#meeting with one of his descendant was probably an honor for him

[the-crow-binary]

Castlevania AU...

Vampires can't have kids (because dead seeds and all that). Alucard is actually the son of Mathias and Elisabetha, who died a few weeks after giving birth (still from an illness. She was actually sick while pregnant and everyone thought she wouldn't survive childbirth. When she did, it gave hope to everyone, Mathias included... and then it got shattered to pieces once she died anyway)

Mathias, though he loves his son, is too overwhelmed with grief and hatred (towards god) to take proper care of him. So his servants do most of the work. They often push Mathias to hold Adrian, in hope it would make him feel better, but it did not have quite the effect expected...

Because his mother was sick while pregnant, and after, Adrian was weak. In fact, no one was sure he would even make it to the end of the year. Mathias realised that, and it only fueled his hatred towards God, on top of giving him an idea. He was going to save Adrian and take his revenge on God, by giving his son and him immortality. Thus came his plan to overthrow Walter.

Everything goes pretty much the same as in Lament of Innocence, but once Mathias was turned, he went back home to get his son, sparing the (terrified) servants' lives as he was thankful to them for taking care of his child, and fled the place. With Death as his advisor, he went to Transylvania, giving a few drop of his blood to Adrian as to slowly turn him... He didn't give him too much, though, as to not complete the transformation right away. If Adrian were to be turn as a baby, he would never be able to fully grow.

They arrive in Transylvania, find the perfect, isolated place, and give life to the new Demon Castle. Begins the new life of the Cronqvist family, and Death. As the years goes by, monsters, heretics and other night creatures come live within the walls of the Castle, welcomed with open arms by Mathias himself. Adrian grow into this weird environnement, never questioning it. The Night as his family.

Once he came of age, Mathias decided it was time to complete his transformation. Adrian was fully turned, and at that time, he took it as a gift. And for hundreds of years, he won't stop seeing it in a good light... but then Lisa appeared, and she changed everything.

Mathias often talked about Elisabetha to Adrian, he even had a painting of her. And when Lisa arrived, she reminded them both of her. Even though, at first, Adrian wasn't so fond of the woman. Her arrival disrupted the peace they had, shaken up the status quo, forced him and his father out of their comfort zone... but as time went by, and Lisa became more and more part of the Castle's life, he learned to love her, like the mother he never had the chance to know. Just as Mathias learned to love her like his wife.

With her, Mathias rediscovered what being human is. With her, Adrian discovered it for the first time. He grew closer and closer to humankind, but, at the same time, it only took him farther and farther away from the Night. It made him realise how the creatures he had known all his life as his family, were terrible monsters. And the humans he had hunt in the past were more precious and important than he once thought. He was like a child discovering the world for the first time. Lisa really made both father and son feel like they were alive, once again... and then she got executed.

It was the last straw for Mathias. He rejected completely his humanity and took the name of Dracula, ready to unleash his rage upon humankind, in his wife's name. But Adrian , now valuing human lives and life in general, thanks to wich he consider to be his mother, took the name of Alucard and went against him, in her name.

In the end, he realised the "gift of vampirism" his father gave him was actually a curse. And he was not able to bear it any longer. The rest of the story goes the same as we know it: once he defeated his father with the help of Trevor, Sypha and Grant, he went to put himself in an "eternal" slumber. And well, nothing much changes from there.

[wordsvomit101]

Just some thoughts on Lucifer's chats

Credits to @shyanimeboi and their friend for sharing, cause this just gives me a newer perspective on Lucifer.

He got me confused at first because why saying the obvious, every human has a name but then he started with Adam, Eve, and Solomon

It gives a lot more nuance to him and other immortal and long-living characters. It makes him so not human but also human in a way. For me, as a normal person, I can barely remember the names of the people I meet every day, but if they stay long enough I can remember them or I will know them through someone I have a closer relationship with, who relates to those I don't have a strong connection with in some way, it's easier. Lucifer in this aspect is like a human to me, he is a dude who lives life slower and longer, it makes sense why he and most other characters addressed MC as "descendant of Solomon" because will MC stay long enough for their name to be embedded into these immortals creatures like how Solomon, Adam, and Eve did or just another fleeting memory.

The "Are you not greedy?" got me thinking for a minute cause what does he mean by that but then, I think it could be an honor thing. It is normal for people to be excited to have someone to memorize their name, like wouldn't you be happy if your favorite celebrity knew your name, your existence? You would, it is something to be greedy for and to have pride in. While his second question also makes sense, because if you're scared of someone, you would rather them never know of your existence, their ignorance of you is your bliss and peace.

And that is some philosophy Lucifer is dropping on my dumb ass, BUT, it sounds to me like he meant, the kings and the seraphim are the beings that reflect on the concept that some truths or pieces of knowledge are not learned through conventional means but are instead a natural part of our awareness and existence. This lowkey sounds so cool and so true to them being the embodiment of inherence factors that everyone has, they will have by just the mere act of becoming conscious.

And I really like that we have this route with Lucifer, getting to know each other is the starting point of every connection, it sounds so easy but probably one of the hardest stages in every relationship. Since it is the starting point, everything could go wrong or it could go great, it is unclear what to do or say and it takes time.

And I really like Lucifer in this chat, I like the slow burn of this and I think the devs did him so well, they cooked in this.

[phan3145]

Title: Slippery Slope. Fandom: Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Implications, mentions of internal pain) Pairing: Eventual Noa x Human!Reader.

***Notes: Uploading this while watching deleted scenes from KotPotA. Did I actually make- “I’ll walk you out” a thing before it was a thing??? Thank you to everyone who continues to read and comment on my story, I’m so grateful for you all! I have had everything from the Strawberries to the end of this chapter written since CHAPTER FOUR! I am SO happy to finally be able to publish it. Yes, next chapter will be from Noa’s POV 🙊

Chapter 9: Gifts Part II

You

You reminded yourself that logic was not always your best course of action when dealing with the apes. Soona and Anaya were up in the trees picking peaches, while you, and now Noa, were on the ground loading up the baskets you had already collected onto the horses. Noa decided this was the best time to give you his creation, which, if you were being honest, took your breath away.

“Soona…helped,” Noa offered. “You bathe…too often to keep…the mark…so we made…from branches and…one of the tusks.”

“The mark?” You parroted, eyes still focused on the object in your hand.

Noa tapped your forehead, between your brows, forcing your gaze back to his as he explained, “Mark of Eagle Clan…Eagle Protector…when you defended us…against the boar…the ceremony honoring you…and the mark after…is meant to be worn…always.”

You felt your eyes widen, “That was a ceremony? I thought that was just a way to say thank you!”

Noa chuffed, “Do you not…know what honor means?”

Anaya jumped down from the trees then, basket in hand, “Like Soona said…very proud…very important Echo…no apes in clan…have that mark.”

“None?” You questioned.

Noa shook his head, “None….Oda…good ape…was the last to have it.”

You saw that distant look in his eyes again, and though you wanted to ask him to explain further, you tucked the question away for later. Noa would tell you in his own time, you were sure of this. If it was anything as frightening or life changing as your past, you knew it was not something easily discussed. Right now, was probably not the time. Soona descended the tree next, balancing two baskets as she explained, “Protector is meant…to choose how they wear…their mark…but Noa thought….better this way.”

Anaya shuffled over from his horse, pointing at the circlet in your hand, “Nicer than Oda’s…but not as colorful.”

“That’s fine with me, I’m not looking to stand out,” you laughed. “What did Oda’s look like?”

“Not…like this,” Noa emphasized.

“Brown…on face and…around eyes…for body and wings” Soona explained, using her fingers to pantomime where the markings were placed. She drug three fingers from each hand down her chin before continuing, “Blue on mouth…for tail feathers.”

You tried to imagine it, mumbling, “Huh. And he wore it all the time?”

“Yes,” Soona said. “Would have been better…as necklace…take less time to make…Oda had necklace…of honor kills…many tusks.”

You felt your fingers curl tighter around the circlet, eyes returning to Noa. He actively avoided your gaze, and you wondered if he did it for the same reason you sought his out.

Anaya confirmed your suspicions as he mocked, “Noa said… would not be seen…because of clothes…could have just…made it shorter…higher on Echo neck.”

“No,” Noa was quick to interject. “Mark was made on head…should remain on head…you do not…have to wear it.”

His eyes darted up to meet yours then, the vulnerability in them soothing any doubt you had about the gift. This was an honor, a rare honor that even Soona had fought for you to have. You remembered how she had insisted at the time, willing to go toe to toe with Noa. The ceremony happened because of her, and now you had this beautiful work of art in front of you, thanks to her help. The time this must have taken, the level of detail that went into it…you were more than grateful. You ran your thumb over the front of it, marveling at the intricacy of it.

Many thin branches were stripped of their harsh wood, smoothed down to the marrow, and intertwined with each other. It made a perfect circle, and in the center, what you originally thought was a delicate peak towards your forehead, was actually the shape of an eagle’s body. The ‘wings’ arched gracefully left and right of the center before entwining with the rest of the branches. The head of the Eagle, the blink and you’ll miss it pop of white, amongst the tan of the wood, was the tip of the tusk from the boar. The rough, dirty peak had been filed down to the pure white underneath. It was small, having been whittled away from the main piece, to sit delicately in the center.

Noa glanced between your hands and your eyes, the unspoken words clear as day. Soona and Anaya drew closer, also watching you with rapt fascination as you admired your gift. You smiled, maybe a bit nervously, before ducking your head and sliding the circlet in place. You were surprised to find that it fit. There was no uncomfortable tightness or rough edges poking at you either. The center of your crown felt warm against your skin, and you were only too aware of the eagle’s presence. You were not part of the clan, but their emblem adorned your head…because the three apes in front of you believed you were worthy of it.

You bit your lip, tears threatening to form around the corners of your eyes. You would do your best to be worthy of it; of them, of their trust. For a moment, Micheal popped into your head, but you quickly brushed it aside. That was different, he wasn’t hurting anyone. As long as you fed him, he would have no reason to sneak into the village, or attack their eagles for food. It was beneficial to everyone, and you would tell them. Eventually.

At their stares, you found your voice enough to ask, “How do I look? Is it on straight?”

Soona nodded, “It is…perfect.”

Noa hummed, nodding his head as he readjusted the tilt of it slightly. His hand hovered a moment before he grunted, “Fits.”

You smiled, ready to call it for the day and head back, when you noticed Anaya’s slightly distant gaze. You quirked an eyebrow at him, “Anaya? Everything alright?”

Your voice seemed to shake him out of his stupor, embarrassed that he was caught staring, admitting, “Was…thinking…reminds me of something…female apes wear…very rare…Echo is…pretty.”

The two apes next to him seemed just as shocked as he was by his confession. Soona looked more confused in her shock, while Noa seemed more annoyed, almost as if Anaya had said something to offend him. The looks barely registered to you though, as a surprised laugh burst from your throat and threatened to send you into a fit. You reeled it in just long enough to tease, “Good to know the more ape I look, the more appealing I become.”

“Not what…Anaya meant,” he was quick to defend.

“I’m not upset,” You reassured him. A hand came up to fiddle with the circlet, fingers skimming over the wood as you continued, “I never thought an ape would like anything about an Echo enough to think of them as pretty. We’re so different, compared to you. I always thought apes saw us as ugly, so it’s nice to hear the opposite is true. I’m just glad I don’t repulse you.”

Soona leaned in then, grazing her fingers against your arm, “You are not…so different…hard to see at first…no fur…then long fur from head…but I think…you are pleasant…to look at...not ugly.”

You gave a half smile in response, signing a quick, Thank you. The praise was unexpected, and frankly unwanted. You just said what you thought was true, what you had heard Gol and the other gorillas say for over a year. Now, you weren’t quite sure how to act. You tried to put your focus back on the fruit, picking up one of the baskets Soona had carried down, starting to tie it to the back of her horse. From the corner of your eyes, you saw Soona knock her arm against Noa. They locked eyes before she nodded her head towards you. Your stomach did a weird swoop before it dropped, realizing what she was pushing for.

“You…” Noa began, stepping closer to grab your attention, only to suddenly be lost for words. You saw his nostrils flare a moment, eyes trailing over your face and your hair. They caught on the Eagle emblem in your circlet, before darting down towards your hands, shifting to casually rest on your hips. You saw his nostrils flare again, before he practically forced his eyes back to yours. He seemed to sway forward, catching this movement and taking a step back as he scoffed. You looked to Soona and Anaya, who seemed just as perturbed as you by Noa’s mannerisms.

“Me…?” You trailed off, trying to help him refocus. Soona nudged him again.

That previous move must have cleared his head. He seemed to have found his words again as his mouth opened, but was interrupted when an unexpected hiss from you cut him off. Another, violent, pang in your abdomen nearly sent you careening to the ground. You caught yourself on the saddle, using the horse to brace your weight as you tried adjusting to the pain. All three apes had jumped back in shock, though Noa was the first to recover. He was at your side as you clutched at your abdomen, demanding, “What is wrong?”

You shook your head, tears in your eyes, “Need to go back…to the burrow.”

“I will take you,” Noa said.

His hands came forward, as if to lift you to his horse, before you thrust an arm out. You struck Noa directly in the chest, effectively halting him. It felt more like you had struck a wall, if not for the soft cushion of fur. This seemed to shock everyone, Noa included as he grunted and huffed while you literally kept him at arms length. You took a deep breath, still clutching onto the saddle with your other hand, “Don’t…touch me right now.”

All three instantly became more concerned, looking between themselves for a solution to a problem they didn’t understand. The pain wasn’t stopping, seeming to coil in on itself as your head fell forward, white knuckling the saddle as it intensified. The burrow wasn’t far, you could walk, if you could just get the pain to ease a little. You took a few more deep breaths through your nose, and tried to relax your tense muscles. You heard rather then saw the apes signing, the rapid movement of air and the sound of fur brushing against fur indicating you were correct.

Then, a relieved sigh escaped you when you felt the coil slowly unfurl. You focused on your breathing, arm lowering from its raised position to wrap around your stomach. You blinked away the tears that had misted your vision, finally releasing the death grip you had on the saddle in front of you. You raised your head up then, turning towards the apes who stood back in obvious unease. You tried to smile, however weakly, still clutching your stomach, “I’m alright now.”

“What…was that?” Soona asked, eyes scanning up and down your body but finding no sign of injury.

You noticed Anaya doing the same, Noa actively scenting the air as he took a step forward, “Smell…different.”

Your cheeks burned at that, and for once you were thankful for the sunburn. You took a few steps back, begging, “Please don’t do that, not right now anyway. It’s…a human thing. One I don’t really want to explain today. I want to go back to my shelter before it gets worse.”

“Gets worse?” Anaya parroted, shoving past Soona and Noa on all fours to get to you. “Echo…is sick?”

You hesitated, “I…suppose. It’s something that only effects females. I’ll be fine, I just need to rest for a little while…maybe a few days.”

“We…have medicine.” Noa offered, “Healers at our village…could examine-”

“No,” you were quick to interject. “It’s not that type of illness. Like I said, I just need to rest.”

You made to walk around the apes, but Soona’s hand on your arm halted you, “If we can help…let us…we do not want…Echo to suffer…looked like…much pain…before.”

You took a deep breath, sighing, “I know… and yes it was. I appreciate all of you, but there’s nothing you can do about this. Just leave me be and let me go. You’ll see me again, I’ll meet you at the creek like I always do.”

Soona’s saddened look would not be forgotten any time soon as you shrugged off her touch, nor would Noa’s hurt expression as you brushed past him. Anaya of course, would be the one to break your heart, feet planted firmly on the ground as he asked, “We can…walk with you…make sure…get home…safe?”

“Anaya,” Noa whispered a warning under his breath, as you turned to face them.

You stared at the three apes, your friends, who were starting to feel more like family every day. Your stomach twisted and the idea didn’t seem so bad anymore. You had to think about Micheal first though. After a moment, you realized it was early enough in the day, he probably wouldn’t be there. You nodded your head then, “I would like that, if you don’t mind. I know you need to get the fruit back to your village.”

“Need to get fruit…to your burrow,” Noa countered.

“Fair enough,” you said, leaning up against a nearby tree while Soon and Anaya mounted their horses. Noa was checking to make sure the fruit baskets were secured, first on his horse, then on the other two, before guiding his horse over to you. You shook your head as he looked between you and his horse, “I can’t ride today. Besides, we aren’t that far away.”

Noa seemed like he was trying to puzzle out a problem; gaze moving from the trail, to his horse, to you, and back to the trail again. He motioned for you to come to him, your confusion obvious as you stepped towards the horse. Noa held out his arm, ordering, “Hand.”

You offered up your hand then, which he took, his larger one encompassing yours. Noa guided your hands to rub at his horse’s neck in a deliberate circle, before patting it three times. The horse snorted, trotting in place before starting to walk in the direction of your home. Noa released your hand and quickly took up the reigns, just in case his horse started to go in the wrong direction.

You wondered what that had been about, ready to ask Noa when his voice cut in, “We go…now.”

Not needing to be told twice, you walked alongside Noa, who refused to ride while you walked. Instead, he kept pace beside you. Anaya and Soona trailed slightly behind, flanking Noa’s left and your right respectfully, as you lead the way. You felt another pang in your abdomen, thankfully this one not as bad as the first. You stumbled a step before quickly righting yourself.

Noa scented the air again, loudly. You were starting to suspect he did it on purpose, so you would know when he was doing it. Afterwards, he asked, “Happens often?”

You shrugged, “I suppose. It’s random, so I can’t say for sure.”

“Lasts…few days…at a time?” Noa questioned again.

You grit your teeth, “It is as unpredictable as the weather, Noa. I don’t know.”

He was quiet a moment, before leaning his shoulder into yours, bumping you with a playful smile. “Sounds as…frustrating as…ape questions.”

You snorted, chuckling under your breath, “Your questions aren’t frustrating, I’m just not very patient when I’m in pain.”

“Is it…” Noa hesitated again. “Forever?”

You hummed, “Probably for the rest of my life, but it’s not an everyday thing. It comes and goes in a cycle.”

Noa hummed, seeming to be done with his questions. You heard a low hoot behind you, turning to see Anaya sign, Sure echo will be alright?

You smiled, signing back, Echo fine. Will not die. Needs rest.

Anaya gave a thumbs up, which caused you to giggle. This caught Noa’s attention, who turned back to see Anaya’s gesture. He scoffed, hooting under his breath, and signing, Youngling.

Anaya signed something back you didn’t understand, until Soona said out loud, “Means…elder.”

It took you a moment, before the comments seemed to click in your brain, and you full on cackled. Soona joined in with you, followed by Anaya and Noa who did so more out of good nature, rather than finding the situation funny.

The rest of the journey was mainly quiet, and you were close to your burrow now. It was just over the next rise in the hill. You turned to Noa, ready to tell him you would just take a few peaches and continue on without them, when he abruptly stopped. You took a few more steps forward before freezing, noticing the trepidation on his face. His nostrils flared for a second, before his eyes widened, looking down towards your middle before warning, “More…pain.”

Your brow furrowed, wondering why he would suddenly say that, when another pang went through you like a bolt of lightning. Your entire body seized, the air frozen in your lungs as you tried to gasp in a new breath. You felt your knees buckle, but before you could fall, Noa had released the reigns of his horse and lunged for you. His arms came up underneath yours, wrapping around your back to support your weight as you collapsed forward.

Your hands found purchase on his shoulders, nails digging in as the intensity increased. You heard Noa let out a vocalized growl of pain, teeth bared as the sound was ripped from his throat. You swallowed, trying to breathe through your own pain, whining, “Sorry.”

You heard Anaya and Soona hooting and screeching faintly, the roar of your own pulse and ragged breathing muffling most of the sound at first. Soona’s voice broke through the fog as she called, “Hurt…Noa…what…do we…do?”

Noa hissed through his teeth, huffing once before admitting, “Is fine…still not as sharp…as Eagle Sun’s talons.”

“Echo need help?” Anaya asked in a rush.

Noa’s head turned, and you weren’t sure if he answered or not, considering you didn’t hear a response, and his hands were occupied with your body. You wanted to laugh at the whole thing, at the absurdity of relying on Noa to even stay upright. You tried to loosen your fingers from his fur, before another pang ripped through you. You had the awareness enough to allow your nails to dig into your own palm this time, instead of Noa’s skin. You couldn’t understand why it was so bad, it had never been this bad before. Maybe you needed to pick up a medical book the next time you went to the library.

Noa noticed your fists shaking on his shoulders, one hand loosening from under your arms to cover your fist. He pried at your fingers before flattening your palm to his shoulder again. He did the same to the other hand, snorting, “Echo nails…not painful…I am…strong…can take it.”

You wanted to argue, tell him that his earlier yell didn’t sound like it wasn’t painful, but could only clutch at him tighter as another wave of agony hit you. Noa’s arms tightened around you then, shaking his head and puffing out air from his cheeks as Soona and Anaya made to jump down from their horses. You tucked your head into his chest, jaw starting to hurt from how hard you were clenching your teeth. Noa shifted, getting a better grip on you, just before you felt the deep ache begin to ease. You sighed in relief, nearly going boneless in his grasp, breathing in deep gulps of air as you tried to stabilize the rest of your body.

Noa patted your back, somewhat awkwardly, offering, “You can rest…a bit longer.”

You shook your head, pulling away as you moaned, “I just want to go sleep this off.”

Noa nodded, “Let’s get you…to burrow.”

Everything that happened after that was a giant blur. What you could remember was Noa’s arm curled around your back and your waist, supporting half your weight on his shoulder as you walked, while Anaya and Soona’s voices talking rapidly back and forth in the background. Noa seemed to be answering the questions though, to the best of his ability. When the apes reached your home, only to find the rock in place, there was an argument for getting it open before you wandered away from them to your tunnel hatch. Soona had followed you quietly, watching as you slumped onto the ground, opening the hatch with shaky arms.

You were pretty sure she helped lower you down, knowing you didn’t fall forward like you normally did. Anaya and Noa came screeching around the corner soon after though. They were not happy with this form of entry, but you had already closed and locked the door before they could reach you. Crawling actually hadn’t been too hard, taking pressure off of your spine as you bowed forward.

Once you reached the inside of your cave though, you distinctly heard Noa’s booming voice, his fists shaking the rock as he banged against it, hoping to get your attention. You trudged to the door, letting him know you were fine and that you would see them in a few days. Noa wanted to argue about the rock being in the way, but you could only tell him it was safer that way. You stripped off your clothing as he tried to convince you otherwise, crawling into your bed in relief. A quick “Go Home” had been yelled as you wrapped yourself up in the few blankets you had.

They must have listened, because there were a few moments of precious silence before you were greeted with oblivion.

…..

It was another two days before you saw the apes again. You had spent the last day and half curled up on your bed writhing in agony, or dead asleep. Still, your monthly did not come in that time, which began to worry you that something else was actually wrong with you. When Micheal showed up that first night he had noticed your pain, sniffing at your body before leaving and returning with a dead mouse. Disgusting…but sweet in a way. You had sat up long enough to give him some fruit and half of your last fish. He seemed reluctant to eat it, but did so the next time you fell asleep. You woke up to find the food gone and Micheal curled up on the ground next to your stone bed.

You were able to stroke him a few times before he growled and walked a few steps out of your reach. He never left though, remaining a comfort to you as you prayed the pain would stop and not come back. When it seemed to finally end you took solace in the fact you still had half a day to rest before returning to the creek. At night, when you couldn’t sleep, you thought how you would explain what happened to the apes, hoping Soona as a female, would at least sympathize with you. You were pretty sure apes didn’t menstruate, but usually when it came to males versus females Soona chose your side, if for no other reason than she was happy not to be outnumbered anymore.

Of course, Soona had stayed back with the clan the day you returned, apparently having important duties to attend to before midday. Noa and Anaya would check your usual meeting place without her, relieved to see you there fishing after so long. When you told them you were feeling much better, Noa sent Eagle Sun back to the village, a signal to Soona that you had recovered. You thought it was sweet, and grateful for the initial distraction. Before you could launch into an explanation though, both male apes had ushered you up and away from your fishing spot.

Knowing you were no longer sick, they took the opportunity to lead you deeper into their territory. Noa explained there was a second part to your gift, which they hadn’t been able to give you before, because you had become so ill. You were nervous, very reluctantly wading across the creek with them and into uncharted forest. You were quickly shown specific landmarks they used for mapping and common trails they followed. You had remained on edge at first, head on a constant swivel as you imagined running into other apes. Anaya and Noa both assured you though that there were no other apes outside of their village today.

It was too early in the season to hunt, and the clan did their fishing mainly by Eagle. A branch of the creek also ran through their village, so collecting water only became an issue during dry seasons. It made sense. You wondered why they were showing you all of these things, why this was so important to them all of a sudden, until Noa and Anaya brought you into a large grove. You had to avoid briars and thickets of brush, but you followed in their footsteps obediently. You reached a clearly ape-made barrier before they stopped you. It resembled a gate, and as Anaya untied the rope around the door, your nose caught the scent of something sweet. When it was opened, your jaw dropped.

This grove…was full of strawberries.

You were in shock. The grove in front of you wide and vast, the fruit looking perfectly ripe towards the middle. Anaya ushered you forward, and you turned to Noa, who had nodded in confirmation. The steps you took were careful, not wanting to step on the wild growing plants and potentially damage one. The sight, the smell of it all, brought so many emotions flooding through you. You thought the fruit had gone extinct. You hadn’t had one since you were a child, and even then, trying to recall the taste in your memory proved in vain. All you could remember, was your mother’s face as she handed you, what you would later learn was, the last one.

“Noa…Noa…” Anaya had called. “Do it now…give now.”

You were brought out of your reminiscing to see Noa bend down at a random bush, straightening back to his full height a moment later with a basket in his hands. Not just any basket, you noted as you caught sight of the pattern. It was your basket. The one you had given him the day you two met. You had forgotten all about it. He kept it this whole time? Noa came towards you then, that slight back and forth sway of his gait bringing a smile to your face as he placed the basket in your arms.

You thought it would be empty, the weight taking you off guard. Noa removed the top of it then, showing you it was full to the brim with fresh strawberries. Your eyes closed for a second, fighting back a ridiculous rush of tears at the kindness. You didn’t even have the words.

“These…are yours.” Noa said, tapping the rim of the basket. “No other place…for many days journey…can come here…whenever you want.”

Anaya came towards you then, “Picked…and Noa washed…this sunrise…now you know…where it is.”

A part of you didn’t understand, the circlet around your head feeling more prominent now than it had before. Why? Why share all of this with you? Their traditions, their territory, their trails…their food? You looked up into Noa’s eyes, seeing more in his gaze than you had anticipated. There was that familiarity, that warmth, but also a nervousness behind it all that had been present a few days ago too. That’s when it dawned on you.

This was just as new to him as it was to you.

There probably wasn’t a reason behind it all. Just like there hadn’t been a reason for you to save him, or for you to charge the boar and kill it. You both were simply reacting to each other, to the moments you shared, even if you didn’t understand them. You were relieved to know you weren’t the only one feeling unsure at the end of the day. It felt more equal that way, you two learning together. His gaze shifted, a silent question present now, and only then did you realize that you hadn’t said anything yet.

Stomping down your revelation, as well as your emotions, you broke eye contact with him. You turned to Anaya, who was hovering next to you. Your gaze bounced from one ape to the other as you breathed, “Thank you. Thank you both-and Soona! I had no idea these even still existed. It’s been so long since…You have no idea what this means to me. It’s…more than I have the words for.”

You found yourself gravitating towards those green irises again as you finished speaking. You saw the nervousness ease into relief, and emboldened by the moment, you set the basket down. You weren’t sure how to start it, but you tried to mimic what Noa had done before. Your left arm was thrust out, palm up and your right hand hovered in the air. Anaya looked thoroughly confused by your actions, but you saw a small spark of recognition in Noa’s eyes. You took a step closer to him then, images of the last time you both touched pushed firmly to the back of your mind. This wasn’t that…at least, you were pretty sure this was different.

Noa focused on your movements, that look of contemplation evident, not quite sure that what you were doing is what you were offering. Before nerves could settle in any further, you explained, “Trust.”

Noa’s shoulders visibly relaxed, as if your words took the weight of the world off of him. Then, he took that final step forward to meet you. His left hand clasped yours, bending down so your right could circle around his neck to the nape in one fluid motion. His other hand was in your hair then, both of you pulling at the same time to gently bring your foreheads together. You were about to shut your eyes when you realized Noa’s were still open.

That was different from the first time, and from when Soona had pulled you in. He was looking you in the eye now…intently. You could see why this was a sign of trust for the apes. It was intimate, seeing eye to eye while being this close. Noa’s were always so expressive, and the color absolutely captivated you whenever you were caught in his gaze. His pupils were the deepest black you had ever seen, sucking you in and absorbing all light until emerald green exploded out of the darkness to blend into his irises. You had never seen such beautiful green before, not even in the pine forests you had traveled with your mother. This close, you could also see small flecks of amber around the pupil, blending into the green, something that just added depth to any look he gave you.

Taking in a breath, you didn’t dare to blink, knowing you could see every twitch and flex of his facial features like this. You didn’t want to miss a moment. Your senses tuned into him, everything else around you dulling and fading into the background. Under your fingertips, you could feel his pulse, strong and steady, reminding you not to dig in too harshly to his fur while you held him. You forced your hand to relax more around his neck, but that only seemed to imply to Noa that you were about to let go.

His shoulders tensed and he applied more pressure where your heads touched, fingers bending to curl deeper into your hair, down to your scalp. Not enough to hurt, Noa was always careful not to hurt you when you touched. The sudden action somehow didn’t bother you, understanding the need to make the moment last. You pressed in further too, trying too hard to match his power and visibly moving his head back a fraction, which pulled a smile from him. Your stomach fluttered at that, and you felt a breathy laugh escape. It was cut short when you felt Noa’s thumb along your arm stroke back and forth, reminiscent of the movement your own had made that night in your burrow.

The hairs along your arm raised at the contact, soothed back down almost immediately by the pass of his thumb. You took in a deep breath, cheeks feeling warmer than they had a few days ago in the sun. Only then, did you decide that any more of this could be dangerous. Your hand slid away from Noa’s neck, trailing down his shoulder, noticing the hair along the edges rising before you pulled away.

Noa pursed his lips in a tight line, eyes pinching shut before reluctantly pulling his head away from yours. His eyes snapped open, as if he was physically unable to keep them shut, dragging in a long, audible breath through his nose. His fingers trailed through your hair, so long now, bringing the strands forward over your shoulder. His eyes followed his hand’s movement, knuckles ghosting along the side of your neck, then over your collarbone before retracting it all together. He straightened to his full height, eyes leaving yours to focus on your left arms, which were still clasped tightly.

Anaya broke the lethargic spell you both seemed to be under, arm outstretched as he demanded, “Anaya’s turn…trust.”

Noa’s eyes shifted from his Sunset Brother, to you, and then his gaze drifted towards your clasped hands once more. He grunted, nodding once as his arm slid down the length of yours. Your eyes fell from his face to watch his arm as it moved, feeling every brush of skin and fur. His fingers never skipped an inch, going so far as to trail all the way from your wrist to your palm, slowly tracing up the length of your curved ring and middle finger before finally pulling away all together.

Something about that motion had felt important, but as the hairs on your arm raised, again, you couldn’t figure out why. You didn’t have time to think about it though, turning to Anaya then. He wasn’t quite as tall as Noa, but he still had to bend down as you took his arm in yours. You had no time to grip his neck, feeling his head smack into yours non-too gently. You winced, but refused to make a noise for fear of hurting his feelings, knowing he didn’t mean to. His other hand came up to cup the back of your head, but instead of holding it, he patted it like he was praising you.

In any other circumstances, coming from any other ape, that would have unnerved or even enraged you. But from Anaya? It was actually sort of endearing. He didn’t wait very long before pulling away though, making the gesture with Noa feel twice as long in your mind now. You chose not to dwell on it, they certainly weren’t, as Anaya picked up the basket at your feet, handing it back to you.

You saw the look in his eyes and you chuckled, “Have one.”

Anaya reached for a strawberry but Noa was quick to push him away, covering the basket with his arm as he stated, “Anaya had more…than enough…when we were picking them.”

“That was breakfast…” Anaya argued. “Sun is past peak…hungry again…Echo said it was okay.”

Noa huffed through his nose, turning to look at you then. You smiled, “You can have one too Noa, food is meant to be shared and eaten together.”

With that said, Anaya did not hesitate. A strawberry was in his hand and then in his mouth before you cloud blink. Noa looked into the basket, choosing one of the smaller ones before sighing, “Worse…than vulture.”

“And yet…Echo feeds me.” Anaya countered, hooting with half a strawberry still in his mouth.

“Does not know…better yet.” Noa hummed. “Will learn…eventually.”

You laughed along with them, turning an arm that was holding the basket inwards to pick a strawberry for yourself. You settled on a large one that would take two bites to finish. You hesitated as you brought it towards you, hoping that it tasted good and that it wasn’t just some fantasy from childhood that would be altered now that you were an adult.

You caught Noa and Anaya watching you, your hesitation. You swallowed, not wanting to face any potential questions from them. You went for it, breaking the skin of the fruit with your teeth. That’s when, somehow, you remembered exactly how the last one had tasted as a child…and realized this one was so much better. The first one wasn’t quite ripe yet, having a harder skin and a more sour taste. This one, the skin was soft and the flavor was overly sweet, juice exploding in your mouth and coating your lips in its syrup.

You moaned out your appreciation, finishing off the second half quickly. Anaya hooted, and you handed him another, taking a second one for yourself, “These are amazing. I owe you guys each a basket of grapes for this.”

“Yes!” Anaya practically wailed, arms raising in the air. “You are Anaya’s…favorite Echo.”

Noa hooted at that while you turned to leave the grove, basket in hand. “I’m going in a few days actually, the three of you could come with me if you want. That way you’ll also know where it is.”

Noa was silent then, and you could tell he was thinking before he responded, “Will consider it…talk to Soona later…we have…one more thing to…show you…before dark.”

“Alright, should I leave these here?” You asked.

Noa turned to look at Anaya before answering, “Should be safe…as long as you do not…leave them for too long.”

“Understood,” you chuckled as you set them down by the door. You took one more and popped it in your mouth for good measure before closing the lid. “I will definitely be back for those.”

Anaya followed you out while Noa closed the door and tied the rope back. The two apes suddenly became very quiet, urging you to follow them as you started to walk uphill. You followed diligently, seeing the sun still high enough in the sky for you to make it back to your burrow before it became dark. You had covered a good distance between your shelter and the grove, you estimated it was about a thirty minute walk. You had to tell yourself that was a good thing, since you would probably be here too often otherwise.

Your calves started to burn from the incline as you continued uphill. No matter what was up here, there was no way you could see yourself doing this again unless you had to. You noticed Anaya and Noa ahead of you, signing again in rapid gestures, ones you weren’t entirely familiar with. You caught a few words, like clan and Echo as well as worried and fine. Noa chose that moment to turn back to check and see if you were still there. They had reached the top, pausing their gait along the trail so you could catch up.

You doubled your efforts, not wanting to keep them waiting. Once you managed to climb the top of the hillside, you noticed the forest trees opened up into a wide clearing. You bent over for a moment, unable to take in the scenery while you braced your hands on your knees. You blamed the incline and the heat for why you felt the need to catch your breath. Your abdomen twinged, but did not give you a jolt like it had a few days ago. You were thankful for small mercies. You looked up then, to ask Noa where you were, when the words suddenly withered and died on your tongue. That’s when you saw it.

Their village

You were horrified, straightening up too fast and then freezing on the spot from the blatant movement. That was a mistake. The apes could notice you…and you were able to see many apes moving about freely. The village looked more like a small city with the blur of motion in front of you. You saw some carrying baskets, some weaving vines and sticks together to form a larger structure. They were using rope and pulley systems as well, the looming tower in the center stealing your breath for a moment. You’d seen apes take over trees, rocks, and old human structures, but never build something like this. There were so many working on it. Working together.

Your eyes were pulled away from the tower by a few young apes running around, chasing each other and screeching good naturedly. Human or not, you loved kids, and the carefree way they played forced the breath you were holding out of your nose. A renegade smile also tugged at the corner of your mouth. They had run between the legs of a male ape, whose Eagle had just landed on his arm. He hooted at them, shooing them away with his free hand before returning his attention to his bird. He took the fish from its talons and scratched under its neck, like you had done so many times with Eagle Sun. Then he made his way over to an ape you recognized, the matriarch from the creek. The one who had taught the young apes about fishing without an Eagle. For a moment, it seemed as if she was looking at you, and you felt as though you locked eyes with her. Then, she continued to sway and move on towards a cleaning table, and you decided it must have been your imagination.

After all, there was so much commotion in the village, nothing was standing still like you were now. Everything was boisterous, sounds of life and happiness erupting from the clearing. It was a peaceful looking place, and you thought how nice it must be to live there. It looked like a wonderful ho…but then you caught yourself. You dropped to the ground so fast the impact hurt your knees, tall grass shielding you from any eyes that might choose to roam towards the edge of the forest. You weren’t sure how to move yet, eyes scanning back and forth as you processed what was happening, fingers twitching as you balanced on your haunches.

Noa and Anaya were watching you closely, not stopping you when you decided to turn and bolt back down the hill. They did follow you, but did not call after you, allowing you to move freely until you felt you were safe. It wasn’t too far. Once you were back in the forest, surrounded by trees, the clearing a good distance away, you stopped. You fought against the tremors that threatened to shake you back down to the ground, every muscle pulled taught with the effort.

“Echo…okay?” Anaya asked, hesitantly.

No. No, you most certainly were not. Your arms wrapped around yourself then, nails pinching and digging into your clothes, reminding you that you were wearing them. Somehow it didn’t fix the feeling of being naked, of feeling exposed.

“Did not have…to leave.” Noa explained, “Clan knows…about you…has known…knows we were…bringing you today.”

Anaya hummed, “Soona stayed…has food for you…for everyone…who wants to meet Echo.”

Your back was facing the apes, and shouldn’t that just feel unnatural? But it didn’t…because you trusted them. You trusted Soona and Anaya. You trusted Noa with…and suddenly you felt a spark of anger ignite in your stomach. It burned and bubbled while you attempted to take deep breaths. You tried to force yourself to calm down, to try to see this from their point of view. You didn’t want to spiral or overreact like you had in the library. They trusted you, wanted to show you where they lived because they know where you live. The clan knew you saved Noa’s life, knew the trio was spending a lot of time with you. Maybe, they even knew you were teaching them to read. Naturally, they wanted to meet you. Food. There was food there with Soona…and other kind apes just like her. Just like Anaya. Just like Noa. They wanted to meet you. The trio had prepared for this, probably all morning. They were trying to do something nice…right?

Your fingers relaxed against your arms. The tremors died down into small twitches you had no issue controlling. You took a breath. You had almost fully calmed down, had almost convinced yourself this was innocent…then Noa opened his mouth.

“Cannot avoid clan forever…you need them to know you…and they need to know…that you are not a pest…to be chased away…the Elders agreed…after much convincing…to let us bring you.”

…a pest?

A PEST!

You whipped around then, the fire in your stomach now reflecting in your eyes.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Lullaby and Legend? Like... she's probably the closest thing to a direct ancestor we have for Legend if we go by theory that Legend is related to Fable, since Sky is obviously hundreds of generations back, and the catalyst of the events that led to Legend's timeline were created through her plan. Imagine her meeting him one day when the chain is in Time's era and learning who he is to her

None of the boys had been planning on seeing any Zelda once they’d set out on their journey, but when a royal summons requested Time’s presence while they were staying at Lon Lon Ranch, their leader acquiesced.

Legend glanced around the castle, genuinely curious to see how it might differ from the one he knew. He was left to his own devices, the others having scattered to the four winds to explore as well, though Sky had gone with Time to meet his descendant.

Legend bit the inside of his cheek. It was still strange to realize that he and Sky were related. And it had certainly increased Sky’s protective and nurturing instincts tenfold, exasperating Legend to no end.

Of course, he thought that would be the worst of it. Instead, he suddenly ran into the queen herself, stammering a little awkwardly, when Zelda smiled at him.

“Are you the Hero of Legend?” She asked, head tilting to the side. “The one who vanquished Ganon, despite the demise of the previous Hero?”

Legend shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, yes, Your Majesty.”

Zelda’s smile grew, though she wrung her hands a little nervously. “So then… that… I was told you’re a member of the royal family.”

Legend’s eyes widened. Sky, why you little—

The queen put her hands over her heart, smile growing, eyes glistening. “Thank you for looking after Hyrule, Link. Thank you for everything. I… I’m very proud to call you my descendant, even if it may be from another timeline.”

Whatever Legend had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. Zelda watched him like a mother seeing her child after some great victory, relief and joy and silent admiration, and it made his cheeks flush while his eyes stung. “W-well, I… you… Zelda helped too, of course, and—”

“I know she did,” the queen said with a chuckle. “Of course she would. But you saved her too.”

There was little point continuing to argue the matter, and Legend wasn’t entirely sure what to say. The queen walked towards him, a footstep away from being right in front of him, and she bowed a little, still smiling.

Legend finally let his emotions release a little, a small, wet laugh escaping him, and he bowed in response. “It’s an honor to call you my ancestor, Zelda.”

[thewertsearch]

EB: […] i'm not sure if i actually want to encourage you to go off fighting him… EB: because as strong as you probably are, it sounds like he is REALLY strong. EB: and even though you killed tons of people, i think i would still be pretty sad if you died. […] EB: so maybe you should just let us handle it? at least we won't fight him directly.

Well, if you actually manage to destroy the Sun, Jack will be significantly weaker, albeit still threatening.

If we can't convince Vriska to back off, maybe we can convince her to at least delay her attack. Once Jack's no longer a First Guardian, she'll be able to swoop in for a duel she could actually win.

Against Semi-Perfect Jack, I'd give her even odds - but what are the odds if she leaves now? Does she stand any chance against a Jack at the height of his power?

Well, maybe. I know I just joked about her getting annihilated, but Aradia did prove that God Tier powers work on him. Vriska's luck stealing is capable of some pretty astounding feats, but is it really enough to compensate for their enormous power differential? Luck can only take you so far, after all.

I'd give Perfect Jack a huge advantage in this fight, but a Vriska victory isn't completely out of the question, and I can see a few ways she could clinch it.

For example - what are the odds of Jack's Ring falling off?

Is it a million-to-one chance?

Is it a sixteen-million-to-one chance?

AG: You know how I said I couldn't rel8 to the attachment you have for your guardians? […] AG: Well, I guess that isn't completely true. AG: There are adult trolls who we can rel8 to, if we choose to, and if we are lucky enough to discover who they are. AG: 8ut it is not really in a familial sense, at least not socially speaking, the way you understand family. They are more like figures of legend, who are said to have more in common with us genetically than any other troll. 8ut we can never meet them of course. Only look up to them, and follow in their footsteps, 8ecause they died centuries ago.

Wait, so Mother Grubs are sitting on the same DNA for centuries?

I suppose that's why they're ancestors, rather than parents. It's a little strange that Mother Grubs hang onto the same genetic templates for so long, but this is alien biology we're talking about. Anything is possible.

Can the same genetic templates be reused multiple times, then? Can one single ancestor have multiple descendants, allowing trolls to have siblings as well as parents?

...hey, they might even have grandparents! If every troll has an ancestor, then your ancestors will have ancestors themselves, and they'd be your second-order ancestor, too.

AG: I am completely certain it is true, and I know who mine is! AG: I have 8een doing my 8est to honor her legacy for most of my life. AG: I even named my roleplaying character after her!

So this is why she’s so gung-ho about Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. Lay it on us, Vriska!

don't think about baby vriska being forced to kill don't think about baby vriska being forced to kill don't think about baby vriska being for

AG: It was 8efore I ever started gaming, or rounding up other kids to feed my lusus. AG: I was nearing the age where I would 8e expected to feed her.

::::(

[jhuzen]

Will there be a part 2 of the "Attention" fic?

infidelity [gn/m.reader]

the answer to that is a solid yes AND a big apology for taking a hundred years to post this. this ask has been in my inbox for freaking months. and it’s mostly because i have been remaking this fic until i got the most satisfying fic LMAO. i’m sorry for taking so long 😭 i hope this is compensation enough. btw this part 2 to this! but honestly, you don’t have to read it lmao.

𖦹 crack taken seriously, hsr mention but this is mostly genshin, this is just a fic of me making fun of cheaters aka you, highly based on that one tweet of the “welcome home, cheater” one, pushing my grand overseer reader agenda like in my early fics teehee <3, sagau, sahsr au

“I should probably go back…”

Jing Yuan begged to differ. The general himself had his reservations about your sudden eagerness to depart. After all, you were a good company — one that amused him to the core and even kept him awake for the better part of the day. You are an interesting being to him after all — much after learning from the exuberant girl from the famed Astral Express suddenly emphasizing your importance when they left you under his supervision.

You, in much simpler words, are adorable in the Luofo general’s eyes. With eagerness and curiosity melding in those gaze of yours that could leave anyone transfixed — wanting and desperate.

You truly live up to the title as the grand overseer across worlds. You were the sole beholder of their sentience, despite the fact that right now, you’re barely aware of your status and your circumstance, it was more than enough for anyone go cherish your presence. How could they not? It was a blessing to see you descend from where you were, behind the great barrier that they all could only stare at when they looked to you for guidance.

Alas, that mattered little, not when you were beside the amused general and his coy smile, fingers raking through your hair; reminiscent of the pattern when he would do the same thing to Mimi when you visited his abode to meet the furry beauty that was his pet.

Quite frankly, you weren’t all too sure if this was something you were used to, being treated like an animal companion, with even the way Jing Yuan’s hand would suddenly roam behind your very human ears, scratching behind out of habit.

The only thing missing was him giving your food to you in a bowl, actually, and you’d be no different than Mimi at that point. Wait. No. You were sure Jing Yuan’s lion also ate out of a golden encrusted plate when you saw his hired caretakers come and feed Mimi.

“Bark for me, won’t you?” The general teased with a purr and it was more than enough for you to pull the plug at your willing compliance.

You removed his hand from your head and only shot him a subtle glare, “That’s a request I can’t honor even if my life depended on it.” You sighed, “I should get going now though, General… I made a promise to help our conductor in sweeping the floors. Apparently Caelus tracked some dirt inside when he decided to lug some trash.”

“Must you really? You’re the grand overseer, no? I believe such a title deserves a limitless freedom in doing whatever it is that they wish,” he coaxed in a suave tone, quick to win anyone over. And honestly, that sounds nice. But you’ve never seen Pom-Pom look so stressed when you saw an unwilling March and Dan Heng drag some trash either wrapped in gold bags or regular black ones inside the express when they came back from Belobog.

You somehow regretted leaving first — but even you had urgent matters to attend to at that moment.

“Ah—!” The lax Jing Yuan jolted at your sudden outburst.

“…Anything troubling you, Grand Overseer?”

“T-Teyvat! I completely forgot…!” Your eyes were blown wide as the panic settled within you. You had promised Nahida you would make it to the Interdarshan championship. She was so excited when she communed with you just days ago, completely elated that even your beloved Wanderer would participate as a representative in a Darshan.

Albeit confused by your sudden squawking, Jing Yuan understood and only watched you pace around while you lamented what sounds to be a rehearsed apology that you will no doubt tell to someone you hold precious.

“How envious, to receive an apology from you even sounds like a great honor.” Jing Yuan teased with a chuckle. “Well then, off you go now. Don’t be away for too long. I rather enjoy our time together.”

“O-Oh, yes, of course… I truly apologize for cutting our time together short. Do give my regards to Fu Xuan and Yanqing if they drop by. I have to go and talk to the crew and also bid my goodbye for now.” You bowed before turning away, briskly walking your way towards the door outside of the general’s office, only to bump into Welt and March.

“Oh! There you are! Ya ready to go shopping?” March held an exuberant energy as she asked, clasping your hand in hers tightly with an excited gleam flashing through her eyes.

Welt, however, was far more observant than March, “Judging from that look in your eyes… you have some affairs you’ve forgotten to tend to, Your Benevolence. Would I be correct in my judgment?”

“It’d be a miracle for you to be wrong at this point,” you laughed amidst your panic. “But yes, unfortunately. March, I hope you don’t mind a little bit of postponement… I have somewhere to be urgently.”

March’s bottom lip stuck out into pleading pout, “But you promised!”

“March, let’s not force them. It is as they say — an urgent affair.” Welt only looked at you with a small nod and an encouraging smile, “Don’t be too worried. I’ll let Himeko and Dan Heng know of your absence. Just be safe.”

“I will definitely come back and visit.” Your smile and reassurance was enough to quell March’s disappointment and Welt’s initial concern. “Please tell Caelus not to track more dirt inside. It’ll only serve to frustrate Pom-Pom further.”

“It’s a useless attempt, but for you, I’ll try,” March winked as she waved to you with Welt.

With a nod to the two of them, you were off to Teyvat — lucky that you have little need for the Star Rail in the first place to travel. Otherwise, it would most certainly take you the entire conceivable time just before you could even come back to one of the many worlds that you oversaw and to a fault, even took care of from afar.

You stepped into the familiar grassy fields of Sumeru’s rainforest, looking up to see that the city isn’t too far off. There was a gentle breeze that blew by, almost like a kiss from a certain archon, but you paid little heed to it. You normally always took your time to appreciate the sights in Teyvat, finding its vast lands and many biomes incredibly fantastical in sight. But even that couldn’t keep you from the fact that you’ve broken several promises that you willingly made to some residents here.

You can only imagine the disappointment in everyone’s faces once you’ve admitted to the fact that… other people may have swept your attention away in the first place — hence your sudden absence.

You owed your first apology to Nahida. She is after all, one of your far more favored archons around, treating her like your own, definitely something that would make Rukkhadevata proud among every other archon out there. And then there’s also a matter of apologizing to your dear Aether, you made another promise to him that you would spend your time with him in Sumeru’s far end by the Realm of Farakhkert to meet the infamous Sorush and the majestic race of the Pari (you once made a claim that Aranara’s are superior, and your endeared traveler was reluctant in protesting to your words it seems).

Now that you thought about it — you were sure you made quite a lot of promises to the residents of Teyvat. A lot of commitments were hammered into your special sanctuary that Aether had built for and with you inside his teapot.

Commitments that you’ve forgotten in favor of space travels with a couple of trailblazers.

Onlookers turned to your direction, completely flabbergasted at your casual appearance. What were you doing in Sumeru city (not that they were ungrateful for your gracious presence) — but it was as if you were solely taking a stroll on your own. Where are your entourage? Was the Acting Grand Sage even informed of your arrival? What about the archons that always accompanied you? Where is Buer?

Best of all, why does your face contort into an expression of what seems to be utter guilt?

You hiked your way to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, refusing any help offered to you by the guards that were courteous enough. You were prepared to face Nahida’s crestfallen look — prepared to start indulging her wishes to make up for the tomfoolery you engaged in. The corners of your mouth trembled as it itched to finally spill out the plethora of apologies that you’ve prepared.

“Oh. So you exist after all.”

Only for your well-rehearsed (by the last minute) apologies to fall apart when the Wanderer’s voice rang from above. You looked up to see him perched on one of the ledges just above the door of Nahida’s residence. He was stationed like a watchful hawk — and he was, constantly on the prowl for anyone suspicious daring to come up to the sanctuary.

Suddenly, a memory of you promising him to go fishing by the coasts of Sumeru had you wincing. And with the way the puppet’s mouth turned up in a smug smirk showed that he was aware of an engagement you swore you’d do with him.

“Ah… I hear you go by Hat guy now?” You tilted your head, giving him a reluctant smile.

“Spare me the meaningless prying. Where have you been?” His eyes narrowed, suspicious and a tad bitter at your absence and incompetence in attending a tiny little leisure that you yourself insisted he join you on. Who the hell even creates plans first and suddenly flakes out? The Wanderer has never felt more betrayed, quite frankly.

You suddenly looked like a guilty spouse that came from a messy affair, with the way you shifted your footing and how you averted your gaze quick. The Wanderer was intolerant of such a behavior however when he finally came down from his little high up spot to face you with no escape. He will summon a void and trap you in it halfway if you so much as make an attempt to escape.

“I’ve been… away…”

“Were you now?” His scrutinizing gaze only served to intimidate you further when he came up close, his nimble fingers tracing against your clothing. “Whose is this?”

And before you, he held a familiar long strand of white hair — possibly acquired when the general of Luofo decided to frolic around with you, coaxing (or coercing, more like) you to give him a much deserved head massage for his hard work (though in truth, he barely did anything that day).

“…A cat.” Technically not a lie. Jing Yuan does exhibit certain behaviors that you can classify as a behavior that a feline has.

“Is it now?” His voice went an octave higher — clearly mocking you if his churlish grin wasn’t enough of a sign about his suspicions of you and your… agendas prior to your unprompted visit in Teyvat.

A terse silence engulfed you and your Wanderer before he flicked away the hair and dragged you inside Nahida’s sanctuary.

“She was disappointed that you were absent the entire Interdarshan event thing. Where in the abyss were you?” The puppet hissed, his grip on your wrist tightening. Somehow you found it far more comforting compared to the times where people would treat you like some fragile object that could break at any second.

What’s not comforting however, were his words. You couldn’t bear the thought of letting Nahida down, and now you’re faced with that very thought becoming a reality that you now have to get through just for the sake of your sanity.

You smiled a little despite seeing the Dendro Archon’s back turned while she minded her own business. There was always something comforting when wasting your hours away inside the sanctuary. Just having to teach Nahida from your old world knowledge about people, and to an extent even teaching the Wanderer with your wisdom that rarely pops out (according to him, with full intent to insult you). It’s not as daring as the time Venti decided to fling you up and catch you or Ei’s insistence on you eating your tenth dango during your walks.

For now however, you had one goal in mind — and that is to make amends with your favored archon and puppet.

Teyvat altogether created an unspoken rule to never ever doubt you — the Grand Overseer. You have a position that transcends even farther than the Primordial One, your eyes that gaze on many universes and worlds. You are the one that took care of the blooming life in each planet that teemed with it, thriving under your guidance.

There was a collective decision among all gods and mortals alike to never doubt your endeavors, much less your love for them. You care a lot about them, and based solely on your constant descent towards their world, it seems as though above all other worlds, you favored them. They were the proof of your benevolence, granting the residents your presence while you walked among them.

Right. That was the case that everyone agreed upon.

However, there was an underlying layer of unease. Heaven forbid may it be doubt; they could never! But perhaps… a tiny bit of uncertainty in the layer of cautiousness as the residents watched you with adoration.

It first started with the wrong names.

When Albedo, Sucrose, and Timaeus wholeheartedly welcomed your help when you visited Dragonspine with Klee. Jean was far too busy with her work and while she wished to, could not have time to bask in your presence after the announcement of your sudden arrival. In turn, you only assured her and relieved her of her added duty in watching over Klee.

Klee was the one to visit big brother Albedo, to surprise him that you were finally back. And you complied. Dragonspine is an extension of Mondstadt, and you had plans to check up on every single resident of the nation.

Suffice to say, you were quickly hooked up in a chair, pulse detectors attached to your temples while you watched Klee doodle away on the floor. For a respected overseer, you certainly were a people pleaser, letting Albedo scan you out of his own volition (Sucrose was fussing the entire time, she didn’t want you to be hurt in the process, after all!).

“Look Grand Overseer! This is you and me and Dodoco!” Your vision was quickly filled with a flurry of bright colors on paper, one that was filled with an abundant amount of red and the other with the colors of your clothing.

“Ah! So it is! Good job, Hook!”

Everyone in silence soon tore themselves away from their work, looking at you with evident confusion.

Klee blinked, tilting her head as she looked just as lost and surprised as the other three researchers in the mountain, “Hook? That’s not how you say Klee…”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage and tried to save it with a cough, “D-Did I now? Ah, my bad… I meant to say was that you… did a great job! It immediately hooked me in!” It was a half-baked excuse — hell, call it a raw excuse even and everyone aside from Klee caught on as the explosive child beamed with pride, just happy that you loved her heartfelt creation.

Albedo eyed you in suspicion before returning to his work.

Then there was your misplaced reminiscence.

In your defense however, Snezhnaya does feel like Belobog. Sometimes… most definitely not because of the fact that both places are constantly subjected in a thick layer of snow.

The Tsaritsa was all but cruel to you. She loved you like any other archon out there and always basked in your presence — even keeping you for herself a week or two longer, leaving the next nation in your rotation of visitation completely restless at your tardiness. However in her gentle kindness was a terrifying beast that laid dormant.

Only then did you catch a glimpse of it on the morning that you and her spent on your appointed room in the palace, both you and the Cryo Archon siting on the balcony while you sipped on a hot beverage, enjoying the mountainous coated in freshly fallen snow.

You sat your cup down and blew on your hands. The Tsaritsa laughed at your actions, pleased that you can truly feel the love she embodied through the cold winds of her icy nation.

“Cold enough for you, Grand Overseer?” She jested with a light tone.

“…Yep…” your teeth lightly chattered. “…T-This place is a lot c-colder than Belobog, I’ll tell you that… B-But not more than Jarilo-VI as a whole…”

All of a sudden, you could feel the creeping coldness from beside you and looked to where the archon sat, her striking eyes looking at you with curiosity… with a smidge of coldness behind them.

“Pardon? Not colder than where?”

Her tone was pressed despite her sweet adoring smile. She took pride in her sovereign kingdom of cryo. It was all for you, to feel the comforting cold after you spent your last stay with Murata in Natlan. This was her giving you love, and suddenly, it wasn’t enough?

The better part of your mind decided to feign ignorance. And you lived to see another day.

And then the sudden secrecy.

By all means, of all people, Zhongli indulged in your stories the most. Whenever you visited Liyue, you were almost always found beside him if Ningguang wasn’t asking for your presence or if you weren’t getting coerced into another drinking competition with Beidou and her crew. And in this case, you were preoccupied with a little something while you accompanied Zhongli in his usual spot.

He listened earnestly to the storyteller while you busied yourself writing a little something on a parchment you had acquired from the Wangsheng parlor when you fetched Zhongli for his break.

And ever so slightly, he’d find himself glancing at your hunched over form, while you stewed in your little activity. He didn’t particularly mind the lack of conversation from you. Having you beside him was more than enough, actually. But it wouldn’t hurt for you to have him be just as engaged in your little agenda, would it?

The former archon peered at your work, only to be faced with scripts that were oddly reminiscent of Liyue’s characters. Albeit there were significant changes that made the language still all too different from his nation.

“…Might you be translating ancient texts, Grand Overseer?” He inquired and was met by a suspicious jolt from you.

It was a text Dan Heng gave you before to practice the language used in the Xianzhou fleet. Only now did you have time to do his little practices upon your descent. You had plans to check up on everyone as soon as you were done in Teyvat, and perhaps impressing Yanqing with your language prowess was a good party trick (and eventually not get bullied into eating something spicy because of your ignorance).

“Ah! N-No—! I— yes. No.”

Zhongli tilted his head and you were quick to recall your flubbed answer, shoving away the parchment into your little pocket. There was a frantic look in your eyes and Zhongli was concerned, naturally.

You used to be so willing in divulging everything to him in exchange for his stories, with the both of you managing to talk from dusk to dawn without fail with him needing little to no sleep and the time dilation that your body couldn’t seem to adjust to. You weren’t afraid to share what you were preoccupied with, and even often let him experience new things from your own world.

So why are you keeping secrets now?

But perhaps, the breaking point was your standoffish nature.

Aether has always cherished his raw connection with you and was proud to wear his closeness to your divinity, not because of infamy, but because of how incredibly special you treat him. While, certainly, you have made the people of Teyvat special on your visits, but what sets him apart from the rest is your adamant expression of affection towards him. For some reason, he was favored alone, not as a part of a collective unlike Venti and his people, or Zhongli and his. He alone was yours to indulge, even more behind closed doors in his teapot realm.

However… something was off after your abrupt visit.

Something had changed when you came home.

You were far more distracted, occupied with that tiny device you always held in your hand. Suddenly, Paimon wasn’t the loudest one in the teapot mansion with the incessant beeping that your phone made. It never did that before, it was always tucked away somewhere, sometimes even letting him place it in his inventory if there was little time to go back into the teapot.

He had always deemed your mode of communication useless. Especially on your travels. It was always so silent, like a useless artifact that you keep on you.

But suddenly it was teeming with life, buzzing endlessly that could drive any man with weak resistance into the threshold of insanity. You’d often pick it up and grant the little device a heavenly smile and proceed to be on it for hours upon hours.

It was a heartbreaking time for him.

It was heartbreaking whenever he would peer at your device, only for you to keep him in the dark as you made some lame excuse.

It was heartbreaking whenever he could no longer recognize your words when you talked about your own anecdotes, throwing name after name at him while he listened intently.

And oh was it heartbreaking when you called him by the name of someone else.

“[Name], have you seen my earring?” He took pride in his informality with you showing your comfortability and familiarity with the renowned traveler.

“Over on the table, Cae— ther… Caether… Aether.”

Not so much with that tiny slip.

Yes. Perhaps that was it. And all the preceding reasons.

Perhaps it was why you sat like a condemned criminal in the court of Focalors, as every archon looked at you with scrutiny and skepticism in their eyes. Only sweet Nahida looked at you in concern. Ah, your poor child. You’d rather her look away than experience the possible punishment you were about to receive.

“Grand Overseer, make no mistake, this is a trial born from the accumulated concerns of us all. This is a trial born… from our love.” The hydro archon’s voice bellowed through the courts. She normally wasn’t one to personally try the defendants, however you were a special circumstance.

You always were.

…Sure doesn’t feel like it…

“M-May I at least know what my charges are…?”

“Infidelity, Grand Overseer.” Ei answered for the collective. “I can only hope you are not found guilty.”

You grimaced. You’re quite glad that this was a private trial, with only the archons, retired or otherwise, gazing at you. Make no mistake however — this was an intimidating position to be in. You may be the Grand Overseer, but you’re quite sure the only thing keeping you alive is their thinly veiled fanaticism and adoration for you. Otherwise, you would have been incinerated long ago.

It might have been your luck. But it was something you would wholeheartedly thank as the moment Focalors slammed her gavel down, the horrifying screech of something you can only classify as a hideous ally pulled you out of your impending doom.

The alarm on your phone rang incessantly, a glaring reminder of your subpar and mundane reality, waking you up from a dream that you could barely remember.

You shot up, only realizing you fell asleep in front of your own computer. You looked up to see your game open, with your beloved traveler gazing down at you with a disappointed frown on his face.

You chalked it up to your awful sleep and rubbed your eyes, closing the game and migrating to the other, where your in-game phone was filled to the brim with messages.

Smothering a yawn in your hand, you can only shake your head.

“My games have been really weird lately. I should probably leave them alone for now. Maybe have fun with Elysia and the girls.” You muttered to yourself but not before powering your computer down.

Truly, your utter cluelessness is bound to drive everyone insane.

Fret not however, they will make it work. They will let you know of their sentience. They will make sure that you are aware of how much they admire you.

It’s only a matter of time until then.

[sea-owl]

Polin week day 1: Favorite Quote

So really, there was no urgent need to move up the wedding.

Except that he wanted to.

Colin's talk with the mama's through Portia's eyes. Set in the show verse.

"Damn!" Portia cursed as she read invitation sent to her to join Mr Colin Bridgerton and his mother Lady Bridgerton for tea. "I knew I should have encouraged Penelope to accept Lord Debling's offer. That foolish boy is going to break her heart all over again!"

For what other reason could he have to meet with just them and not have Penelope there besides wanting to end the engagement. To take back his proposal. Perhaps they can sue for breach of contract? Penelope was certainly not the one ending this, Portia knew that to be a fact. Or maybe she can orchestrate them being caught alone together, the boy is honorable enough. The ton might not have cared about them being alone together in the past but Portia knows if she makes a big enough deal about it so will they. Or Portia could strangle him with his own cravat. A dead fiancé will gather more sympathy than being jilted a month before a wedding.

As she walked across the square to the Bridgerton House Portia came up with more and more ideas to make sure Penelope ended up married. She will not let this boy ruin any chance their family had of securing themselves. Portia needed every possible daughter wed to increase their chances for a son, especially since Philippa had just given birth to a daughter. It seems Portia's curse of only seeing female descendants continues.

"Portia," Violet greeted her.

"Violet," Portia bowed her head.

Oddly enough this past season the two women have found themselves tentatively reforming a friendship. Portia couldn't tell you how but she suspects part of the reason is how tied together their two families have been, and was about to be even more closely tied. Or was.

"Do you know why Mr Bridgerton has called for us?" Portia asked. She was currently seated next to Violet on one of the couches. A servant recently brought tea and enough snacks to feed a small army.

Violet shook her head. "No he has not said. But it's probably nothing more than some pre wedding jitters."

Portia hummed as she sipped her tea. Pre wedding jitters can lead to a jilted woman.

Violet looked over Portia's shoulder at the door. "Oh Colin there you are."

"Mother," the boy greeted. "Lady Feathering."

Portia smiled. "Mr. Bridgerton."

"Come sit darling," Violet gestured to couch across form them. "Have some snacks."

The boy sat down but instead of devouring the plate in front of him he just picked up one of the sandwiches. Twisting the sandwich this way and that before putting it back down on the plate and the plate off to the side. How odd. Portia couldn't think of a time she has ever seen the boy turn down food.

The boy turned towards the mothers. "I am worried for Penelope, she has been so tried these past few weeks."

"Not to worry darling," Violet reassured him. "It's just the wedding preparations, all brides to be loose a little bit of sleep during the planning stages."

Colin looked down sheepishly. "Well I fear it may not just be the stress of wedding planning. We have been left alone on quiet a few occasions in the past few months."

Portia had to set down her cup. She was going to kill this boy for an entirely different reason now! Twice! Twice now she has had unwed mother to be in her home! They had barely escaped the scandal the last time it happened! Now this boy mocks them by possibly infecting her daughter with his spawn long before he offered marriage? Is this why he changed his mind back then, and why he wants to hasten any and all wedding preparations along now?

Portia glared at the boy, ready to tear into him when she felt a hand grab her wrist. Her glare turned onto Violet who gave her a look that said It's already done. Let's figure out how to navigate now

"I will speak to Anthony about requesting a special license," Violet said.

"And I will see the earliest we can move up the arrangements," Portia sighed.

Watching as a smile spread across her future son in-law's face and a softness fill his gaze at the mention of Penelope Portia found herself coming to the realization that perhaps there was no real urgent need to move up the wedding like he led them to believe. Perhaps he just wanted to be married sooner.

Either way it will bring Portia a possible grandson sooner, and if she was being honest she wouldn't mind having Penelope and her Bridgerton being in charge of the estate. At least she knew it would be good hands.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hmm.. what happens if Erza from fairy tail meet the one piece characters?

-Erza would be a fun one in the One Piece world, she would probably be confused at first, as she would believe the soldiers, the marines and the world government were the good guys, but after seeing the corruption and how they treated others, especially the World Nobles, she was quick to rush off to seek out those who were truly honorable people.

-She would fit fight in with the Straw Hats, with her strength and skills, many would believe it was a Devil Fruit ability, but her new crew would be stunned to learn of magic and that this was her natural skills, talent, and magic.

-Luffy would adore her, he wouldn’t even hesitate to ask her to join the crew and she would find Luffy to be a fine person, a good leader and she would follow him to Hell if he were to ask.

-Zoro and Erza aren’t allowed to spar on the ship after the first time, they had both been whacked on the head, Zoro more than Erza, after they had caused damage to the ship, but Erza was happy to help fix what she broke.

-Nami and Erza had a good friendship, they do sometimes butt heads, but they both realize the other has a good heart and had a hard past, and they wouldn’t hesitate to defend each other, Erza more than Nami as Nami will hide behind Erza, knowing that she could take care of most threats.

-Usopp tried bragging to Erza, telling lies to make himself look good, but when he tried to challenge her to a test of strength, to make sure she was tough enough, she easily beat him, much to his dismay. She does enjoy watching him tinkering.

-Sanji thought an angel had descended upon them when he first met Erza, collapsing to his knees after she saved the crew from marines, easily dispatching them with her raw strength. They weren’t expecting her to be so shy from his affection, a girly squeak leaving her lips, but that only made her cuter in Sanji’s eyes!

-Erza loves Chopper, finding him so cute and cuddly- it reminds her of Happy, and he’s amazed by her raw strength, as she always pushes herself beyond her limits, something he is researching. He loves it when she changes her outfits with transformation magic- he’s like a kid, him and Luffy both, watching with sparkly eyes.

-Robin and Erza are very relaxed together, as the two will have tea and strawberry cake together, discussing all sorts of random topics. Robin enjoys having someone to talk to like this, as does Erza, and Robin finds it amusing that Erza is usually levelheaded, unless if someone messes with her strawberry cake.

-Erza adores Franky, she loves seeing his inventions and always wants to learn more. Franky could tell that Erza was a strong woman, one who had faced hardships and pain, but still got back up, something he respected. Franky found it cute when she would get sparkly-eyed when he would show off his newest creation, asking him how it worked, wanting to learn more.

-Erza wasn’t bothered by Brook, him being a skeleton, which was unusual, as he was used to others fearing him, and he did think, for once, about asking her about seeing her panties, after he watched her punch a Sea Beast out with her bare hands. She enjoys Brook’s music, and he’s another one that she enjoys tea and cake with.

-Erza looked up to Jinbei like a father figure because that was the vibe he gave her, she respects him fiercely and Jinbei knows that Erza is breathtakingly strong, and he respects her drive to keep others safe.

-Erza fit right in with the Straw Hats, and despite being a pirate and earning a very large bounty very quickly, Erza knew that these people were good people, and she was going to protect them with everything she’s got!

[typecastwritesssss]

okay but like the wind waker man. that intro. so many questions. we all know ocarina is dark but man wind waker just straight up said "and then they all drowned and the gods never came to help" hello??? how many years. how many decades. how much time did the adult hero of time buy for them? which child of zelda’s was daphnes? her son? grandchild? great-grandchild? when he stared at the rising waters and realized nothing was going to save them, his kingdom, did he think it was retribution for all the war? 

has it really been all that long? yes and also no. the lines are so blurred. the zora are birds and the kokiri are koroks and they had time to Get That Way but everywhere you look the old Hyrule, the Hero of Time himself, they're both all over the place. the deku tree is implied to be the sprout from the adult timeline but honestly who knows. the golden goddesses are statues on islands somewhere and there was a tower built to test who came after but…who and how and why? what was the tower of the gods even for? how did they know they’d need it? at what point did they accept the hero of time was never coming back so they’d probably need to train a new one? 

and oh my god, that outset island tradition. “dress your kids in green and give ‘em a sword and pray to the gods they’ll have the courage to cast down evil.” link rolls his eyes at it but he wears them to appease grandma. the revered clothes of the hero have had time to pass into “stupid traditional getup” territory. how many “failed Links” were there before Aryll’s brother? what evil could those children have possibly stricken down? the monsters in the woods?

“what became of that kingdom? none remain who know” like goddamn. say what you want about the hero’s shade in twilight princess. but at least the traumatized ghost got to meet one of his descendants and pass on his songs and his knowledge, even if that knowledge was only of war and death and combat. in the wind waker he’s a statue. an element of a legend mentioned once or twice by the last remaining holdouts of the past—holdouts who so badly want him to return, view him as the solution over all else, that they never pause to consider any other option. there are stained glass windows of the seven sages in the master sword’s chamber that are never mentioned. there is so much that is never mentioned.

nobody knows what the fuck anybody is talking about. link doesn’t know old hylian. tetra is running around the high seas (as a pirate. she and her retainers are now pirates. how did things get that way) with a piece of the damn triforce around her neck and she doesn’t know who ‘princess zelda’ even is. the juxtaposition between ganondorf, older and tired and wiser but still hell-bent on ruling hyrule even if it is a dead land full of nothing and no one, and tetra, a zelda that knows nothing, asking why he’s laughing and calling him insane. because hyrule’s dead. she has no frame of reference for his longing, or what he found so great about this sunken kingdom.

and this is framed as a good thing. the king of red lions thinks it’s better not to let either of the kids in on the loop until tetra nearly dies for lack of knowledge. daphnes nolhansen hyrule brought “the hero” back just to end ganon, and hyrule with him. was the plan always to let the sea fall in on him? maybe. i don’t know. but he rejects zelda’s plea with him to take him with them to the land that will be the new hyrule, because “it will not be hyrule. it will be your land” and that still gets me. he thinks the best thing to do with his kingdom, Hyrule, the kingdom of a whole hell of a lot of irl people’s childhoods, is for it to wash away. he wants the kids to live for the future and they do and they will and they name it hyrule anyway in his honor but he never gets to see it.

anyways i’m still mad everybody got butthurt over “trains in a zelda game” like come on now

[scribbleseas]

in love & in war, drabble 2: the one where you meet him

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica— your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: None, save for some explicit sexual content down the line! This is just a lighthearded series for fun! Think Bridgerton :)

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for the wait! I dropped this series premiere and academia decided to just become torture from then until basically now! But now I’m a bit more free to get some writing, and hopefully I can get my content consistent again! I’ve missed you all so much. I hope you guys like this drabble! I wrote it in one sitting so I will probably make some edits/additions down the line, you know how it is lol.

Also, if you would like to be put on a taglist for my fics, please comment and I will tag you for each update! Or if you only want to follow specific fics, you can let me know in your comment and I will make individual taglists for each fic :).

Happy Reading,

Dan <3

⇐ PREVIOUS DRABBLE | NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

Y/N Y/L/N

“You filled my entire dance card?” you lamented, feeling your resolve crumble as you scanned over the small piece of cardstock paper’s lineup of 20 names, each aligned with a planned piece from the ensemble: Lord Alexis Cuthbert, Mr. Nigel Crawford, The Honorable Geoffrey Wilson… The list included a plethora of noble lords and heirs to either significant corporations or well-respected aristocratic bloodlines.

“That is in accordance with the terms of the deal, yes,” your mother insisted, simpering at you while Daphne hooked long diamond teardrops in your ears, set in gold to match the thick necklace resting on your chest. “There were many house calls made about this specific inquiry, and they were all qualified young men.” By the tone of her voice, you could tell she felt she was doing you a favor.

But truly, meeting a man during a dance was excruciating. There was no respectable escape if the conversation was painfully dry or offensive. All you could do was pray for the ending measure of the music and make a swift exit.

You sighed, turning your attention back to the list: Mr. Jack Morrison, Lord Clarence Abery, The Honorable George Ackland…

“I understand. Thank you,” you surrendered, knowing fully well that there was no changing this list without disrespecting those on it already. You were fortunate that your parents were giving you the freedom to choose your suitor in the first place. Most of your peers had been betrothed since their birth, promised to a relative or a family friend as one half of a smart match.

Mr. Neil Gayton, Lord George Cuross…

You were the Earl of Richmond and founder of TransAtlantica’s only child. That was two inheritances—even if you couldn’t assume all control. Your positions should have locked you into a smart match from the start, but your parents decided to give you a chance at a love match, too. A chance at finding real love just as they did: through a cultivated list of requirements.

As painful and awkward the prospect was, it certainly wasn’t the worst outcome for a woman in your position.

“Lord Ciel Phantomhive?” your eye caught his name before you could properly descend through the list because you couldn’t believe it was there of all places. You knew the Lord Phantomhive to be incredibly private, skipping most if not all social gatherings and public appearances. The public rumored that he guarded his appearance closely because he was one of Her Majesty’s advisors and private investigators. You were most accustomed to seeing his name in stately cursive at the bottom of correspondences with your father and his associates.

“His butler called on his behalf the other day,” Daphne answered for your mother, smiling apologetically for interjecting. “He said he will be attending the charity ball tonight and wishes to meet you.”

“He is more than qualified and interested,” your mother said, “your father has always liked him.”

“Father likes his business strategy, no one knows him,” you answered, letting the dance card fall from your wrist limply. There was no merit in analyzing the names on it— you knew there was no escaping the evening.

Your mother rolled her eyes, unwilling to engage with your technicalities. “Come now. Our guests are trickling in. We should greet them with your father,” she offered her arm to you. You accepted, allowing her to guide you out of the suite with Daphne in tow. Whenever TransAtlantica co-hosted events at the Langham Hotel, your family rented the penthouse to finish preparations without having to make a commute from the estate.

. . .

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability. Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability, Ciel Phantomhive reminded himself with every step closer to The Langham Hotel’s grand ballroom, trudging through formalities and tepid greetings in the populated hall leading to it. It was the phrase he used to justify all of this unyielding frustration at each step: listening to Sebastian as he attempted to break down the confounding science of charming a young woman into comprehensible steps, and now, burdening his already-fraught calendar with unnecessary social appearances just to put himself in Lady Y/n’s path.

Unnecessary social appearances such as The British National Society for Aid and to the Sick and Wounded in War’s annual ball in partnership with TransAtlantica—one of many charitable foundations that the shipping company partnered with. TransAtlantica covered the costs of a lavish evening and invited their extensive networks of business moguls and the aristocracy to partake in raffles throughout the formal night. All proceeds went to the medical organization, and all publicity went to the company.

Until this year, Ciel was content with having Sebastian send his regrets to TransAtlantica alongside a hefty donation to maintain goodwill. But now, maintaining goodwill with this corporation and the family behind it would no longer suffice. He needed to make a personal appearance both at the ball and in the middle of Lady Y/n’s dance card. After Y/n cooly rebuffed him after moments of light teasing Sebastian made the appropriate arrangements with one of the maids to put Ciel.

While Ciel was well aware of the stubborn reputation proceeding her, few dared take such a tone with him. And for so little. Defensive, she was! Was it such a crime to be transparent about how it was careless to step onto a street without looking both ways? If Ciel hadn’t saved her at the perfect moment— even if Sebastian orchestrated the timing — she would have been hit!

“Find Lady Y/n when it comes time for your waltz,” Sebastian reminded Ciel as they entered the ballroom, “you are only on her dance card for a single number. The point is that you make a better impression this time.” The bloody butler prodded at Ciel’s lack of romantic finesse— a talent that a sleazy demon might have in surplus. Apparently, approaching her first and taking the time to see himself onto her dance card would prove Ciel’s interest in her.

“And of course, you must remember your apology, sir,” Sebastian’s words were coated in honey, the most obvious tell of his amusement. The prospect of his master having to express his regrets. “You bruised her pride,” he explained.

In response, Ciel sent him a fleeting gaze, heavy with irritation. Exhaustion after hours of coaching and correcting, endless explanations as to why Sebastian insisted that Y/n could never connect with him properly if he failed to acknowledge her grievances.

“I will,” he answered simply, clenching his jaw at the thought of verbalizing anything along the lines of ‘I apologize.’ He never had to apologize for his actions—not ones that were truly malevolent, and certainly not ones that were decently-natured. Although it seemed the exception was for the daughters of incredibly prominent figures whom he needed to charm. So much so that Sebastian had Ciel practice the series of words in front of a mirror.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

The phrase had Ciel’s shoulders relaxing into proper posture, his tense jaw relaxing with reluctance. He took a gradual inhale in, scanning the room for Lady Y/n. He found her in moments, catching her pale green gown and its gold accents shining in the warm chandelier light. She was engaged in a jubilant exchange with the wife of Selwyn Westley, the owner of a prominent watch company.

“Very good, my Lord,” Sebastian chirped, merely watching Ciel build his resolve. He’d seen the Earl tackle a number of more threatening offenses: vengeful angels, homicidal circus clowns, and corrupt monopolists with less agonizing. “There is absolutely no time to waste,” he added in reference to the rest of TransAtlantica’s suitors (they were longshot candidates, at best) as they readied themselves among their own servants. Several men’s eyes lingered on the small dance card that hung from Lady Y/n’s wrist, looking to secure a spot in the moments before the first dance started.

It was that particular thought that had the corner of Ciel’s mouth twisting upwards, satisfied. Courtship could never be left to chance. It was a strategy— a war. How could they hope to defeat him when they couldn’t even manage to get themselves in front of her?

. . .

Y/N Y/L/N

“And that’s when I told him: I think I left them in the carriage!” Inara Johnson laughed riotously, briefly touching your arm as you laughed, mirroring the young woman’s impish grin. She had been recounting a sordid story about her courtship with her husband since it seemed your mother was quite liberal in spreading the word about your season beginning. Even still, Mrs. Johnson was quite a breath of fresh air after you suffered nine suitors trying too hard to impress you.

“I can’t imagine what you could have done without a spare change of clothing!” You managed through laughs, ignoring the pinch in your cheeks after hours of simpering and entertainment. You were only about halfway through the merriment, the orchestra completing a lively movement to start transitioning to the first waltz of the evening.

You only had a few moments to find your next suitor: Lord Ciel Phantomhive.

“I should find my husband for this waltz! I certainly hope you find yours quite soon, my Lady, I’ll be looking forward to your wedding,” she chuckled, parting with you after a playful wink.

“Enjoy the night,” you nodded, unsure of how to start your search for a faceless man as Mrs. Johnson found Mr. Johnson in seconds. He’d only been paces away, engaged with your parents about something you couldn’t quite pick up.

You took another look at your card to ensure that Ciel Phantomhive was indeed your next dance partner, but just as your gaze caught his name again, the man who pulled you from the carriage approached you. The very one that you were content with never laying eyes on again.

“Lady Y/n, just the perfect timing. Were you looking to join this waltz now?” He dared to ask, his sapphire eye just as breathtaking as it had been, his lips turning in the same mildly amused manner. Trying to appear aloof. “Or were you uninterested in sharing your time with the likes of mediocre destitution such as myself?” he asked, repeating the words you threw at him.

Was he trying to get a rise out of you?

You felt your face warm from his attempts as you fashioned your falling expression into a sparking grin. The future-Countess-of-Richmond-grin that you relied on so much. There was no losing your temper in this environment without mortifying your family name.

“Unfortunately, my dance card is full,” you answered with false kindness, feeling the young man see straight through your pleasant deception. That was one of the only lines a young noblewoman had to tell a man to leave her to her lonesome; it was well-known by all of polite society. “Perhaps another time. Though I really do need to find my next—” you started, starting to take a step to walk around him, but he side-stepped in your path.

“—After I saved your life last week, I thought you might find time for a dance,” he interjected, causing the remnants of your Countess smile to falter. “That’s why I had my butler secure this waltz with you.”

Your blood ran cold, your smile finally melting off your face. He couldn’t be…could he? It would only make sense, you supposed. A person astute enough to even impress your father.

“I was scheduled with the Earl of Phantomhive,” you forced yourself to answer placidly. You readjusted your expression, unwilling to give the man the satisfaction of visibly surprising you.

“Then you found me already,” Lord Phantomhive replied, all too satisfied. You didn’t even find him! He found you!

You failed to conceal your thoughts, judging by the condescending mirth in his grin. “Shall we?”

. . .

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“I— yes, I suppose we shall,” Lady Y/n cleared her throat, despite herself. She laced her arm with Ciel’s as he guided her to the center of the ballroom, more than certain that they were attracting attention, even if most people couldn’t connect his appearance to his name. The very reputation that filled a room enough to substitute his physical presence, most of the time.

Technically, he didn’t have to bow to Y/n because he outranked her, but as Sebastian insinuated, apparently Ciel needed to nurse her shallow pride.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

Taking Y/n’s hand, Ciel led her into the first steps of the waltz. She seemed more interested in studying him than starting a conversation, mechanically following the dance while her mind was elsewhere. He allowed her to dissect the performance he put on for her for a few long moments before speaking.

“I wanted to take this opportunity to extend my sincerest apologies to you, Lady Y/l/n,” Ciel said, visualizing the script that he and Sebastian formulated. He had to make the words seem genuine as if he’d given them enough thought to be considerate, but not so much that he was reciting them. He guided Y/n through a turn, feeling her back tense under his hand.

“I should have helped you find the man who took your things rather than demean you with quips that failed to land,” Ciel continued, taking her continued silence as a bid to continue. His skin crawled at his words, betrayal bristling down his spine. He didn’t apologize. It was fundamentally wrong. And yet, for TransAtlantica, he would. Perhaps this company was the Earl of Phantomhive’s only real love match. “I know I seem far from deserving, but I do hope for your forgiveness. If you give me the opportunity, I hope to show you that I can be,” he continued, fashioning a similar helpless frown that Sebastian used to appeal to frustrated women.

Y/n’s face was unchanged, the same politely engaged expression with clear notes of frustration layered beneath. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy—she was a petulant heiress unused to not having her way with people. She hummed, tilting her head as she took another moment to dissect his expression. The movement caused her long earrings to sway, drawing Ciel’s attention to the length of her neck and the complicated waves she had her hair styled in.

“You should have helped me,” Y/n agreed gruffly. “A proper gentleman would have, after all,” she mused.

Was the apology not gentlemanly enough? Ciel felt it exceeded expectations.

“I would…treasure the chance to prove myself to be a gentleman, then.” He answered, using part of a line Sebastian fed him. The demon did not have any foresight into the future, but after investigating Y/n with the intensity he would look into a criminal with, he had decent intuition regarding how these planned interactions would unfold. Sebastian accurately assumed she wouldn’t accept that apology.

“The chance to prove yourself?” Y/n repeated, her interest piqued at the proposition. Finally—a new emotion on her face besides detached politeness. “That sounds like quite the endeavor, my Lord.”

“It may very well be, should you let me accompany you on a promenade next week,” Ciel answered, watching her face redden. “If you might overlook my…” his mouth was drier than cotton, “deficiencies.”

He nearly choked on the word. Bloody Hell.

“Perhaps I might find time,” Lady Y/n answered, and Ciel’s heart soared for all the right reasons. He had a chance at the corporation, after all. It seemed acting was just as suspiciously close to lying as Sebastian had insisted.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

. . .

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part ii

tags: same as before except more unhinged, (slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT), idiots in love, friends with benefits though it is more than that, oral sex (fem and male receiving), fingering, piv sex, overstimulation, thigh riding, dom!obi?, ANGST AT SOME POINT(S), tension so high that they should be on medication, me shortening every uncle-in-law phrase to uncle bcs english sucks in family terms, overuse of commas because editing 42 pages is hard

a/n: HELLO AGAIN, thank you all so much for all the love you've shown, i couldn't be more grateful. sorry for the *long* wait, i just thought the story needed a little longer than a week to do its trick, and frankly i am a busy person so 7 day gap wouldn't work for me. but i hope you can forgive me with this beast of a chapter, it is my first time writing such a long one. hope you enjoy it, and see you all again soon!

also not so fun fact: i totally misunderstood the "season", thinking it should be around summer- early autumn but it was the other way around, sorry, all the historical babes (i can no longer call myself that) for the frustration. but this timetable suits this story much better, does it not?

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

chapter two: it's a bad idea, right?

The morning or to be exact, the noon, is when you finally feel refreshed, ready for the challenges of the day. Lucky, because your relatives are more than understanding, has always been. They would scold you for going about your day as a ghost rather than miss breakfast or join only halfway to their other activities. You always try to honor their kindness, not to take advantage of the privileges as a guest, and do your best to spend time with your cousin Carolina, (The young girl has all the benefits of her young age, full of energy and excitement, fascinated by the stories she hears (from you, mostly)), and also avoid bringing a man into your room under their roof and absolutely ravaging each other-

The last one is an exception, which you are not proud of, yet not a single drop of guilt muddies your soul. None, considering the enjoyment or strengthened bonds.

Speaking of it, something tells you that you'd have been late anyways if you woke up early, thanks to him. There's indeed a mark on the side of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. Also, your thighs share the same fate, though lightly, a few small bruises and red, irritated areas thanks to his neat beard. Thankfully, they're quite hidden except the one that's not that has you cursing at him. For how good it felt, and for his daredevil nature. 

You're scared to admit your fear for your future with him, not in the romantic expectations aspect, you would never, but for the simpler stuff like how are you going to look at his face and not be reminded of its presence between your legs. Or the unending tease he’ll become, even more so than usual, rightfully so. Make no mistake, you had pretty high expectations, and an overall picture of your relationships past it. Yet, last night was its own entity, reducing you to a mess in the most beautiful way, plucking every thought from your mind, yet dropping seeds of doubt like this.

Still, there’s a foolish smile on your face, and some soreness in between your legs, a welcomed ache.

Nonetheless, you’re not sure how to react when you descend the stairs, and he’s there, sharing tea with your aunt and uncle.

Obi Wan stands up in a blink, even before your aunt has the chance to react to your entry.

“Oh, here you are, sweetie! Just in time to join us in the gardens, and look, who’s here!”

“Hello, auntie. Uncle.” For what’s worth, you like being here, with them, and nothing changes that. You can feel the adamantine warm cloud of love in your chest. The reason you never doubted coming here.

“Lord Kenobi.” You greet him as well, though not with that big smile and sincerity you’ve just shown.

“My Lady.” His indifferent tone is interesting. Indifferent, yet indifferent as any other time, respectful and overly sympathetic. Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you think? Yet, he’s here, isn’t he? His very presence is questionable enough.

“How good of the young man to join us, don’t you think? Though I fear it’s only due to work issues, and not out of courtesy.”

Yes, how good! And definitely not out of courtesy.

“You hurt me, Madam.” He objects, frowning his brows. “I must say this house, with its amiable hosts, has always had a great place in my heart. Last night once again proved it right, it was the best ball I’ve ever been to all summer. In fact, I was thinking of learning your contacts for the band and the cook, you inspired me to throw my own.”

You really, really try to not roll your eyes, and drop the tea that’s being offered to you now.

“Oh, no problem at all! I’ll write them down when we finish the paperwork in my study.” Your uncle says, and the absolute charmed look and excitation in his eyes have your stomach sinking. “And how are you, my dear? Haven’t you shaken out the morning chill yet?” He points to your shawl, wrapped tightly around your neck. You powdered the marks, and put on a big necklace, but then decided you couldn’t be too careful, and put on the fabric too.

“Yes, I think the weather change wasn’t quite easy on me this time.” You reach for the honey, making a show of it so they don’t put you in the center of attention.

“Did you sleep well last night?”So, it doesn’t work. And that’s about the one question you hoped to avoid.

“Despite the exertion taking place-“ Kenobi’s eyes widen, exaggerated by the teacup basically covering other parts of his face, and for a second you think he may choke on his tea. “downstairs, I say it was the best sleep I could’ve ever had.”

You hope your acting inspires the same in him too. He suppresses that little cough well, and the blush settling in his cheeks is faint, easily blamed on the warmth of the drink.

Strike one.

Irritation grows in you, rather than anxiety. Does he really think you’re that crude? That dumb? You make a point of not looking his way after that, an attitude clearly noticed by him in no time. It’s not like he has any chance of talking about it, but the alarm bell in his head rings continuously, busying his mind ‘til the opportune moment comes to talk about it.

Then, a gleeful screech of your name fills the room. In a blink, your cousin is right next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulder that you can’t properly stand up and hug her back in a normal way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all day long!” She says, hands reaching to hold yours, almost causing you to lose control of the fabric covering your neck. “We’ve got so much to do! And you were going to tell me all about Naboo! Did you really get to see the lions?”

“Sweetie-“ Despite the wildness of the affection you are given, there’s a huge smile on your face, and you almost make her sit on your lap- an old habit from her younger years.

“Come now- you promised to go riding with me. I want to show you how much I improved.”

“Well-“ your poor, poor legs are in no condition for that kind of activity. “I think it’s best if we do that tomorrow. You see, I had enough of it yesterday, I’ve been in a carriage all day.”

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

Your furious gaze kills that gleam quickly though. The faint smirk disappears, and he straightens his back, clearing his throat.

“Carolina, can’t you see we have a guest? Where are your manners? And give your poor cousin some space, for God’s sake!” Your aunt exaggerates like any mother of her generation, that high pitched voice screeching every ear in the room.

You should be glad to see the subject changed, but the condition of it is bitter. She bows her head down, taking a few steps away from you, but you hold onto her hand, keeping her near.

“Hello, young lady. I am Obi Wan Kenobi.” He sounds- sympathetic, though not overly. It is this sweet balance between respecting their being without the prejudices of age, but compassionate enough not to crush them under expectations they are yet to achieve. Interpreting this from just a couple of words seems a bit of a stretch, you know, still, his whole attitude screams he’s got some experience talking to kids, or considerable knowledge about the human psyche.

“He’s a friend of mine.” You explain further, trying to ease her.

“Welcome, Lord Kenobi.” She curtsies, yeah, she’s perfected that, you observe with proud eyes.

“I didn’t see you at the ball last night, I’m afraid.” Like he was there longer than an hour.

“It was past my bedtime.” The look she gives her parents tells him all he needs to know about her character, or precisely who influences her. He wonders if it was any similar to yours.  “I hope you had a wonderful time. You must’ve, because she’s an excellent dancer.” She turns at you, smiling so innocently that you can’t blame her for complicating things. “She taught me all about it, even better than my tutors.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t-“ The sentence synchronically rolls from both of your tongues, but you stop as you realize. There’s an abrupt silence in the room for a few seconds, causing anger to bubble up in you once more, and forcing you to make up an excuse to break free from this atmosphere.

“Hey,” You tug on her arm, “I’ve brought candy.” And just like that, she’s jumping all over you, bouncing with joy, “Sshh,” You warn. “First we need to go somewhere unseen.”

===

You see him again, days after, when he’s clearly learned his lesson, and gave you a window to breathe, calm your fury. The worst thing? It works. You can imagine (or in other words daydream) the next time you two see each other, which you desperately wish for it to be soon, and picture keeping yourself from stepping onto his feet, or shoving your finger into his chest. It all could not be forgotten but worked out through little warnings and explanations. Communication, basically.

And it turns out, you don't have to imagine any longer, and have the perfect opportunity to test your temper.

In a cafe. Where you sit alone. Blissfully ignorant of the couples (or to-be-couples) surrounding you. But most importantly, unchaperoned. (You had your tongue to defy any unwanted presence, and it's not like people came here alone like yourself. They came here for dates. And if anything, your presence was a litmus paper. What was to happen in marriage, if one couldn’t even keep their eyes from others in those little flirtatious rendezvous?)

(Though you knew some didn’t see it that way. A temptress, their choice of word to describe you.)

Obi Wan walks up to your table in quick, big steps that somehow don’t capture the attention of anyone but you. A further proof of that magic dust he sprinkles.  He’s dressed in browns today. It is a welcomed change. The smile on his face is unbeatably prominent, even as he follows the guide of manners, bowing his head and removing his hat before he sits in front of you. There’s no indication of his previous whereabouts in his looks and you wonder how he found you. Was he simply passing by the establishment before noticing your presence, or did he inquire about your engagements today, asking around?

"You shouldn't be here." It’s that sweet tone of yours, an alarm said in the softest of inclinations. “I have no company.” While it is redundant to both of your mindsets, the need of a chaperone for every conversation you have with strangers, you like to be cautious.

Then let me be it, he would’ve said, if it wasn’t literally the first time after your distasteful encounter. He’s not going to throw away that lesson for a shot of comedy. Or the fact that it’s hardly a request, but again- It’s not worth it. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the last time. It was- unadvisable to say the least.”

That- feels so good to hear, somehow. Far better than expected. You lean back in your chair, a sly smile on your face that you can’t help, and a subtle blush, a total contrast to your attitude.

“What can I say though? I don’t know if it’s still possible to be unsatisfied, but I sure felt like that if I didn’t see you again.”

Your fingers grasp the fork far too tightly, considering you have no appetite left for the desert in front of you. It’s the flashbacks from that night, and the undeniable effects it had on both of you.  

“Well, apology accepted.” 

He releases a breath after your words, visibly relaxed, amusing you further. You focus your gaze on the plate, in hopes of blending this conversation into the atmosphere around. 

You add. “Then again, don’t take my forgiveness for granted. None of my partners were this careless, and I seriously expected better from you.” 

(You're quite aware this is not the sort of conversation fit here.)

The interruption of “Oh, that will never even cross my mind.”, turns into “Partners?”, thankfully in a whisper, but sharp enough that it holds the same value as a shriek. He plays it off like it’s a frivolous question, a part of your ongoing banter, a mere thread to spin the conversation.

As if you gave the perfect impression of a blushing virgin that night. You flutter your lashes, as you take a bite. The silence is absolutely deafening, before you can continue. “There’s a reason I like traveling that much. Naboo. Correlia. Alderaan. God, even Hoth.” The discomfort in his face grows, and you fight it with an explanation, hoping that’s the reason. “Never at the same time, though, if it wasn’t obvious. It was just about having good company if I was to spend months in a city.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He shakes his head, an act of his nonjudgemental nature. “So, am I the Coruscant part of your little play?”

“No. You're the exception.” You laugh. “I haven’t- not here. I wouldn’t dare. Too little privacy. No trust. Above all, not a single soul that felt like a match of my own. Til I met you.” He deserves to hear that, right? “However I must say, the rules would be a little different here. Requires more caution. Fine work. For example, you couldn’t come and see me like this whenever you desire."

"Fair enough." He agrees, though makes little effort to follow the lesson. Actually, not even little, none. He just sits there, moulding into his chair further, a pleasant grin as he takes the world in, entertaining himself with the surrounding people. And you, of course. His piercing gaze travels back to you, every time.

Well, right. Not like you wanted him off of your table. "What do you want, Lord Kenobi?" And how did you know I would be here anyway? 

"Are you coming to the picnic on Saturday, in the Perlemian Park?"

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

"I'm only going if you are joining too." He wets his lips, an action you don't miss, and you continue to watch it long after he's done and see the next words coming out, before your brain can comprehend their meaning. "So, I'll need a better answer." 

The same lips that mapped out your entire body, whispered all those dirty things, tasted your hidden corners, drinking in the pleasure it provided…

He clears his throat, and you break out of the trance. He looks at you with a brow lifted, but the twinkles behind his blue eyes tell you it's not out of boredom. More like the exact opposite. 

"I'll be there." 

This is his cue to leave, with excitement for the said event, and a tinge of sadness for this interaction ending. You mirror his manners as he bids you a good day. 

Then, you're left alone, exactly as merely half an hour ago. Yet, the dessert in front of you is unsavory, nowhere near enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.  

It is still completely the same.

=== 

Comes Saturday, and does it come slower than possible… The weather seems like it's making one last show before the summer ends and scorches the earth, leaving everyone a sweating mess, little to no words coming out of their mouth, sprawled on the nearest surface. You seriously debate whether calling the offer off, the choice of fanning yourself to a lazy nap sounding better and better. It is in these extensive relaxations that you uncover the horrid truth- your fingers fell short in bringing you pleasure now, making you an even more sweaty, frustrated mess rather than the relaxed, drowsy mess you want to be. It is an awful revelation, bringing along many questions that haunt your every waking hour. You fear it's got something to do with him- and the best prescription for you is to stay away.

Alas, you keep true to your promise and show up. 

Thankfully the air has calmed down on said day, and sorbets are refreshing, making it more than a bearable experience. Bearable is actually an insult in this case, for it is more than that. These people are some of your oldest friends, close to your age, and share your opinions. It is hard not having fun when you are allowed to be free (just a little more than normal, though it is enough). None cares about the obscene gossip, or juices of fruit staining faces, dripping onto the expensive fabrics you all are adorned in. Laughs are loud and constant, never letting three minutes go without them. Hands are all flying around, hitting each other as a joke, reaching for the last piece of cake, taking the very dangerous road back without spilling a drop of the drink (which is, once again, a target of pranks).

Obi Wan enjoys it as much as you do, despite the fact that he doesn’t know them like you do. His life doesn’t allow much leisure time, and his choice of friends is mostly unfitting to these kinds of events, but he doesn’t have a problem finding joy in these kinds of events. Maybe it is mostly due to you, watching you in your nature, admiring the way you handle yourself among the crossfire of jokes, or what foods you prefer the most, making silly expressions as the taste of them hits just right. With every little thing he learns about you, he’s drawn closer to you. Once, he would name you a mystery, yet that would indicate the thrill was all in revelation. Now, it is the exact opposite. He gets more excited with each new question, like what is the actual story behind the “donkey joke” you are hinting at, or why do you pick some of the seemingly perfectly looking strawberries aside and pick others- or why you blush when you catch him looking at you, only to do the same yourself?

It is only in the afternoon that the buzz leaves its place for something serene. Conversations diminish, replies take longer, bodies sag and lean on the nearest surface, be the tree trunks or picnic baskets or their loved ones.

C’mon then, let’s take a walk. One proposes, and others follow, albeit slowly and with protests. You are among the latter, every cell in your body refusing to produce or use energy.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you end up at the very back of the group with Lord Kenobi, and while you manage to stick with him unlike your friends, the distance between you and them grows and now, you can safely say that you’ve lost the sight of them. Twenty minutes ago.

So yes, you’ve been walking alongside him in silence. Far away that you don’t brush hands, yet so close that it would raise questions if someone were to see.

“I don’t think this is doing much for my somnolence.” He basically yawns.

"Should I take that as an insult, my Lord?" 

"Why would you- what did I say to make you think so?" He shakes his head, as stubborn as he's apologetic, ready to accept the accusation if your reasons are firm. Still, his heart is already pacing up, distressed. That must be the wine taking over.

"Well, am I not the only reason for your presence? And I must be boring you, if you are still feeling drowsy." 

"No- Absolutely untrue- “ He stutters, a panic to find the right words, not to be buried under your claims, he is not going to lose his chance to be by your side- only to realize the grin on your face too late.

"You little minx." He breathes out, and is rewarded by the sound of your tempting giggle. 

"Seems like I successfully rid you of your problem." You take pride. "And now, I suggest walking by the lake, to ensure its permeance."

"You mean to dip my feet in the water?" Again, he shakes his head, already rejecting the proposition.

"If you don't do it I shall." You skip, prancing like a nymph before he grabs you by the arm. 

“I don’t think that is safe.”

“It perfectly is.” You state, bewildered by his anxious urge. One look into his hand, and he remembers to let you go. The said hand flies to his hair, with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, but – let me be by your side. And make it quick.”

The fact that he thinks you need his approval is downright funny, though you’d take issue with it any other time. Now, you are amused by his good intended worries and don’t have it in your conscience to break his heart over it, or bring up a quarrel.

So, you start undressing. Only your socks and shoes.

Still, the blush settles on his cheeks, and the light behind his eyes burns brighter as he sees the skin just above your knees naked. Not for the first time- still, he feels like turning his back on you, but does no such thing. And that is not because it defeats the purpose of his presence.

God, how could you even make you believe he wasn’t planning on having these impure thoughts?

You feel your temperature rising, and it has nothing to do with the sun. You meet his hypnotized eyes, and can still feel it focused on you. After days of dissatisfaction, its effect is multiplied by ten, making your heart race. You pray none of it is visible on your face. the last thing you need is for him to know.

He laughs when you lay the white fabric in the old woods of the docks, like the spoiled child you are. It is more than likely to stain, but more importantly, it is definitely old, creacking under every step, hence his aversion to sit beside you with a head shake. You shrug in return, and pull your skirt slightly above your knees, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Oh, this is lovely!” You say, sprawling your toes in the water. “Truly, you are missing out.”

“I believe you, my Lady.” His tone is joyful, just the right combination of trust and mockery.

You turn to look at him, a big mistake. The excess part of your dress brushes the surface, wetting the fabric, though it is the last thing you care. He is looking at you, with that charming grin, and subtle hunger etched into his gaze, screaming worship, in complete awe of the scene he's beholding, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, holding his hand, her dress bunched up like in those ancient paintings of fairies, and endless passion for the leading role of it. It swirls the emotions deep inside your belly, the only reaction you want to avoid. Yet, you’re not immune to it. your heart skips a beat, the tingles overtaking your skin.

“Look- I see fishes!” You whip your head, the one thing you can do in hopes of breaking the tension. You lean forward, trying to get a clear view, or try to do so because you are stopped by his grip.

“That’s enough.” The command sends a shiver down your spine. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

“Fine.” You huff, the simplest protest you can manage. His touch softens as he realizes you’re going to follow his words, though takes long to let go.

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

“How long are you going to stand like this?” You ask, exasperated that this isn’t going anything like you imagined.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m also standing, this is hardly fun.”

“That is only the result of your own choice.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huff and climb back on your feet, disregarding the objections of the offended dock. Then, you push past him- 

He suddenly pulls you back, promptly disrupting your balance, a tactic he uses to pick you up into his arms. You scream as your feet meet the air, hands grabbing anything they can reach which ends up being his clothes.

“What are you doing?!” You yell, burying your fingers into him. With how strong your grip is, you can feel every muscle tensing under your touch. 

“I’m not gonna let you walk in that mud, after all.” He explains like it was the problem you were referring to.”

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

He leans his back on the tree, and you rest your arms on your knees, propped up.

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

“If you name it so.” His smile is borderline insulting, ear to ear. With one look, he points at the reason- your wet feet. There’s literally no choice but to wait for them to dry up. But by proposing the only solution, he infuriates you further.

“Very interesting.” You snark. “I would’ve just stood back if I knew this was what we would be doing.”

“And now it is I who might take those words as an insult. Have I somehow proven my companionship to be loathsome in the times we spent together?”

Times you spent together… The flashbacks are, as implied in their name, flash before your eyes at such great speed that by the time you realize it is not something you should ponder upon now, your heart rate is already up, the flame deep in your belly ignited once again, and even the sounds of the past are echoing in your ears. You turn your head away from him, cursing at the color blooming on your cheeks.

Oh, but the action is enough to let him know exactly what you are feeling, a song of “I thought so” on his tongue- yet he doesn’t sing it yet, realizing the underestimation of his own emotions. He brings it upon himself- a glance at you, taking in your red face (as much as possible) and bare legs, let out to the sun to dry up.

“Well, I’ll think that’s the case if you don’t say anything.” He opts to say this instead, loving to taunt you further. 

“It’s not.” You mumble, still turned to the other side, fingernails digging at your palm.

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

The moment you move your head, you are met with his face, so close to yours, a distance he promptly closes by placing a hand at your neck, and tugging at it, ‘til your lips crash. You lose your balance once more, gripping his collars to not fully crush him with your weight. You gasp, the only protest you have in yourself, because for all your resolve to stay away, here you are, falling right into his arms. And it feels so damn good.

You gasp, pushing him. He laughs as his back hits the tree, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You whisper-scream, suddenly aware of the fact that while you are all alone on this field, your friends are still very much around.

“Oh, what am I doing? It is you, darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were looking at me.”

You direct your gaze to the ground, embarrassment getting the better of you.

“What is it?” He questions your lack of defiance. “You had no problem before. Don’t tell me you’re scared of being seen. They should at least be like, a mile away.”

Yeah. That’s absolutely correct. Besides, you’re shielded from any unwanted visitors by the thick line of trees, and the sheer distance between there and the path. It is a secluded corner of the lakeside.

“Or is there something else that’s bothering you?” This, is said in a more suggestive tone, and its effect is only amplified by the way he holds your chin to refocus your attention. You burn under his grasp and insistent watch.

Say farewell to your pride.

You let yourself fall over him once more, kissing him with a whimper you can’t quite suppress. You feel his smirk at that, but neither of you dwells on it, for he too lets out a sound of desperation, panting as he pulls you close, placing you on his thigh. (You hear your dress positively rubbing against the grass, and dare not to imagine the green blotch that may appear.) You don’t know whether to celebrate your newfound closeness or chastise your weak will, for it creates a new wave of desire in you as you delve your fingers into his beard. Your skin lights up against his coarse hair, so familiar yet so unyielding under your touch, and to be holding his face in your hands like this only blinds you more. So blind that you only realize the movement of your hips, seeking pleasure, when he holds them.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” A kiss right on the left corner of your lips. “Are you haunted by that night so deeply that you are unable to satisfy your needs on your own, like me? Or hell, with another?” Even in the midst of haze, you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the mention of a third party.

“No- only you.” You whisper, too afraid of things ending.

“Fuck.” He can’t help but burst at your surrender. “That’s my girl. Lift your hips a little for me, darling.”

You oblige without question, raising yourself on your trembling thighs. Holding your breath, imagining all the things he can do to you… He is bewitched by your neediness, the way you moan at the first contact his hand makes with your skin after lifting your skirt just above your knees so you have more freedom to move, and can directly sit on his thigh.  

Speaking of it, why? Your eyebrows scrunch as he pushes you down like that, though the actual questioning part comes a second after your clit rubs against the fabric, not his cock, the first jolt of true ecstasy you experienced in a while, but that can’t be the case for him, right? “What are you-?”

“Trust me.” He takes his sweet time to relish the expense of your neck, so close for his taking, partly to ease your nerves, and frankly it is too much fun for his own good to feel you twitch in anticipation, and your breath getting stolen away at his open-mouthed kisses, panting when he lingers on a spot for too long at the fear of him leaving a bruise. “No marks, I perfectly remember.” He has to confess after a point, and only after that point, you begin to truly relax, and have your heart beating so fast at the same time, noticing your wetness is positively seeping into his clothes.

Your jaw hangs open with a silent pant as he decides it’s enough, and guides your body, rocking onto his. It’s not something you haven’t done before, but there’s something so unique about now, maybe the scandalous location, or your depraved state, or simply everything regarding him, that you are convinced it looks like your first time. Shit, it may even be your first time, considering the previous examples are nowhere close to this, the stakes, the desperation, the payoff… You’re holding onto his shoulders like a fucking virgin, pressed so close to receive every bit of affection he's giving. It’s the damn heat, the greatest excuse on your lips for the last couple of weeks, invalidated by the nonexistence of space between you and him. It only causes sweat to pour out of both of you, like the constant drip out of your cunt, sabotaging all your attempts to gain control, and create the slightest of frustration. 

“Obi Wan.” You chant his name, unable to form any other word, and he drinks it all in, valiantly ignoring the ache in his cock. It is a hard task, a growing challenge as your knee brushes against it from time to time, especially when you try to take initiative and escape the rhythm he’s trying to create.

“Ah-ah-ah- Let me take over. You know we’re short on time, darling.”

Then, he does justice to his words as he bounces his leg, the added pressure claiming a gasp from you.

“Do that again.” What your efforts can't get you, maybe your pleads can. After all, you're just as stubborn as him, giving up easily is not on your book.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”  

You roll your eyes, though it is totally due to annoyance, and let out a moan, throwing your head back. The fresh air does nothing for your lungs anymore, just an outlet for your scandalous noises. Which, he has no complaints too, your erratic breaths warmed his neck enough, and blessed him with those sweet sounds, right under his ear. Oh, but in any other case, this was anywhere else, and he had to silence you, also which he has no complaints too. Perhaps the sole problem is missing the blissed out expressions of your pretty face, and the light in your eyes, burning for him.

“Are you close?” Like he even needs to ask, like he’s not aware of your moans turned whimpers.

“Hmmh.” Is all the answer he gets, and that’s enough for him, laughing quietly, as you feel the vibrations of his chest.

When you cum, it is indeed an earth-shattering moment, and an end to your misery, the first drop of water after thirst- so much so that you don’t care about it happening in such a short time. Your legs squeeze his firm thigh, shaking over them like the rest of you. His one hand travels to your waist, holding you steady and pressed against him. You swear you can feel every aspect of his hand over three layers of fabric, yet he’s not actually exerting that much power, treating you like a delicate flower, afraid to crush the silky petals.

You sigh as the trembles die down, your senses coming back to you one by one- the first and foremost the tension in the body beneath you. Your fingers loosen from his collars, and travel the expanse of his torso slowly, a kiss to his throat in the meantime.

“Don’t you worry about me.” His voice is slightly shaky, though it may very well be due to his exertion.

“I think I should.” Its trueness is further proven when you palm him, and he groans. Though he is insistent.

“Look at you, you sweet thing, concerned with me walking around with a hard-on.”

That has you rolling your eyes, and removing your hand. Removing your entire body, even. You settle on the grass, leaning on your elbows. Your dress is already ruined, so you’re past the point of worrying.

“On the other hand, you may want to think about this.” He points to his wet trousers, the dark stain visible even though the fabric is black.

Uh oh. That is indeed a problem, if you are to return soon. Unfortunately, your brain can’t grasp the danger, coming up with solutions like soaking him entirely in the lake… 

So, it’s no wonder that your next words are a joke.“You marked me, I marked you. We're even.”

To your surprise, it works. His laughter fills the entire forest, yours a whisper in comparison. The idea that maybe, just maybe this can be repeated every now and then, that it wouldn't harm anyone fills your chest with a different kind of cheer, a hopeful sensation that suits the summer. He's proven his carefulness, making the best of the situation without risking either of you. The rising hope in you should scare you, but it doesn't. It only makes you sprawl under the sun like a cat enjoying the heat, and join his laughter with a big grin.

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

The next time you see each other again, things seem to cool down a bit. It is entirely a civil dinner, always at a respectable distance, the number of times you lock eyes are countable on one hand (though some border the edge of being a little too long), and it is all not so surprisingly, plain. Maybe it is about both of you trying to contain one’s self, so much so that the other core aspect of both of you, the humorous side is buried that night and no other person can live up to its ghost. Perhaps it is due to the upcoming end of summer, bringing out a tinge of melancholy, already mourning the past, thus your impulses dwindle down, the sparkles absent.

That is, ‘til, you are the only occupants in the saloon, after the other guests have left, and your aunts retreated to their rooms. You are reading a book, barely aware of the fact when he, sitting next to you in that single armchair drops whatever pen he’s holding, just by your feet. You’re pulled out of your trance by the sound it creates, raising your gaze from the page just in time to see him bending over to retrieve it or- ending up completely kneeling in front of your legs.

He raises his head, and you watch the way his face softly being illuminated by the candlelight, a smile you can’t decide whether charming or devilish, long abandoning his mission.

That’s the moment the air shifts, and the room feels hotter like the cheminee is lit, the heat wave has returned, and taken both of you to that lakeside, and the week before it, the frustration and despair that came with being unable to take care of yourself. You haven’t felt such a thing after, perhaps, it’s due to your fulfilled state and therefore lack of trial, but now, the need returns, like adding more to an already full cup, realization only hitting after the drops spill from the sides. The cup demands to be emptied, - translation: your soul demands whatever pleasure you can get your hands on- and the image of him causing it is certainly a preference.

(Again, it is your soul that’s demanding it- your brain would very much like to lock you away in the furthest corner of this house, or kick him, if that’s all you can manage.)

“Excuse me?”

“I just remembered how I failed to say how beautiful you look tonight.” 

“Thank you.” Your mouth speaks before you can protest the improperness of your situation. Color settles on your cheeks for accepting his compliment first. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting my pen.” He shrugs, and demonstratively takes it to his hand, yet it is once more left to the ground instead of the nearest table, with the rest of his papers. He adds, “I admire how you are an expert in navigating every social situation, whether it's a boring dinner like this, or a ball.

Your eyebrows raise at the boring part, after all, it's hosted by your relatives, and it wasn't exactly boring, maybe a little uneventful. “Not every occasion has to be full of adventure, Lord Kenobi. Slow nights like this are beneficial for the soul. Gives the mind some rest.” 

He purses his lips, like he’s been told on his bluff, the one part he emphasized to sound strong. Because, he is. He had fun tonight, the type that fills one’s heart with sweet lethargy. “I suppose you’re correct. But you’re missing out on an important detail.”

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

You’re glad that your hands were pressing against the book, holding the page, because if they weren’t, they would be visibly shaking.

“I have underestimated how much I missed you, that much is clear to me now.” Barely speaking, or barely speaking anything important with you throughout the evening, yet he feels rejuvenated, the ache in his chest becoming prominent as it starts the heal. He doesn’t say the last part, but the sentiment is reflected in the soft sparkle behind his eyes, the hypnotic storm, pulling you towards unknown chaos, but beautiful, and promising safety in its center. That’s why you don’t protest as his hand reaches for yours, brushing your knee (he wanted to do that for some time, to feel the soft fabric that basically decorates your body), interlocking fingers, and reluctantly retreating them in favor of taking the book that sits in your lap, setting it aside. You don’t protest, despite the screams in your head, saying he’s right there why is he still there-

 “And the other thing I missed terribly, the sight of your legs.”

Your shaky inhale echoes.

His fingers gently close over your ankles, and travel upwards slowly, lifting your dress alongside. “Though I’ve only seen them twice, they might be my favorite view, ever.”

“Is that so?” You are perplexed by the confession, with a lazy grin, very much enjoying the seduction. His way with words seems like a constant threat to your sanity, but damn do you adore it dearly, a voluntary victim to its spell.

“Why would I ever lie to you?” He whispers, hands tightening. “I like them very much. But I think I would like them better around my shoulders.” He pulls your knees slightly, causing you to yelp as your back caves in, and grasps your ankles once more, proceeding to demonstrate exactly his words.

“What are you doing?” You ask, like you don’t know the answer. It is a statement, an acknowledgment, the last chance to bring some sense into any of you. You’re in the living room, in a house that is not your own, filled with people who are still very well awake, and can just decide to come in.

“Having a second dessert, if I may?” And how can you refuse, after the image is served to you on a golden plate?

“But at the lake - You were-” 

“You think I'm doing this for recompensation?”

“No, I didn't mean to imply that.” God, this is embarrassing. “I just wanted to say I might miss having my way with you.”

“I’ll be glad to take that as a promise.”

Then, it is settled. 

Still, he waits for your small nod and takes in the way you bite your lip, wishing he was the one to do so, but- priorities. Time is a valuable asset, especially now, and he has to honor his offer. That’s why he opts for a few small, open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, actively fighting the desire to leave bruises, evidence, a memory. Judging by the rapidness of your breath, it seems he has reached his goal in some way. It’s the beard- scratching your skin even when his mouth is not doing something, sensitizing the flesh and making it all too susceptible to the incoming assault. Your hand flies up, absentmindedly reaching for his hair, yet stopping a second before, landing on the couch instead- if you messed up his hair, there’s no coming back from it. He chuckles at your struggle, the warm breath making you squirm. Even if you don’t, he’s maddened by action, despite the laugh. He has you- but not really. He’s enveloped in your heat, taking in your scent, and seconds away from tasting you, but is not able to be blessed with the slight pain he'd felt if you tugged on his strands, or the untamed sounds you’d have sung in a more private setting.

So yes, he’s as torn and desperate as you. Slow nights, you said? 

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what adjective comes before the word; slow or fast, boring or exciting as hell, freezing or hellishly hot; if it is with you, it is a good night. Otherwise, it is lacking. The world may be painted gray forever, considering you two mostly don’t get the chance to spend more than two occasions together in a week, but there can be no comparison to colorful scene of those moments.

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

You both moan, when his tongue finally meets your cunt, licking a messy stripe. It is more of a vibration than a noise- possibly for the best. It makes you jolt, and his hold tightens, and again, it is for the best, because when he decides to pay attention to your clit after his time exploring your folds is done, your limbs start to shake, threatening to fall. Your eyes roll back when things settle, and pleasure starts to build up, your juices flowing, and he drinks it all in before they have the chance to make a mess of your dress.

That is the first time he takes a break. “Eyes on me, darling.”

What is with him and that special request?

Your whine doesn’t mean anything to him, except make his cock twitch in his now tight trousers- but that has other reasons too. He waits ‘til your eyelids open once more, and you meet his gaze, and a second longer, unable to resist the urge to get lost in your hazy expression. Then, he dives back in, swirling the muscle around your bundle of nerves. In any other circumstance, you’d have thought this would be too indelicate, so straight to the point, no fun or respect, yet his way to do so is anything but those qualities. His movements are precisely designed for you, slow enough to not cause discomfort, fast enough to make the best of your unknown time limit. You’re afraid to deduce that one time was enough for him to learn you, one time to turn your world upside down, and leave you to deal with the memory of it. 

“Sweetie?” That’s the first time your eye contact is broken. The world freezes for a second before it does, and your head whips to the direction the sound has come from, to find your aunt by the door. Miraculously, she continues to stand there, unbothered by the long and protective distance which compromises of the dining table and the back of your couch, a perfect cover for the scandal that is taking place. Obi Wan stills, perhaps even stops breathing, yet he’s the one to snap you out of your shock with his grip around your skin. It is ridiculously encouraging, knowing he's not abandoning you on your own, even at the expense of getting caught, and the dread it would surely follow.

“Yes, auntie?” You gulp. Trying not to sound breathless is a clear effort.

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

Your reputable smartness lags, the answer of yeah, he’s right here IN BETWEEN MY LEGS, occupying your mind.  “I think he went out to get some air, I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“How odd.” She comments, “And what are you doing there on your own?”

“Reading my book.” You smile, and hope your cheeks’ tremble isn’t too noticeable. “It’s quite good- couldn’t tell the time.”

She scorns. “Oh, now I see- he must’ve gotten bored as you were buried in your book. You truly should work on your guest etiquette, dear. And Lord Kenobi, of all people!”

“Auntie!” Your eyes widen, and you squeal a little, and feel Obi Wan giggling quietly.

“I’m just saying, that you should treat him better- he’s a good person, and obviously fancies you.”

“Auntie!”

“I mean, I like him? Don’t you like him?”

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

To escape the subsequent questions should you answer otherwise, you give in, and sag.” I do.” And the worst thing is, you actually do. Objectively, you like him, all his little jokes and sweet tongue (no pun intended), the elegant form he carries himself in, and the kind nature he never fails to live up to. Except for the dangerous extent your relationship is getting into, there’s nothing about him that you don’t like. And truthfully, even that is barely a matter you care about, proven by your current situation. 

You can feel him smile, the coarse facial hair biting into your skin, rubbing like a cat, and the sensation is followed by a kiss on your thigh. 

“Then you know what I am saying is the truth.” She raises her eyebrows in a motherly manner, a loving attempt of intervention. “Don’t stay up too late, no matter how absorbing that book is. We are invited for breakfast to the Mon’s Estate.”

Thankfully, she’s gone like that, saving you the act.

When you turn to your front again you find the need to come up with a warning to make him shut up unnecessary for he kisses you, silencing both of you. The action brings color to your cheeks more than ever in this entire evening. The fact that you can taste yourself on his tongue aside, he’s so gentle about it, like congratulating your success, or admiring your talent, pouring out his affection for you. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his wide torso, it is how good it feels. When you two part, the lack of breath gets the best of you, only then do the swarming butterflies in your stomach begin to disturb you again.

But you’re not so quick to forget the last couple of minutes. Perhaps you've spoken too soon back then at the lake, thinking this could be continued. You’d imagined the rest of this scene a little differently, letting him follow you to your room, returning the favor, but that scare has only helped you to brew a storm inside you.

“Obi Wan…” You whisper, brows cinched in concentration as he towers over you, claiming all your senses. “We can’t- we have to stop…”

“Sshh, calm down.” His thumb draws circles on your skin, trying to soothe you in one aspect, if not every. He’s not going to let you go to your bed shaken like this, for starters. “Take a deep breath.”

You try, twice before you can manage to fill your lungs in their entirety, and your achievement is rewarded with a peck to your neck. Some of the air leaves you in an abrupt exhale because of it, and he curses himself for it.

“Follow my lead.” He tries again, reclining on his knees, giving you space. It is another challenge to look into his ocean eyes, and match his pattern, but you manage, your heart beat semi-regular after a minute or so.

Semi, for said eyes and your bare pussy are face to face, and all common sense loses its importance, burned by the fire inside you.

“Obi Wan- please…”

“You sure?” He will be very disappointed if you change your mind, but he has to ask, play the sensible part. And ignore the constant throb in his trousers that has become even more unbearable after you confessed your feelings.

“Just… make it quick.” Oh, are you seriously requesting an orgasm like ordering a cake in a café?

“As you wish, love.”

He starts out the same, just playing his game a little faster, and he holds your hand as he does so, the small detail as efficient as his moves. But, the final blow is his other hand, prodding against your entrance. The flood of memories doesn’t help either, as you remember that night. A loud moan threatens to leave you, and you slap your palm against your mouth. He stops ‘til you are secured, praise in his eyes, and pushes the two digits in, stretching you out in the way. Your fingers are nothing in comparison, and he notices it immediately, the way your walls hug him. 

Though, he’s an expert, and can absolutely manage to take care of you properly, so there’s nothing but pleasure, your slick channel welcoming the intrusion. It is not long before he feels the resistance fading and returning in a new form, as your climax approaches, and your muscles begin to quiver.

With your noises secured in your throat, the only form of communication is your connected hands, squeezing each other sometimes enough to risk breaking fingers. He understands what you mean perfectly, reaching up to a certain speed, then keeping it the same ‘til you start trashing, legs violently shaking around his body, and juices dripping, this time more than he can clean up. If any other time, he wouldn’t stop ‘til he feasted on every drop of it, but he withholds himself, respecting the clouds of danger. He’s glad to have helped with your anxiety, yet he doesn’t want to carry the ease to dangerous level and make you susceptible to be swayed in whatever direction.

Well, the image of his messy, wet beard certainly sends you through the wrong one, but already your nerves are not able to take more risks tonight, so you just bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, and lower your legs to the ground as he starts by cleaning out his fingers. It is hard to believe any man would try this much to indulge in your every aspect, but here he is, careful about even the smallest part.

Damn, you want to take him to your room and let him have his way with you so bad- but this is enough adventure for a night.

“Good night, Lord Kenobi.” You say, fixing your skirt, and standing up on shaky legs with your book clutched in the tightest grip against your belly.

“Good night, darling.” He nods, a content smile. “Send my compliments to the chef. “

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

You’re justified in your shock, enough to express it out loud in the middle of the jewelry shop, the last place you’d expect to run into him. Of course, he’s a neat and subtle man, and his appearance reflects his statue, though in a very calculated yet effortless manner. His pocketwatch is a family heirloom, so you’ve been told, a chic piece he takes great care of, and while his cufflinks are always elegant, it is never that eye-catching. It only compliments its wearer, you dare say, a final addition to an already completed painting.

(You never denied his handsomeness, and this is an objective opinion. Don’t read much into it.)

His supposed loneliness coupled with the fact that he looks utterly lost and bored, your curiosity is aggravated further.

Also, bumping into each other? What is this, a trick of fate?

“Madame.” He bows, and moves to press a kiss to your hand, the tradition not forgotten. His shock is easily ridden, unlike yours. The small blush on his cheeks and the wide grin on his lips tell contradictory stories, not that you’re judging, but the evident thing is his excitement.

“What are you doing he-”

“What a coincidence-“ His interruption is most unexpected, along with the high pitch in his voice.

You tilt your head, further dazed, but before the suspicion creeps in (you would be terrified to turn your gaze and find women’s accessories laid out for his picking on the table, for somebody else or for you; the latter being the lesser evil, but still disturbing), another joins, though he doesn’t seem to notice you at first.

“How helpful you are being, Obi Wan!” The tall young man with light brown hair calls out, necklaces hanging from both hands. You have a feeling that if he wasn’t busy, there would’ve been a physical reaction as well, a friendly pat on his shoulder, perhaps. “Don’t you know this is important? I need-“

His sentence is broken when he catches your attentive gaze, and realizes you are a part of this conversation as well. You’re amused by how glass-like he is, full of emotions and not afraid to show them. He looks at you, and back to Obi Wan, who finally decides it’s time for an introduction. The expression of recognition flashes through his face in a second as your name is revealed, but you can’t reflect it back fully. You have heard of Kenobi’s best friend or as some call it, brother, although barely from the man himself. You've witnessed how Kenobi's eyes lighten up with pride whenever Skywalker was mentioned, and stories- summaries of their adventures together that he told. The shortness of them wasn't a result of his unwillingness to tell them, but the circumstances of your company, never long or alone enough to visit them in their deserved entirety. 

To be honest, Anakin doesn't know much about you either. He and Padme prefer the countryside by the sea, especially during the summer, thus he and Obi Wan hadn't had the means to talk often lately. He senses the situation, by the slight tension in the older man's voice; this strong, confident man crumbling into pieces for some unknown reason. 

“Pleased to meet you, my Lady.” He makes a small cursty, which you mirror.  

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll need my friend back to keep his promise.” The chains in his hands shake as he speaks, reminding the absurdity of it all. You’re not disturbed by it though, for all is concealed under his charismatic voice and mimics. He’s pretty and he knows it, which gives him all the tools to captivate others. Now you understand why people speak about him like that, moved by hearing his name alone.

“Oh, not a problem at all. We were just saying hello.” Entertained by the interaction, your anxiety is somewhat diminished, enough to let him go without an explanation. Also, the way that he rolls his eyes, and clenches his jaw is very cute, you dare say.

“Promise? I never promised anything.” He murmurs, but it is still audible for you as he follows his friend. And the rest, which makes you laugh whenever you remember it. “Anakin- she's your wife, you know her better than me. How exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You always had a vision when it comes to beautiful things. Not like my eyes, which are only accustomed to the dirt and grease of machinery.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning, while you start talking with the salesman about the bracelet you’ve given them to restore. They make you sit and wait for a couple of minutes, all of which you spend trying to not spy on them. Fortunately, the shop is quite crowded, and their conversation is a part of the low grumble. A cup of tea is placed in front of you, as well as some new pieces they think you might like.

The one that catches your attention is not among them, however. It is a ring with a blue stone, the tone too similar to something you can’t put your finger on. It is too big to be for a woman, clearly designed for the other sex, but you admire its elegance nonetheless.

“Here is your piece, Madame.” The young salesman returns with a package, just in time to stop you from reaching it.

“Thank you.” You take the precious item back into your hands and inspect the handwork. It is shining once again, polished, and the place you accidentally broke it is now attached, the handwork barely visible.

You release a deep breath, praying graces. You would’ve never forgiven yourself if the family heirloom was forever damaged from the incident. You almost cried when it happened, a stupid game you were playing with Carolina before a ball, when you had already gotten ready and she was counting the minutes to her bedtime.  

“That is beautiful.” Obi Wan joins you once more, now looking more relaxed. Your eyes search for Anakin and find him waiting for a package, reaching for his wallet. Mission accomplished. “May I?”

The chain slides into his hands, and wraps around your wrist under the watch of the young boy with a wholesome smile. He must think you two are engaged in some way, and there’s no turning back from it.

“Would that be all, Madame?”

“Actaully I-“ You remember about the ring, and even if you just want to unravel the mystery around it, the words have already left your mouth, and the entire tray is placed on the table.

Oh. Oh. With him next to you, suddenly it all makes sense. You’re holding the color of his eyes on your palm.

“That is beautiful too.” He remarks, embracing his role a little too much.

“I think it would suit you.” Now it is your turn to accessorize him. He is silent while you do so, taken aback by the unorthodoxty of it all.

“I’m not sure-“ Is all he manages to say, though can’t stop looking at it. It is ridiculously so well fitted around his finger, the fate pulling all strings to give a message.

“It compliments your eyes.” You defend yourself, perhaps a little too lively but you have no shame. It is the truth.

“The Lady is correct.” The boy joins your side, or does his job. “It is a most excellent match.”

“I might think about it.” Is how far he budges, returning it, and checking up on Anakin from where he’s standing. 

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

The audacity? The though is reflected in your face, which makes him blush at his unnecessary offer.

“With the ring.” You add, and it is all said and done ‘til he has time to get rid of his embarrassment and intervene.

Then, you make him take the package from you, your fingers wrapping around his. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in your tone, only gentle suggestion. “You don’t have to wear it, but I want you to have it.”

“Thank you.”  

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

You truly don’t expect to see him wearing it, you really don’t.

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

When he takes on his promise, and actually starts working on the ball he’s supposed to throw, the first thing he does is request for your uncle’s help. Then your uncle entrusts the job on you, and you’re spending hours with him like that, securing the musicians, bargaining for the food supplies, preparing invitation lists… Truly, that’s it. You too are surprised to accompany him that much and engage in nothing outside of the mission. Truthfully, a little concerning in the grand scheme of things, the inevitable result of your relationship improving, real sincerity. Although you have zero problems with the fact, enjoying it far too much. You don't care about how your contributions are secret, for your efforts surpass the limits of help that are considered friendly, and fully acknowledge that it is gonna be a damn good ball. 

Also, while you hate to see him distressed, it is a look on him that you are guilty of adoring. The nervousness is like a little crack in his shell, a way to see a part of him that rarely sees the daylight. And it is for something so feeble? Only half of his effort would be enough for a wonderful ball, and he still tries to do more, and gets agitated over that? You are cruel for laughing at that, you confess. But it is more of a balancing act, rather than a mock. Somebody's gotta play the sane part, lower the tension. 

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-” 

You're at his study, the place you've been sitting since the morning. Time flies with every cup of tea, and plates of biscuits, but after a while, things inevitably get boring. For you, at least. He's quite focused, brows scrunched, tie slightly loosened. You see him looking at the list that you've put together in the beginning, the possible ways to entertain his guest. 

You've already arranged the services of more than half of them. Twice the amount that would be considered enough.

And he's still going over it?

“That's enough!” Your open palm lands on the surface. 

Obi Wan doesn't expect your outburst. He doesn't flinch, but his mimics change in an equivalent way. His lips part, causing him to relax that clenched jaw -oh, you might have a point. 

“You. Need. To. Relax.” You’re now less frantic, due to his irresistibly clueless expression, though still firm in your cause. Fuck, how can he look at you with those doe eyes and expect you to… do anything! 

You get up, and reach for the papers, sending them in a far corner of the desk. While you do so, you are basically halfway in between him and the table. Putting the teacups and the pot back on the tray (it has grown cold a long time ago), you turn to him, almost sitting at the desk in order to fit that narrow space. The bashful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t enjoying the perfect view of your ass seconds before) breaks your heart once more.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you mirror his emotion. “It’s gonna be a splendid night. The kind that people will talk about it for years. And I’m not exaggerating on that one. I would’ve said the same thing days ago, all before the last additions, too.”

It is a challenge to feel the warmth of your skin, and not lean against it. “You’re right.” He tugs on his collar, taking a deep breath. “But you know- I’ve never planned a ball in my life, and- I just need it to be perfect.”

You giggle, and replace your hand on his cheek that is colored with the confession of his little perfection obsession. You welcome the slight sting of his beard, like a habit, and caress his cheekbone. He dares not move, or even take a breath, only watching your pretty face focused on his, and relish the feeling of your thumb across his features.

“It’s going to be just that.”  You might’ve said, or a joke about his troubles, but words scurry off of your mind as you stay like that, squished in place as you try your best to comfort him.

“Can you kiss me?” The thought seems lunatic when uttered on a whim, but it has crossed your mind too, you must admit. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” There's an undeniable urge to use his words back at him. 

Your back has to bend in an uncomfortable way for your lips to touch, but you have no complaints about it. The touch is so soft, laden with affection in the purest kind. It is obvious in every way, the movement of your mouths, determined to preserve the sweetness and sweetness alone, and the itch in your palms, mapping each other out over and over again, and the determination of your lungs, using every last drop of oxygen before demanding an exchange. 

“T-thank you for that, dear.” His eyes open after a few seconds, with a sheepish smile that causes him to speak in whispers.

It’s about to get real dangerous for you, if he keeps being this cute. 

“I’m not about to say we should've done it sooner, for it is a complete waste of our time repeating a truth well known, and I've already used that trick before, but maybe we should do it again.” 

Okay, but how does that kind of sass sound cute from your perspective?

“Don't push your luck.” You say, fingers smoothing his hair, and his complaint dies on his throat visibly. He purrs, eyelids closing. That's the moment you decide to press a small peck to his lips for all his troubles. It lasts longer than intended, and while it's definitely different than the previous one, him gripping your waist telling a different story. The weight of them is welcome nonetheless, and it serves as an anchor, like you two could be molded into a statue if he held it long enough.

However, he is the one to break the stillness, shifting in his chair- first of all, how dare he, you're doing the acrobatics here-

Oh.

He notices that you've noticed it. Clearing his throat, Obi Wan lets his hands slide to the table, just a centimeter away from your body. “It’s been some time.” His face remains focused on the floor.

Didn't he even take care of himself?

You push his shoulder back, and he takes it a step further without a blink, sliding away with his chair. 

What he doesn't expect, is for you to stay exactly where you are, only this time on your knees. He has to gulp once, then twice, because he finally looks at your face, smiling back at him. 

“May I help?” Admittedly, your fluttering gaze was unnecessary, and tips him even more. You don't miss the way he stabilizes his hands.

“By all means.” 

You start by unfastening the buttons of his tan trousers, letting your forearms rest on his thighs. He aids your quests by lifting his hips a little, being freed from the constraints of the fabric-

There he is.

You bite your lip at the sight, and the sight is not just his huge cock, already hard and weeping for you. It is about him, and the redness that creeps up his neck, the way he hisses and bites his knuckles at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin, how he claws at the armrest waiting for your touch. His head nearly hits the back of the chair when you finally do, a small moan leaving his exposed throat.

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

Your thumb swirls around his head, more fluid leaking out as you do so. Thus your fingers slide down his shaft easily, and he is coated in his slick in no time, along with your palm. It twists around him without rush, leaving him to wander in that dream like state without mentioning a finish line. You want to ask him, ask him how he likes it, or make him cover your hand with his, guiding you, but you also want him to stay just like this, eyes fixed with that heavy lidded gaze, partially obscured by that infamous strand of hair that refuses to be tamed like others. His mouth hangs open with loud breaths and sometimes graces you with sounds of his pleasure.  

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

You clasp tighter and shudder like him, taking pride in your work. He can feel the strain in his muscles fading second by second, the problems in his mind are plucked out one after the other, replaced by your soothing words you repeated constantly for days at this point, and expert hands, creating the same effect on his body.

“Like this, Lord Kenobi?” You require you still acquire his opinion, a feedback, and his title rolls off of your tongue unintentionally. Honestly, there’s no explanation you can make even to yourself, but you are already over it as his cock twitches under your palm, and his groan fills the room.

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

That must be some sort of karma, for he is above the concept of revenge, but you’re left with an itch to grind your legs together at his praise. If you do that, you’ll probably feel your wetness smearing all over your skin, you’re sure of it.

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

Your other hand joins the game too, starting to massage his balls. That makes him tense under you for a moment, but the tension dissolves quickly, leaving him dizzier.

“Fuck-“ Even the simplest swear word sounds hypnotizing on his lips, “you’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

Like you had any intention to do that.

On the contrary, your intentions evolve in the direction after his words, perhaps even a little bit further. You lean in and lick a stripe up his length, the tip of your tongue dancing around his head, fully tasting him, before you take him to your mouth fully.

His hand flies up, shaking as it comes down, held back by the strongest of wills from delving into your hair. Instead, it inches closer to your cheek, and returns to the position before (because he may have just lost five years of his life feeling the way you swallow him), half-stabilized over the armrest. His head rolls back once more, unashamed to release his moans with your every move. The most sinful one comes out when you use your throat, gagging around his thickness. You repeat it, and he whimpers, earning an equal sound from you too.

This time, you don’t have to ask him anything. The eye contact as you recover your breath, and continue to stroke him tells you everything you need to know, tells how much he enjoys it.

“Please- darling-“

You don’t try to choke on him again, but keep a rhythm with your tongue and your palm. He reaches climax quickly nonetheless, throbbing in your mouth and coating it white. Obi Wan feels sorry for not warning you, a sense of guilt rising alongside that pleasure, but it once again came over with lust as you gulp it down without a blink. He even fears he might go hard in a second, against all the rules of nature. You provoke that in all ways possible, pressing small kisses to his shaft, occasionally licking it, and letting your head rest on his thigh.

“Thank you.” It is so out of place to say that for this kind of act, but it is the sentence that is spoken, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome, my Lord.” Thankfully, you raise your gaze just in time to miss the way his cock moves. You straighten your back and throw your shoulders back, stretching like you’ve just woken up.

So cute and so filthy.

“I’d like to return the favor.” He says, the action fueled only by his kind and generous soul.

“Some other time.” Your smile reflects the acknowledgment, not mocking his advances. “I am expected from home.”

“Ah, pity. Send my regards to your family.” He can’t help but feel envious of them. Do they know to treasure your company, not take a second of it for granted? Do they know what you did to him, before joining them? Would they be as accepting as ever, aware of your scandalous affairs?

Of course not.

But even then, you’d deserve much better than what they would treat you like. Your courage alone is enough to make the world bow down to you.

And what if your family means something other than your blood, your relatives? What if it was a stranger, a man undeserving, but had you to himself every night, when you returned home from your daily activities? A lucky fool who had the blessing of knowing you’d be by his side soon, every damn day.

His fingers turn into fists as you clean yourself up, so pretty in your ignorance to his gaze, brows slightly furrowed as you smooth out the wrinkles on your dress.

“Shall do.” And with your cheery voice, he doesn’t even notice his grip is unclenched.

===

Red isn’t his color. Some say it suits him well, that the stark contrast is eye-catching, but he doesn’t like to carry it. At this point of his life, it’s not even about his clothing choices, he prefers anything over that pigment in every possible scenario; the sheets, the carpets, the flowers… He makes a point of avoiding that powerful color.

Not today, though.

He has no word over how you dress and for once, tries very hard to stay neutral, not verbalize his choices when you mention the outfit you’ll be wearing in his ball, and it is a successful endeavor. (Knowing you and your stubbornness, it would probably only damage the bond between the two of you, something you’ll quip for years, or God forbid, keep you from attending at all.)

In the end, you wear it, and he ends up where he doesn’t want to be. Drowning in that bloody cloud. Without remorse, for the first time in his life.

For once, he finds himself chasing after it, taking joy in its liveliness, surrendering to the dangerous promises it makes. Your presence brings energy to every room you enter. The candles seem to burn brighter, and the warmth in his chest is not solely a result of both of your accomplishment of the spectacle. Obi Wan smiles ear to ear, eyes almost closed because of it, and he wants nothing more than to dance with you all night long, bury his hands in that expensive fabric and feel the burn in your cheeks, painted with the same color. He doesn’t even mean it in a perverse way. He wants to celebrate the payoff of your efforts, let the pride be felt, and enjoy the treats like all the guests, or even more than them (it would be more than fair to do so), together.

Alas, the society you both live in isn’t the type to accept such things. In order to not taint the event with the bitterness reserved for that principle, he doesn’t ask for more than six dances, or follow you around the saloon like a lost puppy. While it is never enough, he counts and cherishes the accidental eye contacts, and your hands holding his in dances, or the different circles you ran into each other and have snippets of various conversations. He accepts every compliment with your name tied behind his tongue and feels relieved with each passing hour, realizing how perfect everything is going, thanks to your pieces of advice and restrictions. He is light as a feather underneath all those layers he had to put on for the evening, without the pressing intention of taking it all off as soon as possible.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and here comes the other side, halfway through the night, the prejudice he had returning sinisterly.

He does a decent job of suppressing his jealousy, for all the purposes he’s thought of before. He can glance over when you dance with a stranger, or two, ricocheting on the stage and putting on a show for everyone. He chooses to admire the beauty you’re radiating, shining like a rose after the rain. It keeps him occupied for a while. But when an hour passes and you’re not even looking at his general direction, way too engulfed in your conversation with them, he feels a distaste rising in him. The red bleeds into his heart, poisoning him. It slowly takes over, and by the time you throw your head back with a burst of laughter that echoes in the room, he’s entirely filled with it. His hands twitch with every dream of ripping the source of that poison from your skin in a cove meant for just the two of you, away from all the vultures that eat and drink and savor his doings and yet ready to crucify him at his slightest flaw.

Obi Wan is one step away from sending everyone to their homes when you escort that man to the garden. Honestly, the only reason he doesn’t is because you return in a minute or two, the tip of your nose giving away all he needs to know- it’s chilly.

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

On the second thought, it’s best that he didn’t, because then Obi Wan wouldn’t even bother to get rid of the crowd to have his way with him.

“Lord Kenobi.” You manage to catch him alone, on the balcony. He’s up there to calm his nerves, over you, unbeknownst to you. Unfortunately, his progress is lost the second he hears your voice, and it is truly an effort to act otherwise.

The night is on the brink of ruin for him, and it doesn’t have to be that way for you. This is why he tries so hard.

“I must congratulate you on this beautiful ball. It is a night to remember.”

“Don't say it like the honor doesn't belong to us both.”

You shrug, as if whisking all the credit away. But your eyes twinkle with pride. 

“I haven't had this much fun in ages,” You chirp,  “I would've begged for another one already, if I hadn't witnessed the toll it took on you.” He covers his face at the mention of the state he has been in for the last couple of weeks. “Oh God, don't.” 

“Oh God, you just didn't expose yourself like that! When will you start enjoying this?” Your laugh is a hidden giveaway of how many glasses you had tonight. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed for those who may inquire.” Your lips. Wrapped around his cock. Mapping out his neck. Keeping his secrets.  “Remember that every word that comes out of my mouth is said by a person who attended all types of feasts all over the continent for a decade now. I grew up around these circles.” Shrugging, you add. “Perhaps that was my undoing.”

“Undoing? I could never call you “undone”.” Ironic, how you make him forget about before and continue to concern him with totally different subjects.

“You’re right.” Thoughts come out a little slow, but your effort is evident on your face. “I just had too many opportunities to start over in new places, experience everything that I was curious about, and that all led me to discover exactly what I liked, what I wanted from life.”

“How’s that a bad thing?” 

“I’m not willing to let that go anytime soon.” You can’t help but notice that it sounds like some sort of prison of your will, but that’s not a discussion you can have tonight. “Anyways, Obi Wan. I must be going now, just wanted to pay my compliments and wish you good night.” 

“I thought you’d stay the night-“Well, that’s definitely not the case, “But it is so early?”

“You know our houses are not so close, any later than this and I’m going to fall asleep on the road out of habit.”

Yeah, that’s why he thought it would be perfectly reasonable for you to stay over. 

“I see.” And he wishes he had gone blind and deaf. “Then, allow me to bid you good night, my Lady.” 

He takes your hand, placing a kiss you can very much feel despite the fabric. What he doesn’t expect, is for you to press your palm against his chest in return, because he doesn’t know of the urge you have to not leave. It is a split second of override, before you can command your feet to move again, blissfully unaware how tender that moment was.

===

A day. A full day. That’s how long he can refrain from seeing you. Funny, the meetings have become a habit for him, and although he needed you back then, he needs you more now, for completely different reasons, and you’re not there that morning- and why would you be? There’s no arrangement that demands your assistance anymore. Your praises are all said and done, and if to be repeated, it wouldn’t certainly be a matter that required urgency for you to show up at his door.

And maybe, you have other places to be, other doors to knock. Perhaps you’d enjoy a change of air.

So, he has come to yours.

Naboo. Aldreaan. Correlia. The cities churn in his mind, alongside your image in every one of them. The flowers in your hand as you roam the fields of Naboo, the coat that doesn’t do much for the redness on the tip of your nose while you lodge in the mountains of Alderaan. The exquisite jewelry you wear to a Correlian masquerade, outshining every debutante in the room. He imagines the people hypnotized by your presence (what can they be, other than blessed), or you gliding among them (after all, discretion was your powerful suit). And the worst of all, he thinks of the man escorting you, claiming their dances, bringing you a glass of their rare wines, walking with you in the natural scene, their savage arms around you, their hands groping your curves, pulling sweet sounds from you.

(No, the purpose of his visit was not that. )

He invites himself in from your open balcony, catching you as you start your nightly routine. You’re taking off your hairpins, when he does the courtesy of knocking on the glass, startling you just a little. You jump, but thankfully do not scream, the reflex somehow suppressed. Truth be told, it’s not because your shock actually dwindles. If anything, it is redirected into a different question, going from “What the fuck was that?” to “Why the fuck is he here?”

“Good night, darling.” He gestures for you to sit again, and you do, returning to your chair in front of the vanity. Your head has to crane in a strange way for you to see him, but thankfully, he comes closer and solves the problem, eyes meeting through the mirror. And his face lights up as he sets foot in the room, like he too has forgotten everything but this moment, his jealousy and desperation left behind the walls. That’s how the question of “What are you doing here?” is not immediately articulated.

 Instead, you say, “Good night, Obi Wan.”

“I see I managed to visit you just in time.” Look at him, fixing his beard, laughing nervously. He just climbed to the second floor, and his heart only got racing now.

“Lucky you.” Honestly, you don't think there's a “wrong time” in his perspective, at least when it comes to you. A few minutes later, and he'd see you in your nightgown. Would that deter him from setting his foot in here? Most, most, most likely, no. Don't dwell on that thought, though. “And what do I owe the pleasure?” You try not to focus too much on the fact that you have him and your bed in the same frame, through the reflection. 

“I thought I would see you today.” Is that sarcasm in his tone, or a little bit of self-humiliation?

This must be some sort of a Shakespeare play, right? 

Oh my God, it is. 

“Ah.” You fiddle with your hairbrush, the eye contact broken, your attempt to stop any matter from escalating this night. Any matter. Not that you had any questions when it came to his morals, he probably was the one person you’d never doubt, but in terms of his intentions to be here tonight startled you in a much different light. “I slept in late today. Didn’t even leave the house.”

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

“That’s because you had too much fun without me last night.” A treacherous scoff falls from his lips as he shakes his head. The moment that the tides turn. The one that brings back all the crude questions.

“What? No? What do you mean?” For all your effort to remain calm, you look alarmed, that tired face with doe eyes showing it all, and he feels sorry for a second, troubling you over his overthinking ass.

Then, he spots the bracelet you wore last night, lying haphazardly over a piece of paper on the corner of the table. It looks very much like a letter.

It’s not hard for him to advance his speculations.

“I think you know it already.”

“Obi Wan.” You twist to actually face him, your arm on the back of the chair. “Why are you here?”

He takes a few steps back, as if the air is stolen from the short distance between the two of you. He runs a hand through his hair, undisturbed by its messy result. You can see him biting into his cheeks, trying to select the right words. In the end, all that effort seems unnecessary, because when he speaks, the sentence can’t be any simpler. “Who was the man you spent an hour with last night?”

Wincing, you take a few seconds to process. It’s not about the answer, but his motive, his audacity that irks you. You stand up and speak. This time, your voice is sharp as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

He blinks a few times, so sure of his righteousness, and determined. “You were in my house, at our ball, dancing and talking with strangers and not even glancing in my direction for the better half of the night. I think it’s some of my business.”

“I was by your side for much longer than it is acceptable, Kenobi, do I need to remind you? We danced six times and greeted the majority of guests together.” You’ll not let the truth be ignored. “Any longer than that and there would be rumors all over the society today, and even I would’ve heard about it despite staying here all day. I didn’t come this much by pushing boundaries at every fucking chance I get. I picked my battles, the thing you seem incapable of.”

“So, am I to understand, this thing between us,” The look on his face dares you to deny the existence of it, “is not worth picking?”

This is the possibility that scared you. And for good reason, it seems. You close your eyes, in order to not roll them, and purse your lips. He uses the moment to reach for your arms, like he could appeal for an answer from you. “Don’t you love what we have?”

You couldn’t feel any worse under the warmth of his hands, affection pouring out of them despite the rage in him. “I love what we had.”

“Had?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t keep doing this, is it not?”

Confusion leaves its place to anger once more, for all the wrong reasons and his face darkens. “Oh, I see. You secured yourself a new entertainment, and now you have to get rid of the old one.”

You shrug out of his hold, distancing yourself from him. The source of the problem is not what he claims it to be, and it infuriates you, along with the accusations he taints you with.  “Don't you dare reflect your own degeneration on me like that! It’s not about my damn cousin’s damn friend, it’s about you!” It is nearly a scream, the highest pitch that wouldn’t grab attention. Still, reflectively, you turn your head to the door, which you had luckily locked. “Leave now, you bastard!”

Honoring the part he was assigned in that theatre play, he focuses on the wrong part of the words, the crumbles of information giving him hope, and dim his doubts. “So there's nothing between you and him?”

Seething, you are red with fury, taking a sharp breath, pointing your finger at him like a gun. “Get. Out.” 

“Is there?” 

Your tongue is determined not to let him hear your words, despite the truth in them. It will not lead to any good. 

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close? 

The moment you look into his ocean eyes, the decision to say anything is deemed impossible. The decision to do anything, actually. His arms cage you against the cluttered table, and yours end up on his chest, though without any intention of pushing him away.

“Answer my question, and I will.” 

How could you? How can you be able to resist his utmost sincerity, the desperation in his behaviors and the brutality of his words contrasted in the way he looks at you, the caging without actually touching you. Your suffocation is only a result of your inner turmoil, the desire to spit out the truths, clear his heart and give in to the love he's handing out, but terrified of the places it will take the two of you.  

“I’m waiting, darling.”  You can’t help but watch his perfect lips move, his voice licking your skin. 

You gulp, an action he doesn’t miss, and dares to laugh at it. Obi Wan can see the exact moment your gaze returns to being that of an eris, though the flames remind him of a different time.

A very different time. 

“I hate you.” It is perhaps the most childish thing you’ve ever said in years, and it shows. 

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

For all your claims, still, he doesn’t miss the small moan you let out, swallowing it with pride. Your soft lips move against his like a habit, anticipating every move and the next, a choreography you both know all too well  albeit in a much swifter tempo. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer but his stay in the same spot, afraid to disturb you, though gripping the edges hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Though, when he tugs at your bottom lip, asking for more, you grant him that, your tongues joining the dance. You whimper, the action triggering your inhibitions to loosen up, like each second wipes the doubts away. It is a sugared water, only serving to increase the thirst instead of quenching it. So you don't stop drinking it.

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.” 

Two seconds have to pass for you to understand his response. With his breath still warming your cheeks, even brushing them with his nose, yes he dares now, the statement is the undeniable truth.

However, not that you're ready to admit it. He already knows too much, all the things you like, all your weak spots, all of your soul.

“Yes, I- oh” And he's not the one to endure your lies. His fingers delve into your scalp, putting traction into your hair ‘til you have to tilt your head back to release the tension, forcing you to look at him through your lashes. Still, eye contact is not what he seeks, for he has as much a chance of getting lost in it as you. He uses the expanse of skin you offer, and dives in for that specific spot that has your legs going limp. It has two consequences: Firstly, you are stuck between him and the table, the latter supporting you too little that the weight rests almost entirely on his body, every plane of him touching yours. Secondly, the angle puts the mirror in the corner of your sight, and you have a maddening view of what’s happening. It is enough to make old ladies screech and faint, and artists to slave to immortalize the scene.  

“You’re a bastard.” You murmur the last bit of objection, solely for the object of throwing it out of the tip of your tongue. He hears, though quite unbothered, the retort to break you further leaves his mouth readily.

“Call me whatever you want, dear, you’re the one begging for it.”

Of course, you only pant in return. Even when he threatens to nip and bite at the sensitive nerves, you don’t stop him. Furthermore, your calf twists around his as much as it is able in that impossible posture. An invitation.

“And what else would you let me do to you? Would you let me take you to your bed?”

You nod, frantically. “Yes, please Obi Wan- take me”

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

The second your feet touch the ground, both of you gather the ends of your dress, yanking it out to throw it haphazardly on the floor. Your stays and chemise follow the same fate, then it is his jacket and shirt. He taps on your thigh, like he would let you walk the five meter distance between there and the bed, you jump, a little shakily (not that you ever had questions about his strength). Fuck, it excites you how easily and softly he lands you on the edge of it. You reach for his trousers, but he stops you and urges for you to scoot back, and lay down.

Because that’s the best way he can rid you of your shoes and stockings.

Your knees stick together as he works on one foot, and the other. The shoes drop with a loud thud, making you bite your lip, close your eyes for a moment and pray nobody investigates. It’s no wonder that after that small break, your pupils meet once more. How ironic that it is the cause of your concern, and the only solution.

You can feel his fingertips skimming the top of the only clothing left on you. While the touch is stimulating enough, it is the fact that you have to spread your legs a little to allow him to undress you, giving him a view of your wet pussy.

Nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t affect the way you tremble.

Throwing your head back, you let him slide the stretchy fabric down. Slowly. Like his piercing gaze isn’t enough. You’re squirming by the end of it, all thoughts of getting him out of his outfit gone (-or delayed, should you still believe yourself.)

Thankfully, he takes care of it, the sounds of his buttons unfastened echo in the room. 

Though he has no rush to join you. 

You turn your face to search for what's taking him so long, a whine in your throat when he kneels. That's unlike him. 

You feel cold without his body looming over yours. And he has a hard time not to do that, not falling for the flush of red and your hard nipples. Especially when you're so gone that you may come undone just from that.

He'd like to see that. 

But he has to make you understand how you keep him in that state, ignorant of his troubles, even as the solution is obvious and wanted by both sides, however the other can't accept it out of simple stubbornness.

Thus, he plays the deaf now, as he grips the supple flesh of your thighs, squeeze and move as he pleases, exposing your core to air while he busies himself with other parts. He claims you with his lips, mapping out, pushing you down to the mattress every time you jolt because he’s so close just a little to the left- But perhaps the worst is his vulgar taunts, whispered, to himself mostly, a way to speak out the anger.

“Are you this wet for all the men you hate?”

“No.” You cry, not able to stand the accusations. “It’s you.”  And it is the truth. There are no other men on the planet that you would bear being treated like this by, or attempt to change their opinion of you. But now, you need him to know that. You can’t imagine a future with his back always turned to you, or be subject to his very much forced small talk with empty, or worse, hatred filled eyes. It is a reveal of a side of you that you had to keep hidden and downplay, to be free at the end of the day, give both of you an opportunity to walk out, but it doesn’t matter if the said fallout leaves his judgment of you sour. You care about his perception, and would do your best to change it should it be mixed with lies. Truth, and nothing less, is what he deserves.

A wave of relief floods his heart, that simple answer is all he wishes to hear. There’s also a bit of rage, for knowing you’d never admit it in any other circumstance. Alas, the smile appearing on his face is unstoppable. Even as he finally begins to eat you out.

A moan leaves your mouth at the first contact, which is nothing more than a small kiss. That bad, uh? As he licks everything he can reach, it turns into a whine, because it is evident he has no concern about making you cum quickly, or in a normal amount of time. He just continues to do whatever he was doing before, exploring every nook and cranny, and marking, like he intends to commit this moment to his memory. It may not have been his first time, (or the second), but he’s doing it for himself now, your desperation sadly not a priority. You also suspect he’s doing it to drive you mad, using his previous experience and remembering how sensitive you got when his beard rubbed against your skin.

“Obi Wan-“ Your back arches, a hand reaching for his hair. He stops it all by jostling your legs with a hold that could leave imprints. It takes half of your willpower to stay in the place he put you in, and that means you only have the other half to process the indescribable pleasure he’s giving. It is gonna be fast, whether he plans it or not.

“Could you actually throw this away? How can you pick anything else over this?” You knew it would be a hard transition. The magic he created is haunting and ready to jump on you in those dark corners, even after many years. There is no cure for ghosts, after all. The thought now seems impossible, the last thing that could cross your mind. Simply impossible. He emphasizes by nudging your clit, every single movement forcing a sound out of you. “That's right. I’m going to remind you how good we are together, make you feel so good that you'll forget anything but us.” 

The passion in his words scares you, but it would be a lie to say they don't excite you in some way, making your heart flutter in your chest at his devotion and to be able to still feel safe only supported by the honest bond you two have. You chant his name as he smothers himself in your folds, sucking and flicking your raw bundle of nerves. He loves to feel you twitch when you are overwhelmed, but not enough to climax. 

Then, he scrapes your clit with his teeth, and you're gushing, head thrown back, a silent scream in your mouth. The hot lava inside you doesn't cool down, paying its visit to every part of you, making stars explode behind your eyes and body trash against the sheets. To be perfectly honest, he didn't expect this much either, his strong muscles tightened to keep you from closing your legs, a string of curses muttered at the obscenity of it all. As always, your bliss only augments his own, especially at the sight of your essence flowing out of you. He has to drink it all in. Thus, he doesn’t stop, unbothered by the subtle sway of your hips, or the slight tug at his strands. He has no objection to them, on the contrary, he would encourage them if he didn't have to abandon his task to say the words. The slow movements of his tongue create constant stimulation in your already delicate nerves. Your second orgasm crashes you like a clap of thunder, leaves you sobbing and shaking. It uses all the energy in your already spent muscles, wipes every argument from your mind and removes those troubling emotions from your soul. The interesting thing, is that you have no oppositions to the matter. Why would there be? Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Isn’t it better than a dream? You speak the truths, and he worships you. You pay him the respect he deserves, and he tries to honor it in every chance. You don't complete his personality, you enhance it, and in return, he uses everything in his power to make your day better. 

It is not that simple, a voice speaks from the back of your head, but it's too silent to have an importance. 

Likewise, some of his ideas are dismayed just as easily. Pity. He had every intention of taking you from behind, not letting you get away before painting your ass red, and watch you crawl back to him still even when he teased you that badly, but you seem too gone, too weak to lift your hips up. And it is not a big deal anymore, because he's equally excited to have you like this, lying on your back, legs hugging his torso. Like your first time. The parallel is unintentional, but more than welcomed. How much and how little has changed since then? He leans in for a kiss, and fuck, your mouth is greets him too purely, like he's not covered in your slick. There's something more than lust that drives you, evident in the way you move, like you’re carving out a promise on his lips. The sounds that you produce are not in desperation, but gratitude, not weary of the periods of suspense but glad that it is over. His fingers travel the length of your abdomen, all blame on him for the coldness of your skin and the way you shiver. When he circles your nipples with his thumb, you sigh, and press yourself to him. 

“You take care of me like no other, Obi Wan.” You whisper as you cup his cheek. You should’ve told him sooner. It was the least you could do. 

He has no answer, and he doesn’t need one. Holding your wrist at the sides of your head angrily and meeting with your tongue is more than enough of an explanation, just like the one you made a little too late, beautiful controversies. You both are unaware of how your hips rub against each other, without hurry, ‘til his cock catches your entrance. Your breathing becomes erratic, considering you didn’t get a prep or had any in some while, and he’s big. 

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?” 

“I need you.” You almost wail, despite knowing it will be too much. It’s not about pleasing him, either, for these things are not given up as sacrifices, ever. What matters is that you’re together, and that is always good. “Please, I want you.”

Could he ever refuse?

He takes his time, relishing the surrender of your tight walls, and brave noises, replied with his own moans. Your pants are guiding as much as they are troubling, making him even harder. He swears he’s about to burst when you outright sob while he brushes your areolas. Your back raises, an attempt to get his fingers a little higher, and your eyelids flutter close with the movement.

Make no mistake, your face scrunched up in delight is a sight to behold, but he can’t compromise having your eyes closed, sparing him from that glossy, burning gaze you have when he tears you apart. He needs to see them lose all coherent thought, see those doubts fly away and light up with pleasure.

“Look at me, dearest.” Right, aren’t you more than acquainted with his most important wish? He pleads, the softest tone that spilled from his lips tonight. Your heart skips a beat although you’re not exactly capable of processing that information. Needless to say, you don’t oblige to his wish, not when you are so spent. 

Obi Wan groans, his hand flying up to turn your chin. At that moment, all fall silent. You get lost in his stormy eyes, and so does he. Though his cock twitches in your quivering channel, that’s not the point.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He blurts. Then, the other truths demand to be told too.  “I don't like the way they look at you. I don't like how they don't know how blessed they are by your presence. Shit, I hate it when they know it too. I hate to think those who got to memorize you this closely, even those you knew before me.” 

Even those you knew before me. “Obi Wan, you're-” 

“Crazy? I'll admit, I am crazy when it comes to you.” 

“I never-” You have to drown a whimper as he continues his deep, slow strokes, “asked for any of it.”

“Of course, dear. I know, I know it's not you, but them. But I can hardly stop myself from reaching out and pulling you out from their sigh. Or wrap my hands around you, let them see what we share. They wouldn't dare anymore, if they knew the lines you left on my back.” It takes an incredible amount of will not to thrust into you faster, with where his ideas lead him to. “Would you let me mark you from the inside?”

Fuck, why does his words make their way into your heart without ringing those alarm bells you have ready at all times? How does he move past them so easily? 

Or do you let him, and take those rings as a cheery tune of his nearing presence, and not a warning as they must be?

“Yes!” The feeling of him finishing anywhere but in you suddenly sounds so disgusting. You want his warmth, even though you're burning already. 

His lips find yours, kissing you so hard that you'd thought he wanted to silence you. But surely, you know better, that's definitely not the case. You get to drink his sweet moans as his hands envelope you further (like it's possible). In return, he's right there to swallow your gasps, the proof of how you push yourself for him. The rest of the world stops, the urge to fill your lungs no longer necessary, nothing but the rhythm you've created, and clouds you've climbed on. 

He senses your peak before you do and gives you a brief space to breathe, praises falling from his lips that you can't hear, as you shake and let out whimpers, quite loud, for you've grown used to him muffling them. He follows suit, not able to resist your walls clamping down on him, painting your insides with a heavenly moan. 

It takes a second for both of your bearings to return, for the night to evolve into a chilly summer night it was simply meant to be. The coldness is especially remarkable as sweat cools down. A towel wipes them rather quickly, but it's never as warm as having the other around. Your usual remedy, a nightgown, is no use either, even if he helps you put it on. It is such a whiplash that makes you question everything about the last hour. You're left with burning cheeks as he collects your clothes from the floor, hanging them on the divider, then his- but he does the same to them?

“What are you doing?” You croak, a minute of silence for your vocal cords. “I don't cuddle.” That's a harsh sentence, but it's the truth.

“And I don't leave the person I love in the middle of the night to freeze.” He's holding a candle, the only lit candle in the room, and his face is illuminated beyond anything else and it could be said that he is the source of light. 

The person I love. His words break down the last resolve you have, and you're left to figure out how you feel about it as he kills the flame, and slides  into the sheets behind you. You'd think the sensation of his chest pressed to your back would keep you wide awake, but no, it's weirdly new yet familiar, enough to lull to sleep. Also, his scent is mesmerizing, and you never had it this close and constant. 

And for him, he had no trouble whatsoever from the start, but this is far better than expected, that he is sure he is living the best moment of his fate. The softness of you, in his arms, drifting into heavy dreams. It is a treasure for him to see that you can relax beside him, allow him to feel the regularity of breaths, showing your most natural self. 

But the morning is anything like the night.

You wake up from the orange lights of the rising sun, when he gently combs your hair out of your face. There's a fatigue in your muscles, alongside that sweet tinge of pleasure still lingering, making it all bearable. Your skin runs hot where he holds you, your back, your waist, your intertwined legs… The slight prickle of his beard is not pronounced when it's rolling on your shoulder, especially as it's followed by small pecks. He's unable to resist, your intoxicating smell pronounced in the cove of your neck, right under his nose. Only when he feels somewhat satisfied, and you seem a little more conscious, the tonus of your body increasing, he talks. 

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

“Good morning, love.” His hand rises to soothe the redness rising where his chin was pressed. Delicate all over. “I’m afraid I must get going, for both of us’ sake.” 

You give an affirming hum, and swiftly roll out. Your body betrays you without delay, a shiver seizing you, protesting the lack of his heat. You shake your shoulders, not so subtly but it's not like you can cringe. It is your band aid, and you're ripping it out. 

You reach for a robe and put it on rather easily for your questionable nerves and state of mind. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, you should really get going, Obi Wan.” Fuck, that sounds still more aggressive than you are, or you ever intended, a mirror of the storms in your mind. 

“What's the matter?” He's awfully quick to put on his trousers and come near you once again. He looks into your eyes, unobscured by your hair, and then there's that look of reveal on his face, the point of no return. He says your name, a final plead and a warning.

“You must leave soon.” This time, you’re a little softer, but it is nowhere near normal, considering what you shared.

“You think last night was a mistake.” He’s never sounded colder, and you have to focus not to bite your lip. The stern expression on his face is unbecoming of him, but it’s also a great reflection of his fidelity. Now, the other side of the coin shows itself, with his icy eyes and clenched jaw.

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.” 

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail. 

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?” 

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads. 

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

[mechanicalriddle]

OCtober DAY 3: Old OC (i know im posting this on day 5. I know. I dont know what to tell you V_V):

I'm playing a trick on you because this guy is new AND old. Mostly old, because he actually dates back all the way to shortly after the creation of the FIRST EXALTED CHARACTER I EVER PLAYED. which may actually be like seven fucking years ago at this point. Anyway, meet Niraj.

Cynis Niraj is a dynast, a member of the ruling class of the (standard) Exalted setting. He belongs to a dynasty known as the Scarlet Empire, frequently shorthanded to the Realm. The Realm is made up of a family of Exalted called Dragonbloods, these being the weakest but most numerous sort, as their exaltation is ostensibly 'carried in the blood' rather than bestowed.

This creates about as many problems as you would expect it would.

Anyway, dragonbloods are aligned to one of five elemental dragons- fire, air, wood, water, and earth. A lot of them are descendants of the powerful figurehead known as the Scarlet Empress, and they tend to be rich as shit and probably inbred to some degree.

Niraj is no exception to the dynastic stereotypes; House Cynis made its fortunes on the imperial drug trade, as well as partnering with the guild on their... human trafficking ventures. He is a pothead wizard and a snobby little bitch, and the best friend of the Anathema Ledaal Tedeo, though that's on a need to know basis, and maybe three people need to know that. As a matter of fact he was at the scene of the crime when Ted was Chosen, except-

-Well there's an important thing you should know here, which is that in Exalted lore, Heaven deposed the Solar Deliberative thousands of years ago. By killing... Pretty much all of them. And then capturing as many of their exaltations they could find, and putting them in a big vault under the sea. And then creating a new religion which would brand anything that looked like a Solar (or Lunar, for that matter) as a demon-cavorting wild and wicked monster that must be hunted to extinction. By the Dragonbloods. Dragonblooded are not supposed to be friends with Solars. Solars aren't supposed to be human. Solars are supposed to die.

By association, one could also be branded as an anathema for his aiding and abetting a known anathema such as Ledaal Tedeo.

But we're not talking about Ledaal Tedeo. We're talking about Cynis Niraj, who is like, a little bit gay. Just like a leeeeeeeeettle bit gay. He's just gay and just sentimental enough that he's decided he doesn't want his best friend getting put down like a dog, even if it means turnabout is a fair excuse to also get put down like a dog. Every day his house of cards adds a new one to the stack. But it's fine, because water aspects are supposed to be good at the cloak and dagger courtly espionage thing. Its sort of their whole schtick.

Like any young dragon of the realm, Niraj is desperately obsessed with appearances. If you thought your highschool experience was bad, DBs are on a whole new level of psychological warfare being that the honor of their house is constantly on the line. They're trained from a young age to engage in cutthroat social combat with their peers, preparing them for a future where nearly anything about them is assumed to be weaponized against them. Niraj spent a long time teaching himself how to be """cool""". Stay on the periphery of drama, never be embroiled in it. He provided the benefits of a direct mainline to quality Cynis intoxicants to his peers as a social lubricant to keep himself out of trouble. He learned to let insults slide cleanly off of him.

This didn't really fully work for a couple of reasons; one being that there are certain personality types in Dynastic schooling that see a guy like that and wonder exactly what it will take to make him snap. Secondly, he did take an unusual fondness towards one of their mortal peers, widely disliked for continuing his schooling after failing to exalt (....as a dragonblood) during his adolescence. Niraj simply appreciated his capacity for earnestness, a trait which was vanishingly rare in his circles, and would inevitably rub off on him - at least a little bit.

All Niraj asked for in exchange was his charge's complete confidence.

Ted always thought of Niraj's companionship as sort of like having a pet leopard with an admirable track record of not mauling him. He certainly has the capacity to, if he really wanted. He chooses not to, for reasons one can pretend to fathom, but will never actually understand. It's almost as though he enjoys the sensation of human hands running through his soft fur, but its hard to say for certain.

Currently Niraj is stuck participating in a Wyld Hunt- the sacred mission partaken by dragonblooded shikari (and their immaculate coterie) to find and successfully bring down threats to the Order. Niraj is indispensable to this mission on account of valuable information he may have due to his proximity to the target (Or at least, the leader of the Wyld Hunt, Sesus Varen, seems to think.) Fortunately nobody on the team seems to think that the young water aspect would have the fucking cojones to feed them a constant influx of false information for several months, something which is rapidly driving him toward his breaking point. Unfortunately Ted is no longer answering his calls, and things are getting weird quick. To top it all off, perhaps the strangest detail is that the person Varen is hunting to the ends of the earth also happens to be his own son. And while Varen has never been a particularly attentive father, it almost seems a bit weird, the zealotry with which he pursues his mission, and the lack of hesitation at the prospect of completing its penultimate goal.

Will Niraj lose it all for the sake of authenticity? Or will Ted's lousy anathema hunter father finally get to him?

Only time will tell.

Some fun facts now, cuz fuck it.

He/him, 21yrs. Essence 3 ish, 5'8" tall

He's the son of lesbian drug magnates, and the last of a prodigious wood aspected lineage, and nobodys sure why it suddenly decided to veer into water territory, but Blood of the Dragons is Blood of the Dragons sooooo....

Went to The Heptagram (foremost academy of sorcery in the Realm, and probably all of creation) seemingly on a whim

just kidding he subconsciously wanted to trans his gender with sorcery. later he wanted to consciously trans his gender with sorcery.

and then he did it ^_^

Exalted while playing chicken on the seawall in his hometown & almost drowning, miraculously managing to not kill anyone in his essence fever-rage

(not for lack of trying)

Despite not being a wood aspect, likes plants a lot. And not just the ones that make you funny, he also has (or had) a painstakingly maintained orchid collection back in school

I didnt talk about him publicly for a very long time specifically because I loved keeping my fellow players in suspense about what this guy was actually like. All they got was occasional magical correspondences and a name, no face, no house for a long time, no other identifies. It was fun. But I'm also very happy I get to talk about him finally :3

I consider him an old oc because Ive had him for like seven years. He's new because I only recently started a pbp with him! which, speaking of, I should really get to responding to. so...

ta ta~

[wraith-caller]

Elden Ring and the 5 Stages of Grief

The story around Those Who Live in Death is often characterized as being about prejudice. They didn't choose to be what they are, the game paints the Hunters of the Dead as blindly seeking an enemy to contend with, Rogier says they are in need of saving, and Fia seeks to "stay their persecution". Alongside the omens, the misbegottens, and the albinaurics, TWLID are just another rung on the Golden Order's "not fit for life" ladder of being. But there is another lens we could view this story through, and I don't see it brought up very often. I'd like to suggest that this is a story about death and the very human reactions to it, manifest in the behavior and actions of the characters integral to the Duskborn questline.

🚨🚨SPOILERS AHEAD🚨🚨

Darian - Denial

"Those Who Live in Death fall outside the principles of the Golden Order. Their mere existence sullies the guidance of gold. Tainting its truth. And so it is the vermin must be exterminated... Down to the very last."

Darian is presented to us as someone staunch and unflinching in his beliefs, to the exclusion of all other perspectives. The Order has told him that the dead are vermin, and that's all he needs to know. But it's not just their word he's taken. He's witnessed the bloodshed and pain that the living dead inflict on others, and he laments it. We meet him beside a dead man, killed by TWLID, and he tries to keep us from running headlong into the same fate by warning us away from the Mariner. Darian has only seen the cruelty and the violence of death, has been mired in it as a hunter, and relentlessly pursues an end to it. He is denial, resistant not just to death but to change.

Devin - Anger

"Soon you will know, filthy witch! The wrath of D!"

This one's probably simplest to argue. Devin's singular scene in game is all about gaining vengeance for Darian, and he makes repeated use of the word "wrath". Death has forced its way into his life, first in the face of Godwyn that drives him mad, and again when his brother, the other half of his soul, is murdered. When we meet Darian, his sword is planted in the earth and he is praying for the dead. When we last see Devin, his sword is raised high and covered in blood as he curses Fia's mutilated corpse in anger.

Godwyn - Bargaining

"O brother, lord brother, please die a true death."

Like Miquella, Godwyn is more of a presence that hangs over the events of the game rather than much of an active element within it. It's hard to dredge up much about his character to make this link. But there are some pieces connected to him, such as the quote here from the Golden Epitaph, a weapon made in his honor, which come from a place of bargaining. There is Miquella's desire to bring him a true death, the mourning of the Crone in the Deeproots("he should have died a true death!"), and the desperation of Fortissax to forestall Godwyn's death. Godwyn himself may almost seem to be begging us for relief, his deathroots erupting from underground as cries for help, spreading his face on the backs of crabs and the castle of his descendants so that someone may see him and take notice of his agony, and possibly deliver him from it. While the bargaining stage is generally geared in the opposite direction, begging for life, Godwyn and those few who know of his fate, may know it is too late for that, and so they beg for a true death instead.

Rogier - Depression

"This is unfortunate...Couldn't change a thing."

While Rogier is a character described as concealing his anger, regret, grief, and fear, his aloof bearing is most reminiscent of someone a bit more numb than anything else. Yes he is friendly and polite, but we're told by the game that this is a mask, and it's something not entirely uncommon in high functioning individuals afflicted with depression. He's someone that has lost everything else - the higher purpose a tarnished may find in the sight of grace, his friendships, whatever past he left behind before either dying or being exiled to TLB, even his life. He gives us, a near perfect stranger, his belongings, easily admitting he has no further use for it, reminiscent of the way a dying/suicidal person might start wrapping up the loose ends of their life. All he has left is his research, which, without our help, he'd have lost the ability to continue. Rogier clings to this final thread, hopes of seeing it through to the end, but his parting words to us are about a void he feels himself falling into, something deep and fathomless, and in the end that void consumes him.

Fia - Acceptance

This is goodbye, my dear. But I am satisfied.

Fia's quest revolves around not just the acceptance of TWLID, but uplifting them, mothering them, weathering the blows an unkind world would rain on them. Death is not an idle interest or a vague abstraction to her, but her profession, her purpose. Where Darian looks at what the dead have done and sees violence and blood, Fia sees the meek in need of a merciful mother. Death is not something to be reviled, but embraced. She even goes to her own end with grace and poise, knowing that the creation of the rune will kill her. She is content with her place at Godwyn's side, and readily accepts her end.

[zombeesknees]

currently in the life of the angie bee:

my sense of time is strangely broken, because it's almost 6pm but my brain is all, "gosh, it's not even noon yet!" and i have no fuckin idea why.

i've been deodorizing and washing and cleaning the house all day because i feel like there's a particularly sour smell throughout it, but now i'm wondering if it's me, and i don't know why i'm suddenly smelling so sour??? like, it's not a sweat smell, it's a sour, musty smell, and i'm still using the same shampoo and body washes i always do, and it's not as if my diet's changed significantly, so wth is going on??? IS IT A SIGN THAT I'M DYING OF SOME WEIRD DISEASE??? i know folks with diabetes sometimes smell strangely sweet, but i've never heard of something that makes you smell sour. OR IS IT ALL IN MY HEAD AND PSYCHOSOMATIC??? i'm not just gonna go up to someone and be like, "do you think i smell weird?"

quint remains one of the Characters of All-Time (and a Happy Jaws Day to all who celebrate it).

(yeah, i don't celebrate the 4th, what a bullshit holiday, we have nothing to be proud of as a country, especially these days.)

dropped $288 this morning on two and a half weeks-worth of groceries for one person. and that was buying basic, off-brand shit. how the fuck did we get to this.

slight silver lining: i have today, tomorrow, and the full weekend off, and i get to spend time with joel tomorrow AND see shara and nichole on sunday.

i set my reading goal for the year at 50 books (something i didn't come close to achieving last year, thanks to a reading block that set in in march and didn't let up for the rest of the year). and in the last two weeks i hit 54 books (almost all of them new-to-me, which is ALSO amazing). my unmedicated ADHD bullshit may still be preventing me from watching new shows and movies, but at least it's eased off on the reading front.

a new dude joined our book club this week and he's CUTE and likes fantasy and is a high school social studies/history teacher, and we discussed character archetypes for like ten minutes. maybe next club meeting i'll actually give him my number and ask him out.

wimsey has spent a full week in the flower donut collar thanks to scratching his chin raw and bloody. vet recced treating him with revolution in case it's because of mites, washing the wound with a special antibiotic flush, and keeping him in the collar until everything's fully healed/his fur grows back in. makes for a hella grompy flower:

god, leverage really is just the best show. doesn't matter how many times i watch it; i'm forever delighted and impressed with just how well written/constructed/everything it is. that's my emotional support family of thieves, your honor.

i'm getting SO CLOSE to filling out the final gaps in the current sections of my hazeldine WIP, and i really do think i'm gonna have to split it into two volumes instead of making it all vol. 6 as i had originally planned. but IF i do that, that means vol. 6 is gonna HAVE to end on a significant cliffhanger, which i typically try to avoid. (yes, technically all of the previous vols have ended on cliffhangers, since this is a continuing story spread over several volumes. but they haven't been LITERAL cliffhangers, with someone on the verge of death or something.) i don't like when books in a series i'm reading do that, so i try not to inflict that on my own readers. but perhaps i can mitigate it slightly by making sure both vols 6 AND 7 are fully polished/ready for printing, and release them like a month apart or something, so there isn't a huge wait in between...

FINALLY finished the replacement cross-stitch sampler of lighthouses for a gal from work (the first one got lost in the mail beginning of last month). now i can continue working on the Yee Dudes series for my bud jordan <3

but also i'm gonna try to design a pattern for myself re: a dracula joke that keeps popping into my head: descending the castle, lizard-fashion. i'm probably the only person who is THIS delighted/amused by that joke, but i'll enjoy stitching something for myself for a change, lol.

[taleofturtleclan]

MOON 13

“...and so, it sounds a lot to me like the cats who attacked her are the same ones that killed Margo and drove me out,” Brokenmast concluded.

“Thank you, Brokenmast,” Shellstar replied calmly. Internally she wanted to wail. An unknown, aggressive group of cats was the last thing the burgeoning TurtleClan needed to deal with right now, so soon after leafbare. Pearl might have honored them with the title of “warriors”, but the truth was that all of them were more hunters than fighters. She knew that Currentheart and Sandtail had encouraged the other cats to start sparring with each other, but it had never been as big of a priority as finding food, and she feared that against a group of cats both belligerent and intelligent, they would all come up lacking. And yet it was her duty to prepare her Clan as best she could for the potential threat.

Shellstar clawed her way up the Tallmast, taking a moment to let the cool air off the ocean ruffle her fur and calm her mind before she gathered her Clan. “Let all cats old enough to hunt gather here beneath the Tallmast for a Clan meeting!” Her summons had changed since they’d officially become TurtleClan, but her campmates responded just the same, heads popping out of dens all around camp. It was a good time for a meeting. All of TurtleClan was in camp just after sunhigh, sharing tongues and enjoying a midday meal before returning to their various duties, so they gathered quickly and completely–she even caught a glimpse of Quiver, broken paw bound tight against a branch, crouched awkwardly just outside of the entrance of Dustjump’s den. That was good. The molly was a bit jumpy and strange, but TurtleClan was small, and they needed more cats familiar with the area and the threats it had to offer–Currentheart’s death had proved that much. Perhaps they could convince her to stay after she healed. 

“Cats of TurtleClan,” Shellstar began, “Brokenmast has been speaking with Quiver,” –the cream colored molly jumped at the mention of her name–”and he found many similarities in her story to the cats that attacked him and Margo some seasons ago. We suspect these cats are an organized group, and fear that they may cause trouble for TurtleClan down the line.”

“They will,” Tidechaser’s lilting tone drifted up from the back of the clearing. Shellstar stiffened.

“You sound familiar with them,” she said, letting her words fall flatly.

“I know of them,” he corrected, “they call themselves the Children of Salt and Sand. They’re a group of cats that believe only cats who are direct descendents of the First Children–the first cats to walk these beaches–deserve to live upon the shores. They think that everyone else has a duty to either serve as they see fit, or move far, far away.”

Whispering broke out among the Clan at Tidechaser’s revelation. 

“Is that so,” Shellstar grated out each word individually. This was more than a passing rumor he’d picked up this Newleaf. No, this was something that Tidechaser had known for moons, probably before they’d even wrecked on the beach. And he hadn’t said a word up until now. Not when they’d arrived, not when Brokenmast had been left for dead by these brutes, and not any time after that, either. Shellstar tried to control her anger, forcing her fur flat. There was one more thing she had to know right away.

“How soon will they become a problem for us?”

“Not for moons yet. Maybe seasons. They’ll eventually want to claim the whole beach, but their attention is focused further upshore for now, and even after that, they’ll want to take care of any lone cats before they try to force out a larger group.”

“I see. Tidechaser, come speak with me in my den for more details. The rest of you are dismissed for now. No cat goes anywhere near the borders alone until we know more.”

Sandtail dipped his head in understanding, waving the rest of the Clan forward to organize them into patrols for their evening duties. Shellstar barely noticed. Her ears were buzzing with fury as she stalked stiffly into her den to await Tidechaser. He was only a few pawsteps behind her, and as soon as he’d passed through the old window she rounded on him, back arched. 

“Where did all of that come from?” Shellstar exploded. “How long have you known that we were sleeping in a fox’s den, just waiting for it to come back.”

“I’ve known from the beginning. The group was founded two seasons before you all arrived here.”

At least he wasn’t lying about it now. “And you never thought to tell us?”

“You never thought to ask,” he countered.

“I shouldn’t have to,” Shellstar spat, “you shouldn’t need me to ask you about whether or not we were all in danger since the moment we arrived here. You must know how it looks–how it’s always looked. You showing up to join a strange group of cats with no explanation when you clearly didn’t care enough to help us during the wreck, the way you always held yourself apart from us, doing exactly as you were told and nothing more. So give me a real answer. One that gives me the tiniest reason why I should allow you to remain in TurtleClan when you’ve been lying through your teeth to us the whole time.”

“I never lied,” Tidechaser protested. “But I didn’t tell you the whole truth, either,” he sighed. “Very well. You do deserve to know the whole truth. But it isn’t such an interesting tale as you might believe. From the very beginning, the Children have wanted me among their ranks. I come from a very old bloodline, and so I was good enough to join their clique. But I didn’t want that. The beach has plenty of resources for those who know how to find them. Cats of old blood, cats of new blood, anyone who can survive here has a right to stay. So I turned them down. But they were… relentless. Following me wherever I denned, nagging and nagging me to join them, despite the fact that I’ve always kept to myself, despite the fact that I told them that I didn’t believe in their cause. So when you landed here, it felt like the winds of Fate himself had blown you right into my paws. You were a group to pit against the children, with enough cats to stand up to them and possibly put a stop to their crusade. But as the moons passed I… found myself starting to care about what happened to you all. I started to think of myself as one of you. I didn’t want to use you like I’d originally planned, but by then…well, how could I tell you what I knew? How could I excuse holding it back for so long? It was easier to just… not say anything at all. Not do anything at all.” Tidechaser’s eyes had grown unfocused, but they snapped back to reality in that heartbeat. “And then Currentheart died. It made me realize that holding things back, even when I didn’t think them relevant, still had a cost. A cost I’m tired of paying. It… isn’t easy for me to do this. To be open and honest. But I have to try. I have to change if I want to be part of TurtleClan. And… I do,” he admitted.

Shellstar crouched in silence, digesting his story, parsing through it for any lies or discrepancies. He seemed earnest but Tidechaser had always been… distant. Cold. Mysterious. If any cat would be able to lie like a fox, it would be him. And yet… if she spent her days looking over her shoulder for threats at her back, she couldn’t focus on the greater danger ahead. Shellstar made her decision. “I believe you,” she said. “And I want you to tell me everything you know about how these Children of Salt and Sand go about conducting this crusade of theirs…”

A/N: Sorry guys, no art today, just a lot of plot. My carpel tunnel had a bad flare up this week and I wasn't able to hold a pen.

[grandhotelabyss]

Once or twice in the past you've said something about Donna Tartt being the lone literary titan of her generation, or something like that. I took this to be kind of a joke, or a provocation, since of course if you asked most people (who care enough to have an opinion) they'd tell you the lone titan of Gen X, its already-canonical literary genius, was Wallace, not Tartt. You've expressed pretty mixed vews on Wallace in the past - is your pointed elevation of Tartt a "dig" or irony, or do you think Wallace is just genuinely (still) overrated, likely to be forgotten in a generation or two?

It was a joke and it wasn't. A critical judgment should be universal in form, I'm sure, not just an opinion. Wallace understood Kant and could probably even explain why, as I cannot. But what do I have in common with Wallace? Tennis, analytic philosophy of language, drugs? None of that. Do I think prose should mimic the recursive perseverations of a mind feeding upon itself unto death? I think it would be better for the mind in question if prose did otherwise. Do I think the problem with America is too much entertainment? Do I think entertainment itself is a problem because it reprises the infant's helpless fixation on the mother? No and no. I don't get it; I don't get him. Maybe it's me. Now Tartt and I—though I have still only read The Secret History and am trepidatious about the much-derided Goldfinch—get along much better. We both write about art and aestheticism, higher education and intellectual evil, androgyny and decadence; we're both class-climbing melodramatists rather than devisers of alienation effects with academic parents; we both have to forego Kant and Wittgenstein for those poet's philosophers, Plato and Nietzsche. Wallace descends right down in orderly succession out of Pynchon, but Tartt and I went around Pynchon back to the source, the explosive fount of narrative: grandfather Dickens. Wallace is too big already to be "forgotten" exactly; he inserted himself in too many academic arguments for the academics who help to make the canon to ignore him. Even Zoomer writers are influenced by him: Honor Levy, for all her Bennington provenance, alludes to him throughout My First Book. And Tartt may yet meet the fate of Marie Corelli or Ouida or whomever; she should have written more essays, should have created the taste by which she was to be enjoyed. If Lili Anolik's exquisite gossip is to be believed, Tartt wanted to be a gay boy at Oxford, and maybe such a fantasy (much as it is a fantasy of bildung, of cultivation) is not as durable or universal as Wallace's desperate Tolstoyan wish to become good enough to atone for the wretched man he'd been. Who knows? I get her, though; him, not so much. He tried to cut right through our narcissistic fantasy by thinking at it hard enough, but you can't, because thought is powerless, which I believe they even tell you in A.A. Whereas she gives us the fantasy and the critique of the fantasy in one and the same gesture, a gesture one can grow with or grow into. Her work has eros and vitality, can cross borders his can't, for now anyway; she is paradoxically in the very specificity of her fantasy the more universal writer.