Daddy. Surviving."

Gladys, with her nurturing spirit, ushered them into the cozy living room where the scent of a freshly brewed pot of coffee lingered. The room, adorned with family photographs and Elvis's burgeoning accolades, echoed with the shared history of joy and sorrow.

As they settled on the worn-out couch, Gladys, perceptive as ever, studied her son's weary expression. "Elvis, what's weighin' on your mind, honey?"

Elvis exchanged a glance with Rory, a silent understanding passing between them. Rory spoke up, "We just wanted to share some time with y'all, maybe lighten the load a bit."

Gladys's eyes softened with gratitude. "Oh, Rory, you're always a breath of fresh air. We're lucky to have you in our lives."

Vernon, a man of few words but immense warmth, nodded in agreement. The room, filled with the embrace of familial love, became a sanctuary from the world outside.

As the evenings unfolded in the Presley household, Gladys and Vernon couldn't help but exchange knowing glances when it came to Elvis and Rory. The unspoken connection between the two was evident, a palpable tension that hovered beneath the surface of their shared laughter and easy camaraderie. Gladys, with her motherly intuition, often found herself stealing glimpses at the young couple, her heart yearning for a love she believed was destined.

Vernon, equally astute, sensed the uncharted territories of their feelings. Over dinner conversations and shared moments in the living room, the couple often found themselves exchanging subtle smiles, their eyes speaking volumes that words dared not articulate. It was as if the universe itself was orchestrating a symphony of emotions, waiting for the right moment to unfold.

However, as fate often played its cards, both Elvis and Rory remained prisoners of their own unspoken desires. Fear of jeopardizing their friendship, the uncertainty of the future, and the weight of expectations shackled them from confessing the feelings that stirred within. Each stolen glance and every lingering touch carried the unspoken question of "what if," yet neither dared to breach the fragile wall that separated them.

The air became charged with anticipation as Gladys playfully suggested, "You know, Elvis, Rory's been such a dear to us. Maybe it's time you two consider something more."

Elvis, caught off guard by the directness of his mother's matchmaking, felt a blush creeping up his neck. He exchanged a quick, embarrassed glance with Rory, who, in turn, was equally taken aback. The pressure of the unspoken tension amplified as Gladys continued, "Y'all make such a lovely couple. Maybe it's time to admit what's been staring you in the face."

Vernon, chiming in with a twinkle in his eye, added, "Ain't nothing wrong with followin' your heart, son."

The atmosphere became charged with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Elvis, feeling the weight of the situation, finally snapped, "Enough! Can't we have a family dinner without turnin' it into a matchmaking session?!"

Gladys and Vernon, momentarily stunned by Elvis's outburst, exchanged a glance of realization. The laughter that once echoed through the room now lingered in awkward silence. Elvis, realizing the impact of his words, sighed and softened his tone, "I love you both, but can we just enjoy our time together without pushin' for something more?"

The tension that lingered in the air after Elvis's outburst settled into an uneasy quietude. The clinking of utensils against plates echoed in the dining room, punctuating the strained atmosphere. Elvis, acutely aware of the shift, stole glances at Rory, whose eyes reflected a mixture of empathy and curiosity.

Gladys, with her intuitive nature, decided to break the palpable silence. "Elvis, dear, we just want you to be happy. Dixie's a nice girl, but we can't help but think that maybe there's something more you're not saying."

Vernon, cautiously choosing his words, added, "Rory's been a part of our lives for so long. We can see the way you both look at each other. It's like there's a story waiting to unfold and plus you aren't even goin' steady with that Dixie Girl."

Elvis, his gaze dropping to his plate, hesitated before responding, "Dixie's a good person, Mama. I care about her a lot."

Rory, feeling the weight of the conversation, spoke up with a supportive smile, "Elvis, we're just concerned about you. We want to see you happy, whether it's with Dixie or someone else."

The conversation swirled in a sea of unspoken emotions, each word carrying the weight of unexplored possibilities. Elvis's mind, however, wrestled with the unspoken truth—that Dixie was a comfort, a safety net, but Rory held the key to a love he yearned for but feared losing.

As the evening progressed, the subtle tension lingered, overshadowing the shared laughter and warmth that once defined the Presley family dinners. The unsaid words and the undercurrents of unspoken love painted the room in hues of complexity, leaving Elvis at the intersection of his emotions.

After the dinner's echoes had faded, and the Presley household settled into a quiet evening, Elvis and Rory found themselves on the porch, bathed in the gentle glow of a single porch light. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension, the residue of the family dinner still lingering in the atmosphere.

They sat side by side, a cautious space between them that mirrored the uncharted territory of their conversation. The soft hum of cicadas and the distant rustle of leaves added a gentle soundtrack to the evening as they hesitated, unsure of where to begin.

Finally, Rory broke the silence, her voice a delicate whisper in the quiet night, "Elvis, about what happened at dinner..."

Elvis, his gaze fixed on the flickering porch light, sighed. "I'm sorry, Rory. I didn't mean to snap like that. It's just... complicated."

She nodded, her eyes searching his face for answers. "Your parents care about you, Elvis. They just want you to be happy. And I want that for you too, you know?"

The porch held a hesitancy, an unspoken tension that lingered in the wake of their earlier conversation. Elvis, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, broke the silence with an awkward cough. "Rory, about dinner… I didn't mean to snap like that. It's just, with my parents always trying to set me up with you, it gets overwhelming."

Rory nodded, her gaze fixated on the distant glow of city lights. "I get it, Elvis. It must be tough, especially when you care about someone."

He sighed, the weight of the unspoken truth pressing on his shoulders. "Yeah, Dixie's a nice girl. She really likes me, you know? Maybe it's a good thing, having someone who cares."

Rory's eyes flickered with a mixture of understanding and curiosity. "Elvis, do you like her?"

He hesitated, his gaze searching for the right words. "I mean, she's great, Rory. Really great. And it's nice having someone who's into me, you know? But sometimes, I wonder…"

Rory sensed the doubt in his voice, the undercurrent of something unspoken. "Wonder what?"

Elvis, unknowingly slipping into the truth he hadn't intended to reveal, rambled on, "I wonder if I'm just settling. She's nice and all, but there's someone else who's always been there. Someone I can't seem to get out of my mind, I mean when I started liking you I thought I was out of my mind that's why talked to dixie I know it was harsh but hey it was guaranteed"

The words hung in the air, a raw vulnerability laid bare. Elvis's eyes, clouded with self-doubt, missed the shift in Rory's expression. She leaned in, capturing his gaze with a depth that conveyed both tenderness and longing. "Elvis, you're wrong."

Before he could comprehend her words, Rory bridged the gap between them, pressing her lips against his in a kiss that spoke volumes. Time seemed to stand still as the world around them faded into insignificance. The porch, the city lights, and the weight of unspoken words dissipated in the tender connection they had long yearned for.

Elvis, initially stunned, felt the warmth of Rory's lips against his, a revelation that eclipsed any doubt that had clouded his mind. As the kiss deepened, the universe seemed to align in a symphony of emotions. The subtle taste of vulnerability and the familiarity of shared history melded into a moment that transcended the porch, the city, and the complexities of their friendship.

Rory, breaking the kiss but maintaining the closeness, whispered, "Elvis, I've always cared about you too."

The realization dawned on him, the clarity cutting through the fog of uncertainty. "Rory, I… I never thought…"

She smiled, a gentle reassurance that held the promise of unexplored possibilities. "Maybe it's time we stop overthinking and see where this takes us."

As they sat on the porch, their hands finding each other in the quiet aftermath of the kiss, the world around them became a canvas painted with the hues of a newfound connection. The city lights shimmered in approval, and the night seemed to whisper the beginning of a love story that had patiently awaited its revelation.

"Oh fuck, I just kissed my best friend"

[theangelcatalogue]

It's always " I love you! " but never

" Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune

For merely dreaming we were snow

A siren sounds like the goddess who

Promises endless apologies of paradise

And only she can make it right

So things are different tonight

We'll go together in flight

It's now and never

A reverie endeavor

Awaits somnambulant directives

To take the helm

Believe me, darling

The stars were made for falling

Like melting obelisks

As tall as another realm

Un ensemble d'enfants

La galaxie s'étend

Jardin de l'imagination

Combler la lacune

Voler face à la lune

Vois comme nous évoluons

It feels like flying

But maybe we're dying

A cosmic confluence of

Pyramids hologrammed

She knows you heard her

Staging music murder

In line before the show began

To be where I am

Children born of one emotion

Our devotion's deepest ocean

No division reasoned we'll be free

To know

We are beyond a bow

And lo, the hues arrange to show

It's perfectly clear

You look quite divine tonight

Here among these vibrant lights

Pure delights surround us as we sail

Signed, yours truly, the whale

Joy mirage's kingdom come

No one left at stake

Now that existence is on the wake

Let's see what we can make

The part is wholly ending

A line in any final song

So long, so far

We will be atoning

At last eternal through the past

Above a blinding star

Bye, hi

Sigh, Hawaii

We never meant to part

Sublime, thy art

One light

Higher than the sun

Invisible to some

Until it's time "

[opencommunion]

"Since Israel imposed the siege and blockade over the Gaza Strip in 2007, the coastal territory has served as an especially contested frontier in the assault on Palestinian childhood. Children in Gaza as young as six years old have already lived through three wars. For those under six years of age, war conditions due to Israeli invasions are more normal than the relative periods of quiet between the assaults. During Israel’s assault on Gaza in the summer of 2014, more than 120 Palestinian families lost 3 or more family members. The assault included constant aerial and naval bombardment and a ground invasion that resulted in the death of more than 2,100 Palestinian Gazans. The great majority of those killed were civilians, about 551 of whom were children. Only a few years before, the 2008–2009 Operation Cast Lead had claimed the lives of more than 300 Palestinian children in Gaza. The war against Gazans, as against all Palestinians, is a colonial war, in which the colonized are not perceived to share the same humanity as their colonizers, and therefore traumatizing, maiming, and killing them and their children have no ethical consequence: 'we lose any hint or suggestion of a dimension of ethics, of relatedness between human personality and its anatomical features.' Such terror inflicted by the colonial power is not confined to a single type of violence (such as bombardments), but rather is a multiplicity of violent acts that maim and wound the flesh, injure the social body, and maintain that the body should die. Thus the state’s terror and its multiplicity of violent crimes produce an industry of killability of the unwanted and unregistered, of the already-dead.

In Gaza, the Israeli state controls the ability of Palestinians to stay alive and maintains its 'right to maim' by withholding food, water, electricity, building materials, and access to medical care, education, and freedom of movement; the state maintains the right to keep the Palestinians of Gaza caged and in a dying mode. ... Israel’s narrative distortion of violence – its redefinition of this violence as self-protection and a security necessity and identifying its victims as casualties of war – evicts Gazan children from the protection of law and transforms their bodies into legitimate targets of state violence.

... This formula allows the Israeli state to abuse, exploit, maim, and exterminate children in Gaza without legal recourse or global political ramifications, let alone punishments. The process of settler colonialism, its structural dispossession and its contemporary violence, have pushed Palestinian children into the space of the as-if human while simultaneously insisting on their nonhumanness so as to unchild them. There is no framework of justice in which Gaza’s children can be placed; racialized targeting that accompanies the settlers’ violence precludes the possibility of justice. This confluence of racial thinking exterminability that Palestinian children inhabit. The data and analysis provided in this chapter propose a paradigm to read the Israeli state’s violence in Gaza as genocidal in nature. ... In the laboratory of destruction, the violence that is inflicted on children is stripped of its gravity. The narrative becomes a clinical one about ballistics and forensics, a whirlwind of political, militaristic, and legal jargon rather than about the child who was harmed or killed, all in their insistence to unchild them."

Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Incarcerated Childhood and the Politics of Unchilding (2019)

[targcrazies]

Moonless, Dark Night. Pt. 6

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC!Strong (half Targaryen) Words: 3.2k+ Warnings: Violence and Graphic Descriptions, Emotional Distress, Mature (ish) themes, Mentions of Self-Harm and Su*cide, Adult Language, Incest.

This chapter has spoilers from the actual Fire & Blood storyline and sm*t

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

9th Day of 7th Moon, 126 AC.

He found me behind the large, looming bar of bricks in our new grand apartment, his fingers grazing my waist before I winced in surprise and broke into a run. It rained outside and breezed speedily, a rarity in King’s Landing. The air tingled on the skin like gentle kisses and the smell of soil overtook every Dornish incense. The night melted onto the earth as the shower stole the humid air of the day earlier, when he and I had been wed. What a grand day it was, only second to Aegon’s weddings! Despite the grandeur, the joy, and the successful confluence as such; the heat was unbearable. We all drank honeyed wine and ate so little. The rest of the food was dutifully distributed among the smallfolks. Their joy was insurmountable and they all promised to pray endlessly for my and my husband’s welfare.

My husband! What a delight to call him so! He is finally mine. And whilst he always felt mine, there was always this qualm that held my tongue in place. But now, I shall call him mine before the whole realm. My husband, my Aemond, my Prince, my Bejeweled Prince! And, no one shall ever have the nerve to object. He is mine and mine alone and none but he and I are each other’s. 

So, when we retired to our new apartment after a whole day of festivities, Aemond having vehemently refused to let anyone bear witness to our “bedding”, saying, “Oh, she and I will bed alright. You needn’t watch us for you will hear us. Now leave!” I must have turned ten shades of red but he seemed upright and everyone fled shortly. I was honestly grateful and even though we were not exactly living up to the promise he had made, I could not care less!

As we had unclothed down to our shifts, the rain began with a thunderous vigour! The strong, mighty rain took down, with the clouds, almost all the candles. The only source of light was the lightning then, which was awfully, conveniently frequent. I requested my husband to let all the smallfolks who had come to congratulate us for our wedding in, to allow them respite and warmth alongside food. My dearest husband found my notion kind and followed through. I know that the castle does not hold every smallfolk in King’s Landing now, but I feel at peace that it holds many!

My husband had then come in with the expectation to find me totally bare, his eye gave it all away when he found me still in my shift. I took a ribbon of mine and blindfolded him, I asked him to play with me, and my dear husband followed through! Again!

He touched my arm, belly, back, hair SO MANY TIMES. But, each and every time, I ran! It was dark and then light, both of us failing to ascertain accurately where the other one was. However, that is the thrill of it! The sheer fun of it! I knew that I was tiring the man out. If Lady Cass were in my place, she’d fear exhausting her husband out of their bedding. But, honestly, the idea of bedding scared me sort of; even though Rhaenyra told me everything to expect and anticipate, to say yes and no, to ensure that I experienced optimum pleasure myself. 

Finally, I think, my husband had caught on to my antics, for his arms wrapped around my bosom so tightly that I could not twist myself out of his grasp. He called me his ‘dearest wife’ and his ‘impish wife’; before turning me to face him! I was ‘his’ as he was ‘mine’. I was so pleased that I took the ribbon of his eye myself and told him that he had won, he had won it all. The game, my life, my all – he took me in his arms and made me feel so small but so whole, so VERY WHOLE. He hadn’t touched me so in so long! We had been betrothed but he hadn’t even kissed me. He teased and teased and teased. I didn’t know what to say or do. I didn’t know what to mention here! What was I to say? My betrothed touched my lips and leaned closer to say there were bits of eggs on my lips? Or that my betrothed had me pitted against a bookshelf with his giant body to only pick out a book and hit me on my head with it? Or HOW his foot would always find its way on top of mine but he ALWAYS pretended that he did NO SUCH THING?

And then, HE KISSED ME. Finally, FINALLY. I felt so… floaty. My feet couldn’t feel the ground underneath. There was nothing but clouds. I was so taken by his kiss that I held on to him for DEAR LIFE and he laughed in the kiss. My heart felt so heavy from the fullness and wholeness that I could have cried. When we stopped kissing and he looked at me, the sky had cleared up and the moon shone upon the earth so brightly. And it kissed his face for how else did it seem so beautiful? I don’t know, I couldn’t. My husband is a beautiful man. A true Valyrian dragon-riding Prince. He is so very beautiful that I always fawn. However, last night, one would only have to see him themselves to understand exactly what and HOW I mean it when I say that HE LOOKED SO VERY BEAUTIFUL that my CHEST HURT. It felt like someone had knocked the air out of me when he smiled at me. Oh, his smile. His happy, calm, loving smile. My dear, dear husband. My heart, my love, my dearest sweet husband.

I don’t know why or how I had the notion, but I said, “You have not played with me in so long. Tonight, we shall play more.” He looked at me so befuddled, and I shoved his arms off me and ran off, told him to catch me. The white curtains flapped and flew into the wind and I, like a child, ran all around them and shoved them into his face and obstructed his running! He, for once, did not express any irritation if he felt any. He laughed and called my name with such love and ran for me! Anyone who says he is a grump and irritable, I wish they could see him with me. He has so much love for me and ONLY ME. I feel so special!

He finally caught me when I got myself hopelessly tangled in one of the curtains. He laughed at me and asked me if I was alright. He helped me untangle and CARRIED ME TO THE BED, OUR BED. He meant business, I say, WHOLE BUSINESS. He was so gentle with me, assuaging all my fears and filling me so comfortably. It felt so wrong to not have done this before, to not have had him in me. He fit me like a glove! It was so perfect and divine and warm and… titillating, if I may say! He was so wonderful. He kissed me everywhere. He put his all into ensuring that I felt the most wonderful! His hands and his mouth are magical! They hold every magical thing in this world! I felt like I’ve experienced the world and beyond last night in his arms!

My dear husband! My wonderfully dear husband! I will never let anyone come between us. No Lady Cass, no Lord Hightower, no Queen! He’s mine and I am his. Oh dear, I am in utmost bliss! I am enthralled by my dear husband. Oh, how he loves. How he loves me!

Aemond had stolen her old journal after their marriage had soured toward the beginning of the war. He often placated himself with it, despite knowing the wrongdoing in breaching her privacy. He loved his wife, he did, dearly. But oftentimes, he’d find her brooding, in this quiet, stagnant rage. She’d be as cold as iced steel, her gaze giving away so little that he felt like his soul was being torn to shreds whenever her eyes would deliberately seek him out. Her lips, straight and unwavering, remained so. He often wondered how it was possible for someone capable of such exuberant warmth to be driven with mad, critical rage. 

She’d either yell, scream, and drain herself of the venomous anger. Or, she’d let it brew her soul bitter, the smell of charred flesh wrecking up the abode. This time, she was somehow angry enough to have yelled so much that she brewed darker than ever. She was Strong, in name, and in temper. Thus, it really helped to have a remnant of her uncorrupted warmth in his hold, even if it was wholly wrong.

“Why husband? If you have nothing to hide, why don’t you seat yourself beside me like the dear husband you are? I must interrogate Alys Rivers regarding how she’s exploited the kindness shown to her.” She was aware that despite his regular constraint, he’d be even more so, given her state. She was taking advantage of it.

“Of course, Lady Wife. I have nothing to hide, at all.” Aemond took a big gulp of his wined honey, knowing better than to refuse her then. He waited for a while, keen upon knowing the whereabouts of Alys yet adamant on not making any inquiry on the matter himself.

After ten or so minutes, Alys was brought before them by Larys. The brother had taken it upon himself to attend to every whim of his sister. Aemond knew what the man thought. With both of Aegon’s sons having passed, Aemond was heir to the throne. With Aegon’s supposed injury, he might be left unable to produce any more heirs of his own. If Aemond were to have sons, he’d have a strong claim to the throne following Aegon. The one deserving of the Iron Throne, Aemond himself, could one day sit upon the Iron Throne. He’d have the woman he loved beside him, and that’d strengthen him and his reign. 

“Alys, I hope you’ve slept well.” Her voice interrupted his trail of thoughts. He daren’t look at the woman before him, he needn’t worsen her chances of a pardon.

“Maam, it was cold and unkempt. I slept not much at all.” Alys sniffed, indicating having caught a cold. “Must I ask why I was detained so abruptly?”

“Alys, I will ask you, plain and clear. If you like your comfort and do not want to be in loss of it, could you clarify what has been going on between you and my Husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen?” Sansa’s voice was without any emotion, leaving little for anyone to assume of her mind. She spoke the way a neutral adjudicator would, without having anything to gain or lose from the outcome of the situation. 

“Why Lady Strong, nothing at all!” Alys looked at the Prince, scouring for mercy and attention. She found none. “I have only been a loyal, faithful servant to the Prince.”

“And serve him you did!” Sansa laughed dryly, “My husband says you’ve been a true companion, holding intriguing conversations, providing politically astute advice, even having visions in his favour?” Sansa aptly raised a single eyebrow, “That consists more than I have done for my husband in the nineteen years I’ve been his companion myself.”

Alys stood tall, “My Lady, the Prince and I have had limited interactions that have consisted almost entirely of the current dispute. My loyalties align with King Aegon the Second and the Prince’s cause.”

“Hmm,” Sansa took a sip of her watered down wine, “How old were you again, Alys?”

The hostage seemed the most alarmed at the inquiry, “Yes, my Lady?”

“I remember you being good looking even when I was young myself. It’s like you haven’t aged a day from when you were a wetnurse to Harwin Strong, my deceased older brother?”

Alys’s eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion, “My Lady, you are mistaken. I might be old, yes, but not old enough to have let your brother suckle on my teat. We were childhood companions!”

“You’ve had your share of companions, I see.” Sansa leaned forward, “That makes you what, Alys, three-and-forty, or four-and-fourty?”

“My Lady, I am barely a day over forty.” Her voice was low then, her eyes stuck on Sansa’s feet. 

Sansa looked at her brother, who nodded in response. “That is more believable, I suppose, than the age my husband thought you were.” There was a devious chuckle in her voice, “He thought you were thirty, my innocent husband.”

Aemond’s eye stung with tears. He looked up at Alys for only a moment or two to find her face contorted in utter hurt and humiliation. “I apologise for the lie I told, my Lady.”

Sansa cocked her head to the side, “How about the lies you told a moment ago?”

“My Lady,” Alys looked close to tears, “I don’t understand.”

“Oh dearest, you do.” Sansa slowly nodded, “The Seven Kingdoms are in a state of war, which puts me in an awfully compromising position. I cannot send you anywhere to serve, fitting your status. And, you’re not highborn enough to be allowed to stay anywhere else as a guest.” Aemond’s chest burned as Sansa went on, “You will be designated to one of the chambers, which we shall conceal for very obvious reasons,” She cast a look at her husband, so incisive that Aemond had to look her way. She smiled. “You will not be allowed out of your chamber. Your chamberpot will be cleaned every night, your meals will be provided duly. Your garments and linens will be washed and provided duly. However, if I hear a peep of your attempts of escaping or conversing with anyone who’s not accessorising your captivity, I will have your tongue.” She then turned to her brother with a gentle smile, “Take her away, brother, you know where.”

Aemond watched his wife’s shoulder fall to rest as her brother followed her command. She took a generous bite of her bread, chewing heartily. She casted a glance towards her husband’s plate, “Dearest husband, your bread looks awfully dry.” She pushed hers away and took his, slathering fatty, molten butter and coating the bread with sugar, “This will fill you right up and help you prepare for the sacking of more villages here.” She raised the bread to his lips, and he had no option but to do as she expected of him.

“I should have known better,” He thought to himself, “Bitch Rhaenyra is her favourite cousin, after all.” 

Sansa knew that she was preying on Aemond’s vulnerability, however, she could not find it within herself, the kindness to let him be. He may deny till his last breath, but she knew what he had done. He had betrayed her trust and gone to bed with another woman. There was no forgiving for a crime so shameful. She knew he loved her, she saw it in his eyes, plain and clear. He should have just been more mindful of his love and maintained loyalty.

As time went by, her belly grew. Aemond refused to stay at Harrenhal for long after the Battle by the Lakeshore, being aware that his uncle could strike at any given moment. Criston left for King’s Landing and Aemond took Sansa with him to stay in castles belonging to minor lords whose loyalties lied with the greens, atop Vhagar she saw the world and wished her child had no need to be born under such circumstances. She felt more lethargic with time, her cravings becoming more queer and severe. She wrote ravens back at Harrenhal and checked in on Alys every once in a while. She made sure that Wylla, one of the girls down in the kitchen and her brother were the only ones aware of Alys’s whereabouts. She wished she could punish her husband instead of the woman who owed her little loyalty, however, the war had laid out constraints. Despite the frequent travelling, Aemond had ensured her utmost comfort, seeing to all her needs and whims being attended to the best of their abilities. News of Criston’s demise at the Butcher’s Ball reached them shortly after and Sansa could not conceal her glee. The man had dipped toes in unnecessary business, she thought, he had it coming. The babe in her belly stirred.

“I cannot wait for the birth of our son, my dearest, then your suffering shall come to an end, too.” Aemond visited Sansa after she had thrown up whatever little supper she had had, “We will name our son together.”

“What if it’s a girl, Aemond?” Sansa sipped on warm tea, trying to calm her nerves as she breathed in its floral scent.

“That’d be jolly news as well, dear wife.” Aemond responded, “We can think of names for both a son and a daughter, if you so desire.”

“What’s the point?” Sansa casted her eyes away from her husband, taking the large moon in, “It’s all pointless.”

“You mustn’t speak like that, Sansa.” His voice softened, “Dearest, do you want to know what name I’ve considered?”

“What?” She wanted to get it all over with.

“Baelon, after our grandfather.” Aemond beamed with pride.

“Did you know that Grandfather was cold to my mother?” Sansa began, “He couldn’t stand the sight of her, said it reminded him of his betrayal to a wife who had died when he had slept with my wretched grandmother. If it weren’t for Uncle Viserys and Uncle Daemon, my Mother would have been miserable.” 

“I am certain Grandfather loved aunt Visenya,” Aemond kept his hand on hers, “They say that she was the last person whom he desired to see as he passed. Aunt Visenya was a Targaryen through and through. It was hard to not fall in love with her.”

“You were so cold to my Mother until her passing,” Sansa recalled, “She tried her earnest to speak with you, to look after you, to be there for you after your injury. She felt so thwarted. She did not deserve to suffer such humiliation.” Sansa sighed with a heavy heart.

“I was… I was not pleasant at that time and I was-”

“You have no respect for my Mother at all, do you? You kept your mistress in her bedchamber…” Sansa swallowed, “It’s one thing to be unfaithful, dear, it’s another to choose my Mother’s apartment for it.”

Aemond’s eye became glassy, “Dearest, you mis-”

“I do not misunderstand, Aemond. I am neither a child nor a fool. I saw what I saw and I heard what I heard. You haven’t needed me how you needed her then in long.” Sansa could not keep her voice from breaking as she thought of how much she missed being able to cradle her husband’s face on her lap.

“You haven’t allowed me such intimacy for a while now, dear wife. You must remember how you rejected me.” Aemond interjected, “The fact that you are with child is an accidental lapse on your part. You couldn’t look at me in the face the next morning…” Aemond looked away, gulping back snot. 

“You were so happy with that crown on you,” Sansa recalled, “You could not fathom how the crown looked better on you than anyone you’d ever seen. You couldn’t stop yourself from remarking how Rhaenyra would look like a fat cow wearing gold. It disgusted me to think that this was the man I had made love to the night before.”

Aemond sat before her quietly before he looked up at her face, “We’re at war. It makes us do things and say things that we are not exactly proud of-”

“You admit you’re in the wrong?”

“Dearest, we’re all in the wrong.” 

For the first time in long, Sansa found a remnant of her old husband in Aemond’s words and his gaze. “I miss you, my love. I miss you so badly.”

“Then, let me in. Please, I beg you. Let us be how we once were. I am so tired of not being able to hold you and touch you as I will, as my heart wills, dearest.” Aemond had left his chair and knelt before her. He took her hands in his and found her eyes, “I promise to be loyal and attentive. All my love, my heart, everything- it’s all yours, dearest. Please, let go of the grievances. I love you, I have always loved only you. And now,” he put his hand on her belly, “Our child grows within you, a symbol of our love.”

“You cannot complain if the child is a girl, I can’t make promises about what child I give birth to. I do not desire that level of pressure on myself.”

“Of course, dearest. Whatever child, girl or boy, will be dearest to me. You could give me ten girls and I’d rejoice. I don’t need a son, I need you, Sansa.” 

He rested his head on her belly gently, kissing there. His eyes shifted to her bosom, more ample than he remembered inside her shift. He knew that she was watching him, but he could not resist burying his face on her left tit, his lips kissing there gently. He felt her relax beneath him, her soft sigh encouraging. He planted soft kisses all over her bosom, his mouth then seeking refuge at the skin beyond her shift. Her soft sighs became breathier, her fingers holding onto his silver locks.

That night, they made love. He took her from behind, allowing her to rest on her side as he thrust into her passionately, his hands touching and caressing whatever he could find in his hold. His mouth peppered her shoulder and neck with gentle kisses. Before he knew it, she had gotten on top of him, ready to mount him in passion. She looked beautiful, he thought, swollen breasts and belly from his child, her skin glowed as her raven black hair fell over her beautiful lilac eyes. She took his hands and moved her hips fluidly, her eyes never leaving his as soft moans escaped her lips. He laid her on her back and positioned himself appropriately, chasing his high as her face contorted slightly in pleasure. She had forgotten to let go with him, he realised. His thumb located her small bud, pressing at it exactly how he remembered her liking. A cry emerged from her throat, his name, some swears. She stopped him, held onto the headboard and turned her back to his as she positioned herself on her knees. He entered her from behind, bending forward to meet her mouth in a passionate, fierce kiss.

She fell asleep as soon as he licked her to her peak after having achieved his own. Her lips were red and swollen, small bruises left on her shoulders and neck. She slept peacefully in his arms, breathing gently. He was rather drowsy himself, but he feared so much that she would change her mind in the morning and he’d not be able to touch her again like this, let alone kiss her and hug her.

His worst fear remained so, for she had evidently tired of their distance as well and chosen to let go, for then. She was warmer with him, and despite not being able to achieve the love and closeness they shared before the war, he found joy in thinking that they were making good progress. He also realised, after a few fortnights had passed, that he hadn’t even thought of Alys even once.

Sansa grew everyday with the babe. The Maesters said that the child must be in great health, pointing out how the closeness between the husband and wife must be contributing strongly to the child’s growing strength. Larys would often be found cooing to his sister’s belly, her laughter erupting like music in the air. However, he had to leave soon as well, and despite his not telling Sansa where, she knew that he had left to be with Aegon. She had plenty of lamb and goat, feasting on many fruits as well. Aemond was happy to be able to provide her with comfort. He could tell, however, that despite her being more joyful in recent times, she could not help but find her belly rather humbling, her exhaustion catching up to her at the realisation that she hadn’t even half the help she would have had were the situations different, normal. He tried to be there as much as possible. At times, he forgot about the war. It somehow comforted him.

One morning he awoke and found the space beside him empty. Sansa stood by the door with a parchment in her hands, trembling slightly. Aemond hadn’t seen her so distressed in long. He shot up from the bed, rushing beside his wife. “Dearest, what has happened?”

“It’s- it’s from Daemon.” Sansa muttered, “The letter states that you killed Uncle Simon and my little cousins… is that true, Aemond?” Aemond had concealed the news of their killings, and Larys had complied, agreeing that it would be harmful for Sansa’s health. She was told that they all had managed to flee successfully. 

“They died in the ambush, my dear. Forgive-”

She put a hand up to his face, “No,” she grimaced, “I’m tired of apologies. You are fighting your war.” She breathed in her whole chest full before breathing out, “My house shall not survive this war and fade into oblivion.”

“You’re a Targaryen-”

“I am a Strong first, Aemond.” She did not look at him as she shoved the parchment into his chest before walking toward the bed, “Uncle wants to meet you.”

“What?”

“He’s now in Harrenhal, where he found out about your massacre. He is challenging you to a duel, Aemond, one on one.”

“Yes…” Aemond walked up to his wife, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“What will you do, dearest?” Sansa looked up at her husband, her eyes were bloodied with tears streaming down her face. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart.

“I don’t believe I have the luxury to say no, my love.” Aemond put his hand on her head. She stared at him quietly for a few moments before breaking down in tears, her body dropping to the ground below. He bent down beside her, hugging her, trying to soothe her from her pain. She spoke through her tears, muffled from the impact of her grievous cry. “Dearest, I can’t understand you.” He removed her hair sprawled across her face.

“You will die, Aemond. He will kill you. He will kill you.”

[brinconvenient]

(original ebay listing located here)

I just think this is super neat! By a weird confluence of my recent ebay search history, this listing is the very first thing I saw in the "You may be interested in" feed and, boy howdy, let me tell you! I SURE WAS INTERESTED!

Apparently, in the late 90s, Nintendo and Singer partnered to release this cool little embroidery sewing machine called the Izek. You could use the Game Boy Color to command the Izek to create embroidery patterns that came with the Game Pak or you could create your own!

I was poor, so I never had a Game Boy nor a Game Boy Color, but the only first-party peripherals I really remember for them were the terrible camera, the terrible printer and maybe the card reader (though that might have been for the Game Boy Advanced, idk - I didn't have that one either).

I love that the Izek existed, though. I love that Nintendo has historically had some just batshit, barely-functional peripherals (See: Power Pad, Power Glove, Super Scope 6, DK Bongos, etc).

If you leave a playing card company alone for over a century, it will create its own enrichment. I just love that.

[askbillchiper]

Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune

For merely dreaming we were snow

A siren sounds like the goddess who

Promises endless apologies of paradise

And only she can make it right

So things are different tonight

We'll go together in flight

It's now and never

A reverie endeavor

Awaits somnambulant directives

To take the helm

Believe me, darling

The stars were made for falling

Like melting obelisks

As tall as another realm

Un ensemble d'enfants

La galaxie s'étend

Jardin de l'imagination

Combler la lacune

Voler face à la lune

Vois comme nous évoluons

It feels like flying

But maybe we're dying

A cosmic confluence of

Pyramids hologrammed

She knows you heard her

Staging music murder

In line before the show began

To be where I am

Children born of one emotion

Our devotion's deepest ocean

No division reasoned we'll be free

To know

We are beyond a bow

And lo, the hues arrange to show

It's perfectly clear

You look quite divine tonight

Here among these vibrant lights

Pure delights surround us as we sail

Signed, yours truly, the whale

Joy mirage's kingdom come

No one left at stake

Now that existence is on the wake

Let's see what we can make

The part is wholly ending

A line in any final song

So long, so far

We will be atoning

At last eternal through the past

Above a blinding star

Bye, hi

Sigh, Hawaii

We never meant to part

Sublime, thy art

One light

Higher than the sun

Invisible to some

Until it's time

:3

-spiral creature🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀

...DREAM SWEET IN SEA MAJOR. ONE OF MY FAVORITES.

[lamperts-bleach]

Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune

For merely dreaming we were snow

A siren sounds like the goddess who

Promises endless apologies of paradise

And only she can make it right

So things are different tonight

We'll go together in flight

It's now and never

A reverie endeavor

Awaits somnambulant directives

To take the helm

Believe me, darling

The stars were made for falling

Like melting obelisks

As tall as another realm

Un ensemble d'enfants

La galaxie s'étend

Jardin de l'imagination

Combler la lacune

Voler face à la lune

Vois comme nous évoluons

It feels like flying

But maybe we're dying

A cosmic confluence of

Pyramids hologrammed

She knows you heard her

Staging music murder

In line before the show began

To be where I am

Children born of one emotion

Our devotion's deepest ocean

No division reasoned we'll be free

To know

We are beyond a bow

And lo, the hues arrange to show

It's perfectly clear

You look quite divine tonight

Here among these vibrant lights

Pure delights surround us as we sail

Signed, yours truly, the whale

Joy mirage's kingdom come

No one left at stake

Now that existence is on the wake

Let's see what we can make

The part is wholly ending

A line in any final song

So long, so far

We will be atoning

At last eternal through the past

Above a blinding star

Bye, hi

Sigh, Hawaii

We never meant to part

Sublime, thy art

One light

Higher than the sun

Invisible to some

Until it's time

nice song.

[glevils-inbox]

Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune

For merely dreaming we were snow

A siren sounds like the goddess who

Promises endless apologies of paradise

And only she can make it right

So things are different tonight

We'll go together in flight

It's now and never

A reverie endeavor

Awaits somnambulant directives

To take the helm

Believe me, darling

The stars were made for falling

Like melting obelisks

As tall as another realm

Un ensemble d'enfants

La galaxie s'étend

Jardin de l'imagination

Combler la lacune

Voler face à la lune

Vois comme nous évoluons

It feels like flying

But maybe we're dying

A cosmic confluence of

Pyramids hologrammed

She knows you heard her

Staging music murder

In line before the show began

To be where I am

Children born of one emotion

Our devotion's deepest ocean

No division reasoned we'll be free

To know

We are beyond a bow

And lo, the hues arrange to show

It's perfectly clear

You look quite divine tonight

Here among these vibrant lights

Pure delights surround us as we sail

Signed, yours truly, the whale

Joy mirage's kingdom come

No one left at stake

Now that existence is on the wake

Let's see what we can make

The part is wholly ending

A line in any final song

So long, so far

We will be atoning

At last eternal through the past

Above a blinding star

Bye, hi

Sigh, Hawaii

We never meant to part

Sublime, thy art

One light

Higher than the sun

Invisible to some

Until it's time

i just wanna say I love this song/ooc