#nubian looks sick

[speakofthedebbie]

nigeria!!!! nigeria mention!!!! me core!!!!

i feel like we don’t talk about things like this enough

[kabuki-writes]

A Reflection Of Venus

chapter: 1 chapter 2 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: For years Acacius was able to keep his precious and only daughter away from the Emperor's eyes. But after his latest victory, he couldn't evade the already inevitable.

warning(s): mention of alcohol consumption | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Reader is the daughter of General Acacius and his wife, which is not Lucilla in this fanfiction.

word count: 3.1k

General Acacius was a hero for the Roman Empire, a sun that was burning brighter with every new victory he won in a new war campaign ordered by Emperor Geta and his twin brother Emperor Caracalla. The reign of the twins was nothing compared to one of their deceased father Emperor Septimius Severus, who was once one of the closest friends and brother-in-arms of Acatius. While Severus fought wars mainly to protect the borders of the already massive Empire, his sons' hunger for expansion became clear from the very first day they inherited the title "Emperor". And general Acacius became their tool in this project. Nothing was too expensive, they backed him with legions, war-ships, the best equipment and supply, and the capable general became an unstoppable force, a soldier of the God Mars himself. But at what cost?

As the years went on, he'd rarely been home, always travelling with his marching soldiers and being on the front line of every battle he fought. And when he came back, he felt sick from all the pomp and gold the Emperor's threw at him, the victory processions through Rome, while the smell of blood still lingered in his nose and the cries of the women and children echoed in his mind. It was one of those days. The sun stood high over the wide street that lead to the Palatin, the sides filled with the cheering crowd - common people, soldiers, slaves, senators, merchants, they all celebrated his victory in a triumphant procession. His marching soldiers were led by Acacius chariot, clothed in the white armor of a victor. His face could've been one to be carved in marble, stoic and upright, facing the great Palatin, where the Emperors would await him.

Geta and Caracalla - the twin-sons of Septimius Severus, Emperors of Rome. They stoof there in golden Armor like sun gods with their golden crowns on top of their short gingerblonde hair. Their unusual pale skin was a testament to their wealth as they could afford to stay out of the sun, which burns especially hot on summer days like this one, and of course on the battlefields in Africa, where Acatius' men had to fight against the rebellious Nubians. They awaited their victor with proud smiles on their lips, while Acacius' procession ended at the footsteps of the Emperor's palace. He walked the marble steps towards them, his long cloak moved in tact with his walk. He didn't look forward to see the faces of Rome's tyrants again, but they hadno idea.

Instead, he greeted them as he was used to. His hand on his chest, speaking the words.

"I greet you, my Emperors. Nubia is no more. I present a new victory to you, to the realm and to the Roman people."

With a proud look on their faces and a wide smile, the twins stepped forward. Emperor Geta hold the laurel wreath of victory in his hands and places it on top of Acacius' greying hair.

"And Rome rewards it's heroes with gratitude and admiration. We bow to your victories, General Acacius."

With those words, he offered him to turn around and face the celebrating crowd. Geta and Caracalla took their places at his side, giving him a moment of spotlight, applauded by the people, while they did benefit from it as well. Acatius was their general, their armored knight. Every victory he presented was another triumph for their own reign and power. After the earned celebration in front of the common folk, the Emperors and Acacius retreated inside, where servants quickly served them wine for a toast.

"Another great victory, you never disappoint us, dear Acatius," Geta expressed and hold his glass up for a toast, his brother Caracalla following the gesture. "To the glory of the Roman Empire".

"To the glory of your reign", Acacius lied and took a sip from his glass, trying to numb himself a bit with the taste of the alcohol. How he hated conversations with both of them.

" But don't get too comfy here, my brother and i were already discussing another campaign soon. You'll get everything you need, just tell us how many soldiers and ships and it will be granted," Geta explained, which left a bitter taste in Acacius mouth. His jaw clenched for a moment, while he tried everything not to show his distaste about another war campaign.

"Please forgive me, my Emperor, but isn't the realm big enough already? Rome has already difficulties to feed the people. Further expansion would-"

"They can eat war", Emperor Caracalla threw in with an almost diabotical grin, while Acacius got a warning eye from Geta. It was clear that his words weren't the ones both wanted to hear right now.

"Don't worry about things like that, Acacius. You're a military general, your job is to win battles - nothing more. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he answered, even though he hated to hear that he was reduced to this. He'd experienced war and peace alike and therefore he knew about the dangers of continuing this madness. Moments like this really let him question if those maniacs were of the same blood as Septimius Severus.

"But you're right, you've earned yourself at least a bit of rest - one or two weeks. Don't worry, we've taken care about the wellbeing of your family. They got everything they needed and more in our attempt to show our gratitude for your service to the throne. Speaking of which.... we expect you to join us for a great feast tonight - here in the palace. A party to celebrate your victory, it is accompanied by a couple of fights in the arena tomorrow," Geta explained joyfully, while Acatius tried to keep his mask up.

"I am incredibly honored, but would prefer to spend time with family after being away for such a long time."

"The Emperors show you their gratitude and you're insulting us. We expect you to come and you will come", Caracalla hissed with a sudden shift of tone, his eyes staring at Acacius in clear anger, while his brother placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. But his staring eyes were warning Acatius once again.

"Of course, we don't just invite you, but your whole family. Bring your wife and... you have a daughter, if i'm not mistaken? We haven't had the pleasure of getting to know her yet, since you never brought her to any festivities. I am sure she will be delighted, if you don't plan on hiding her again."

Acacius stood there in silence, a reaction that made Caracalla burst out into laughter as if he'd just heard the funniest joke from his brother. The respected general didn't even look at him, why should he. Standing here in front of them should've been an honor, yet it felt like a disgrace. They were nothing but spoiled kids with the power of an empire in their hands. And now they even forced him to reveal his dear daughter to them. Something he tried to avoid for too long, knowing fully well about the debauchery and excessiveness of Geta and Caracalla.

"We're waiting for an answer, Acacius?", Caracalla purred with a wide grin on his pale face, revealing his gold tooth.

"It will be an honor to be your guest... together with my daughter."

_____________________________________________

You watched the face of your father sunken away in his thoughts, as you made made your way to the palace in a palanquin carried by a couple of slaves and protected by soldiers. The city was painted in darkness which made the palace seem like a temple with all the lights that welcomed you. It was an exciting moment for an upper-class lady to be a guest at the palace, especially for you, a woman that usually stayed away from the most parties. Not because you wanted to, but because it was an order from your father. You obeyed, yet it bothered you, even more when you'd reached the age of a young woman - the age in which it was expected from you to find a proper husband.

"Why are you so worried, father?", you finally managed to get off your lips, pulling Acacius out of the battle he fought in his head. He couldn't just tell you that he despised all of this and especially the Emperors himself as he couldn't be sure if someone outside this palanquin could hear him. So he simply took your hand and placed a soft and caring kiss on the ring that had been a present for your last name day.

"I guess I'm rather tired than worried. The parties in the palace are always quite excessive, music, dances, feasts... i just came back from the desert and now i have to enjoy all those things", he sighed and looked at you. "And i don't want to stay too long, especially not till the orgy starts. The servants will come and bring us home before that." And even you knew he would rather go and murder Dyonisos himself than allowing his daughter to stay and witness this.

All those words and yet you knew it wasn't everything.

"I'm glad that you take me with you this time. I've only known the imperial palace from afar," you confessed, while you straightened the long, blue dress you wore. It was decorated with all sorts of silver embroidery and jewelry, encapturing the stars and moon. Your long hair was styled by your servant Yanna into a high braid and finalized with a silver diadem. For the first time you really got the chance to make yourself so presentable that you almost felt like a princess. In the end, you were about to meet the Emperors which made it important to look like the woman you were - the daughter of a general. And you also presented his household tonight, because your mother felt sick tonight. She often suffered from migraine, which kept her a prisoner for days sometimes.

"You really look beautiful", your father said to you, it was honest, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes, which you still couldn't grasp. But there was no chance to take this conversation further as the palanquin stopped. Acacius got out first to help you out. He knew the way as it wasn't the first time for him to attent an official ceremony or party here. Through a long corridor you reached a large room with with an open access to the garden terrace facing the beautiful gardens. It was packed with people from the Roman upper-class, wealthy merchants, politicians and military officers, who were accompanied by their wives, sons and daughters. While they chatted and feasted on the large selection of delicious looking food, a group of musicians played their melodies to which professional dancers moved their bodies.

All those private parties at the homes of your friends seemed to vanish straight from your mind, nothing could be compared to what you were seeing now. It nearly took your breath away, while two royals were watching you from the other side of the room.

_____________________________________________

Geta and Caracalla were sitting on a higher ground, which was highly decorated with two golden chaise longues, cushions and velvet drapes. They were accompanied by a selected group of slaves, women and men, who were assigned to bring them anything they wanted, to do anything they wanted.

While Geta was in in a conversation with one of the senators, which clearly bored him according to his facial expressions, it was Caracalla, who noticed the new guest first, while he fed his little monkey Dondus a grape.

"Such a shame that he hid his daughter for so long. She is a gorgeous looking bird, don't you think? ", he whispered to his brother with a mischievous grin, patting his arm so that he would turn his attention to Acacius and you. Geta's eyes quickly went to you, admiring the way your dress hugged the shape of your curves.

"The gods must've sent us Venus herself to honor us with her presence," Geta answered, while an unreadable smile played on his lips. „No wonder our dear General is so protective of her. Is she already promised to someone?“

„Why do you ask me!?“ Caracalla snapped back, as if his brother didn’t know that he had a lot of spies around the city, who delivered him the newest gossip from the streets of Rome. With an annoyed eye roll, he leaned forward, adjusting the golden laurel wreath on his head. „No, she is a blank parchment. Probably untouched too.“

Geta still watched you with an intense interest as if you were a rare diamond, he needed to claim. But he was not the only one in this room, because Caracalla stared at his brother, noticing the way he looked at you. There it was again, the old melody. Whenever he wanted something, Geta wanted it too. They already shared the title of Emperors, their wealth, their whores… It was already something that cooked in him for a long time. But now he had an eye on you and wasn't happy about the fact that Geta might try to get you too.

Before he could even bring this thought to an end, his twin brother Geta already stood up from his chaise lounge and made his way through the crowd, the direction was clear. Caracalla's nose twitched in a mixture of nervousness and anger, and he got up quickly as well, not as gracefully as he wanted to, but he didn’t care. He had to tame the inner urge to backstab his brother before he could even reach you.

_____________________________________________

You still stood at the side of your father sipping on your first goblet of fine wine, while your eyes went over all the different guests and the excessive decor. Your father was sunken in a conversation with another general, Marcus Galbanus, an old friend and brother-in-arms of Acacius. But their conversation quickly stopped as soon as the Emperors approached them. Both your father and Marcus Galbanus lowered their heads and greeted them according to the etiquette, while you curtsied deep. This was the very first time you got the chance to meet the Emperor's of Rome Caracalla and Geta. And given the importance of those two figures, you even felt a little nervous.

"We almost feared you wouldn't show up to your own party, Acacius. But we're happy you made your way here... we already heard that your dear wife lays sick. Please, send her our best wishes. Nonetheless we would be delighted if you could introduce us to your company tonight", Geta demanded in a playful tone, knowing how much Acacius had tried to delay this. Caracalla stood at his side, his staring blue eyes drilled themselves into your appearence. Even though he was a man that had tasted a lot of men and women, one even more sensual than the other, your whole appearence, your face, your lips, your smile, everything - you reached a sentience in his mind that could only be gifted by the gods. The mere thought of having you infected his brain like a curse.

You could sense the tension that raised in your father as if everything in him resisted the situation. Yet he placed his hand softly on your shoulder and did as they wished. "This is my daughter, y/n..."

"I'm honoured to meet the Emperors of Rome", you said in a soft voice, earning you an appreciating smile by Geta and an unreadable grin of Caracalla.

"Oh the pleasure is on our side, my dearest. How do you like this Ceremony in honor of your father's victories?", Geta asked. But before you could even answer, his brother added, while he took another sip of his wine "Your father is a Roman hero through and through, isn't it right Acacius?" His tone had something else in it, almost as if it was some kind of mistrust. But you needed to ignore the irritation you felt and simply nodded.

"It is breathtaking. I've never witnessed something like this and it makes me incredible proud to see the gratitute he earned himself through the love he has for Rome and its people," you answered, trying to remind the Emperor's of Acacius loyality, which was undoubtful.

"Then you'll enjoy the ceremony in the arena tomorrow as well, i'm sure. Please, we invite your father and you to be our guests."

"I don't think that such entertainment is suited for a young woman of her status," your father suddenly interfered in a calm yet set tone, only earning the laugh of Caracalla. "Let your daughter decide for herself, General."

The atmosphere shifted to an unspoken intensity. You could sense your father's worries and given all what you've heard from the colosseum, you didn't really think of it as something worth to witness. Seeing people die in such a terrible way only for the pleasures of the masses seemed like a farce. Acacius always called it the most needless form of brutality amongst humans, he despised this himself and therefore avoided going into the arena whenever he could. But you also read the eyes of Geta and his brother, who waited for your answer and would not accept a simple 'No'.

"It would be an honour," you answered, and Geta leaned forward a bit, which made your father's jaw clench in anger. Not because of your answer, he was aware that a choice was not existing, when facing an Emperor, but because the way the twins looked at you as if you were a price they could simply claim. But you were a smart girl and definitely not naive, so he fully relied on that.

"So this is a 'Yes'?", Geta asked again and you looked him straight in the eyes, not backing off. "Yes."

"Excellent!", Caracalla shouted and clapped into his hands. "We'll have a lot of fun tomorrow."

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched to a smile and he nodded in response to his twin. Yet he hid his displeasure of having him as a rival in this little game. It was clear that Caracalla had layed his eyes on you too, but he won't allow him to simply take and fuck you like you were a common whore. Maybe you could've potential for something more and strenghten his position as well as his popularity. Because both Emperors were still unmarried - and it was expected from them that this would change sooner or later.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part 3 - A chance discovery and a bit of mischief

These little drabbles keep getting longer and longer...

Life had been slower since your parents passed from sickness a few years back. One of your father's business associates now handled company matters, but was kind enough to keep you informed of the goings on regarding shipments to the museum. It felt like there wasn't much to do nowadays after a few unsuccessful seasons in society, spending most of your time either upkeeping the estate left to you or in the company of your cousin who practically lived in the house with you the last few months.

Passing by familiar friendly faces weathered and old from years in service, you weaved through various wooden containers packed full of priceless relics, getting a first look as they were unloaded before any of the public could get their sights on them.

A noise drew your attention from the delicate Nubian bracelet you'd been admiring. There was a slight commotion when one of the smaller crates overturned onto the warehouse floor, a very flustered new hand getting chewed out by a man three times his age as the surrounding workers started gathering everything up. To his luck there was nothing fragile in the container, but you'd seen something small roll under one of the carts and had quickly hiked your skirts up to grab whatever it was.

Sitting back on your heels, you stared at the dark little metal contraption in your hands, educated mind picking apart every hieroglyph as you rose from your spot on the floor and walked back over to one of the unloaders. Scanning the manifest for the crate in question, you found nothing indicating towards the little box's presence even after having one of the others turn their eye to the paperwork to double check you weren't missing something. None of them had seen anything like it before, nor you to be sure.

You decided to take it up to Dr. Price for his insight, mind a little too curious to wait for the other museum curators to get their hands on it first to give you an answer. You hoped he wasn't indisposed with other matters, glad to find him alone in his study peering over the dreary headache inducing paperwork that kept most of his attention during the day.

He allowed you to interrupt his work, rounding his desk to place the item down in front of him with buzzing excitement. At first he stared at it with furrowed brows, turning it this way and that with analytical intrigue, happy for the brief distraction from the mundane. He must have caught something you missed as his eyes flashed, positioning his fingers just so to press down on something, surprising the two of you with the way the device snapped open into an almost star shape at the bottom.

Price's interest suddenly turned to that of indifference once he turned it over, revealing the hollowed out interior that at some point must've housed something you think.

But... there! What is that marking on the inside?

Gently removing the box from his grasp, you angle the interior of it towards the light to inspect the writing you'd glimpsed. Where the markings on the outside seemed to have been purposely stamped in during the initial creation, the symbols within looked to have been added with something sharp after the fact in the ancient Egyptian equivalent of chicken scratch.

It wasn't a word you were overly familiar with - your brain taking a moment to pull from long ago knowledge - but you couldn't help the gasp that followed as you whispered the name, "Hamunaptra."

The scoff that followed from Price had you feeling very much like the little girl the adults had chuckled at when you'd first shown them the book you'd found full of myths and legends, softly chided for believing in such nonsense and corrected on the differences between fact and fiction.

"Got more important things to do than go huntin' down ghost stories, love." Price spoke up at you from his spot reclining back in his chair, hands folded casually over his abdomen as he gave you the look usually reserved for long suffering parents.

It didn't matter what you tried to say afterwards to convince him to maybe consider the possibility the tales were even partially based on some element of truth. He dismissed you away with a wave of his hand, brushing off your words before instructing you to take it back down to the warehouse so one of the employees could put it away with all the other knick knacks in storage.

You left his office with your head down from your scolding, a bad taste in your mouth at not being taken seriously even if the rational part of your mind told you what you'd always known: the lost city of the dead was just a myth invented by ancient Arab storytellers to amuse Greek and Roman tourists. This was a topic of interest for the occassional treasure hunter, not scholars.

You quickly deposited it right back where you'd found it before taking your leave of the museum, having had enough excitement for one day and needing some time to cool off from your disappointment.

It was only a few days later when you'd found yourself sitting out on the balcony with your dearest cousin Kyle (freshly back from a months long trip to Tanta and mostly sober), recanting him with the circumstances and conversation surrounding the artifact. Even now it was a subject that seemed to plague your mind, having done your best to try and ignore the way it scratched an itch you hadn't felt in many a year. You wouldn't admit outloud to the various drawings you had in your sketchbook of the item in question shoved beneath your pillowcase.

Kyle listened intently to your ramblings, slouched forward in his wicker chair idly swirling two fingers worth of whiskey in his glass before suddenly speaking up after a moments contemplative silence. "Want to find out if it's real?"

Now it was your turn to scoff, rolling your eyes as you tucked your legs up under yourself in a decidedly rare unladylike fashion. Typical Kyle trying to lure you in with fresh bait to go off and do something deemed irresponsible and imbolic by normal society. You casually reminded him it was just an old wives tale, but he shrugged unbothered as he raised the glass of amber liquid to his lips, one side raised in a slight smirk.

"You just leave that part to me, dolly. I'll get your answer for you."

He'd practically disappeared after that, only coming home late into the evenings well after the staff had gone to bed and leaving early in the mornings before the sun had barely risen. If it wasn't for the pantry being pillaged no one would have ever suspected him of hanging around the estate in the first place. At least it gave him something to think about other than the memories you knew still haunted him. And Kyle had always loved sinking his teeth into a challenge.

It wasn't even a week later that you'd come back from a promenade along the river to discover your cousin lounging in your bed as if he owned the place, hands behind his head staring at you with a Cheshire cat grin that you knew could only spell trouble.

Imagine your surprise when he told you he'd managed to track down info about a man who'd claimed to have seen the fabled city with his own two eyes.

Your first instinct was to call nonsense on the idea. Preposterous. Ridiculous. Absurd. You didn't know how your cousin came to that conclusion, but surely he had been swindled by cheap honeyed words half drunk at a bar. He stood behind you in the mirror as you sat at your vanity, pulling the pin keeping your hat in place to take your hair down, his hands on your shoulders and expression adamant as he held your gaze in the reflection.

You could see the mischievous youth from yesteryear in the sparkle of his eyes, ever ready to take on the world and the challenges brought forth by it. But it was overshadowed by the man he'd become, molded by hard work and dedication to king and country. He rarely spoke of the horrors he'd seen in the British Army, but they were evident in the lines of his face. Kyle had always been a handsome lad who'd chased plenty of skirts in his time, capable of charming the stripes off a zebra if you let him. But you knew he had experience well beyond the comprehension of your comparably simple life.

If he was looking at you with such surety, then you knew better than to keep spouting words of disbelief.

What you did object to however was the part where he was trying to convince you to sneak into the museum and steal back the little metal box 'for insurance purposes'.

"Who said anything about stealin', dolly? We're merely borrowin'." Yeah, right. As if the terminology would matter to the authorities should you happen to get caught.

You cursed his sly mouth and persuasive personality as you found yourself wandering down aisles and aisles of unsorted artifacts, scanning shelves and half empty crates for the item in question. The collection in the storage rooms was large enough that you could spend hours inside and hardly make a dent, but you were keeping your eyes out for the more recent additions towards the front. It had been hardly anything to walk in there past the loading bay crew with a pleasant demure smile on your face as if you belonged there just as much as them.

You'd almost given up in frustration when you spotted it hidden behind an elaborate stone bust of Sekhmet, easily glanced over as if hidden in plain sight. No one was the wiser when you whisked it away into one of your pockets, strolling back out past the men with the same carefree attitude you always carried yourself with. They didn't pay attention to the way your hands shook in the folds of your skirts from barely restrained nerves nor the way you slouched against the nearest building to calm your racing heart. Mark your words, you were going to whip Kyle for this.

Now all there was left to do was to go meet back up with him to hunt down the man he had assured you about. You wondered where you might go about even finding such a person...

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[Edited 5/8/24: changed formatting, title, tags, and numbering system]

[ezilis-respite-farm-sanctuary]

RIP Andromeda. This guy kicked our asses into fucking gear. We had just finished the office with an isolation space when he came down with scours. Still unclear the issue, maybe coccidiosis which we are now treating in the rest of the herd.

We have goat minerals with some baking soda on the side in case of bloat, we have emergency 911 thick liquid and we have a little bluelyte electrolyte water (goaterade!) I've been in full veterinary mode since he got sick.

He didn't make it, but he taught us a lot.

The goatherd who gave us Andromeda helped us get his body to a hot compost heap in the neighborhood after they helped us skin him. We weren't sure about how he got sick so we were cautious about the meat. We're in the process of preserving his hide now.

No sooner than we handled Dromeda's situation, a little rescue we'd taken in also got sick. Poundcake had always been sickly and she'd been passed over three times on other farms.

This is one of the last pictures of Poundcake I've got. RIP girl.

So, because the day before, we had just learned how to skin and save a hide, we were able to stay up all night after she passed, processing the meat at home.

She's a mini-nubian / boer cross. Boers tend to be a good meat breed and so far she hasn't disappointed. My salvaged off the side of the road charcoal grill/smoker. We've also done leg of goat in a crockpot with white beans and our bucket grown golden oyster mushrooms.

The loss of these two provided us with new protocols, the skills to give sub1 and IM shots to someone other than a guy on testosterone lol, and a lot of meat. I'll miss them.

Below the break, you'll find a few more graphic photos of the butchering process.

I was pleasantly surprised that the bowie I've been carrying around for 8 years is a perfect hunting knife for skinning and cleaning. I do want something sharper for when we actually have to stun and dispatch.

We have been holding off on slaughter because we didn't feel like we had a space. We still haven't quite figured that part out, especially how to fully honor the ritual engagement with the process, but we made due with our garage and the skills taught to us in chicken butchering. We really want to find a way to not just be feeding ourselves this goat, but also others in our community.

We did a thorough investigation of what may have happened to Poundcake and my takeaways were an enlarged liver, enlarged heart, potentially lung issues (pneumonia?) and maybe a miscarriage. The intestines also look a little necrotic? Being able to see the rumen and ribcage was enlightening.

We've been healthy, well-taught, and well-fed by her so gratitude,

Moving forward, carrying the memory and lessons,

KX

[bijoumikhawal]

@marzipanandminutiae

(Disclaimer: I am Egyptian)

Okay, I know you're being well intentioned with the last bit, but I'm a little sick of people going "the Egyptian government allowed it so it's okay" about bullshit like this

Other Egyptians may disagree with me about this specific case or getting frustrated by that phrase but like. The Egyptian government is corrupt. We all know it's corrupt, even if some Egyptians wont admit it. Egyptian archeologists, due to our country's history in relation to Europe and Black Africa, also make really bad and galling decisions sometimes (usually by being racist). On one hand, I don't want westerners to give their takes haphazardly. On the other, it's EXHAUSTING to see people look at shit like this (or the possession of an ENTIRE temple by an American museum thanks to ethnic cleansing) and shrug because they don't understand our modern politics. It comes off like yall don't care that much, honestly.

Egyptians are not some weird pure fairies where every decision we make about our artifacts is good! If nothing else being allowed to rent the pyramids would have been a DISGUSTING and profane act of depraved capitalism. I (and many other Egyptians) HATE Sisi because his balls are tied to western capitalism and his attempts to promote tourism are destroying Egyptian culture and history while enacting horrible infrastructure decisions. He has, for example, desecrated dozens of medieval era tombs by destroying them. But there's almost no outcry for them from westerners because they're NOT Pharaonic. Sisi and the west only give a damn about Pharaonic history and money! He only cares about upkeep so far as it ensures he can keep using them for tourism. And because he's a dictator of course he'd have a say in something like that. And this is WHILE most Egyptians are impoverished, while basic necessities get more expensive, and while he keeps building dumb shit and living in a presidential palace. While he won't open the Rafah border! While he won't crackers down on the price gouging of refugees and just let people come in! All of this greed is connected.

And I also see this sentiment used to defend Egyptians being like. Explicitly VERY racist by people who don't understand that's what's going on. They don't understand the relationship Arab and Arabized Egyptians have to Copts and Nubians, to Sudan, and how all if this gets tangled up with Pharaonic history and artifacts. We are a complicated nation! More complicated than "well I guess it's fine because they're Egyptians"!

I hope this guy fucking dies because

A) he's Mr Beast

B) he has WAY too much money if he's renting out the PYRAMIDS OF GIZA????

C) renting out actual historical landmarks that have already been desecrated and destroyed over thousands of years for a goddamn youtube video is actually disgusting.

idk if you think that they're "just the pyramids", they're the ONLY remaining wonder of the ancient world!!! Not to mention!! they're TOMBS!! sure, the people who were inside are long gone, but like?? idk, maybe i'm oversely sensitive, but being a white dude and desecrating an ancient burial site (for profit) and thus disregarding thousands upon thousands of years of history and culture is probably Up There with the scummy stuff this jackass has done

[xtrablak674]

Rage: Not Easy To Articulate

[Originally published in Fashion Fag Magazine Volume 1 Number 3 October 1994, edited mildly for clarity]

People, wait not people, certain White Folke seem to think that I am very upset. Well Goddamnit their right! I've been given a reality check lately that opened my eyes to something I thought I had put on the shelf of problems & bridges to cross when I get there.

To survive being a young orphaned black self-supporting poor gay male, is not easy. Sometimes flirting with homelessness and starvation are my realities. I'm not complaining about the situation that I am in, I am just stating it for your information. So when you look at me as a person you paint a full picture with the many layers that I have, as we all do.

I recently participated in a workshop that was meant to sensitize people to the supposed non-differences of skin color. The instructions given were to get in line in order of skin color. Well the three main color groups split up, The Asians & Latino's, The White Folke and the people of African Decent. Well everything seemed fine until somebody said "Trevor you get at the end cause you're the darkest and Prudence you get on that end because you're the lightest." I felt my blood run to my face I didn't like this exercise, and at first I wasn't sure why. #😡

With that statement my memories were drawn back to my childhood and taunting friends "Tar baby, monkey-lip, Kunta-kinte, You so DARK and UGLY!" With friends like those who needs enemy's? All of that and growin' up in a world lackin' positive African images; made me believe that my ebony skin was ugly, dirty and unlovable.

My lack of physical attention from my mother left me to feel that my light skin brothers were better. It was not her fault, she was a product of her environment and she never believed that she was not her circumstance.

So up I grew, lookin in the mirror ashamed of the dark figure that peered back at me with the white eyes and white teeth, skin as dark as night. Would I ever get lighter?

I turned to sex for affirmation; the source of my agony for solace. The white male. 'But of course, if he finds me attractive then I must be.

Because he is white and everything white is right! The so called called gay community seemed to accept me with open arms unlike my African peers. I was considered exotic, unique, taboo, fetished, well-hung and desirable. I played into the stereo types of what they wanted me to be.

Yes pierce my chocolate mounds with your magic vanilla rod. Enter me, affirm me, take this dis-ease my blackness away from me. Anoint me with your seed, hold me and wash the ugly away.

I had run too long from my internalized racism and had tripped and fell flat on my face. Denying my very being and tryin' to define my beauty thru blond hair and blue eyes. Wake up Heather all the Esoterica and hair weaves in the world cannot cover your Nubian beauty.

Funny, it took a simple exercise and the help of a white man to make me open my eyes and see that I am beautiful. That I do not need affirmation from a community that says it includes me but doesn't. I stopped running away from my brothers of the boat, and I looked them dead in the eye. I affirm them and thus affirm myself.

Thats right white man I am angry I am sick of watchin' you sit around and flaunting your privilege. Ignorance is not bliss. I will call you on it. I've lived a personal hell for most of my life because you have sat back on your yellow behind and not took the steps to educate yourself about my people's issues. You call yourself my friend as you twist the knife in my back and smile to me sayin' that you are not killing me, but my own people are.

If I make you uncomfortable because I call you out on your privilege too fuckin' bad. You do not know the internal battles I have to fight on a daily basis so you can live comfortably. If you are not a part of the solution, you are a part of the problem.

You can never understand the weight & burden that a black child gets placed upon him when he first discovers, what racism is. His white friend jokingly tells him he's a nigger, which automatically scars that child, with where his place is in society, under the heel of a white man.

Yes I am angry. Yes I am bitter. I have a rage inside of me that threatens to consume me. As all black males do. If they do not harness that energy into something. We know no matter how far up we get, how well to do we are that in the eyes of that white cop we are still Nigger!

Do not look to me to affirm you when you finally began to see your privilege and work on it. It is your obligation and duty and I will not praise you for learning how to be humane.

To my sisters and brothers of color, queer, straight, or questioning. Do not look to define your beauty by a European aesthetic. Love your full lips and robust ass, Love your kinky hair and rich skin, be it the lighter shades of caramel of the darker hues of mahogany.

[Photo by Brown Estate]

[minervas-wife]

TWD S3 EP9 LIVE THOUGHTS

NUBIAN QUEEN. merle is so sick for that asdfghjkl.

HAHA THE WAY HE JUST KNOCKED HIM OUT

he cares about the kids so much. even when hes leaving he stops to mention them

the white guy in tyreeses group reminds me of that raymond guy on tiktok

ok i tuned out the episode cus i was looking for a picture of the guy

i come back and there are walkers in woodbury

ok i cant find him for the life of me u will just have to take my word for it

carl and rick hug 🧡🧡

they all love carol so much i adore everyone's scenes with her

'ur just a visitor here' CUT HIM OFF ANDREA U DESERVE BETTER

love the crib they made her omg

'you're like my own son glenn' what if i flatlined???

i love how u can see rick does genuinely want to let tyreese and sashas group in but he just cant let himself

lori ghost time :D

hes so batshit omg

[igigix]

Black Heart

Chapter 9: Between Two Points

- Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You -

-> 18+ readers only!

-> English is not my native language, so bear with me because there will probably be some grammatical mistakes.

Summary: Rio, a dangerous, ruthless gangster, stumbles your path.

Rating: Mature, Explicit.

Warnings: Mentions of rape, assault and description of a gory death scene.

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: Well, well, well! Look who's back after a prolonged hiatus. Instead of asking for my betas to edit it, I'm uploading the new chapter. You've waited long enough, so enjoy! Reblogs and feedback are very welcome.

You wake up relaxed, serene, and peaceful after a deep sleep. Feeling light and weightless, with a wonderful floating sensation. A tingling warmth spreads your entire body. Still half-conscious, you stretch your arms over your head. You let out a sigh of contentment.

You blink against the room's brightness; you turn your head to meet his magnetic brown eyes and intense gaze. Rio is still here.

"You're staring." You remark in a drowsy tone.

He comes closer to your bed, places his hands on the mattress's edge, and stands over you. "I like the view." His lips curve up in a luring grin.

Your body reacts in an instant, and your cheeks heat as a result of his comment.

"How you feeling?" he asks, his eyes full of concern.

"Stop. You don't have to do this." He straightens, and a muscle feathers across his jaw. "Do what, sweetheart?" He's making it difficult to resist him. His husky tone washes across your senses. Get it together, y/n, get it together! He doesn't care about you. "I've done a lot of things that are out of character for me since I've met you, so be specific, yeah? "

You relive the discussion you didn't finish last night. You sit up, the room swirling around you.

He's just using you, like everybody else. Don't fall for him. Remember what Beth said: "A man like Rio needs to have a woman at his feet so he can use them, and when he's done, he throws them away like they never existed."

The sorrow in your chest flares as you remember her cruel words. It consumes you and drags you under a dark tide.

You make an effort to meet his stare. He braces his legs in the position that so eloquently demonstrates his power by folding his hands behind him. It's raw and exquisite torture to look at him. It's addictive, violent, and never-ending.

"Ahem." The sound of someone clearing their throat fills the room. You glance at the door to see your perplexed sister and her wife.

"Oh, hi!" You manage to say.

This is going to be so awkward.

"Yeah, hi?" Sarah replies with a raised eyebrow while Bonnie's attention wanders between Rio and you. They enter the room slowly and cautiously.

Rio's phone begins to ring. He peers at the screen before taking a step toward you. "I need to take this. I'll see you later, mama." He whispers, kissing the crown of your head. Then he gives Bonnie and Sarah a charming smile. "Ladies."

Sarah's eyes are drawn to his ass as he leaves.

"Mama?" Your sister mumbles, completely taken aback. "Oh. My. God. What was that?"

"Guys, you didn't need to come."

"Uh-huh, now we know why. Too busy for us with the tall, handsome, tattooed man… He's yummy."

"Hey!" Bonnie retorts grumpily, slapping Sarah on the shoulder.

"Aww. Sorry! I'm just saying that we're worried sick about you, thinking that you were miserable and traumatised after your assault."

"I am!"

"Clearly. We saw that." She scoffs, and then her eyes narrow. "You're drooling…" she gestures to the corner of your mouth.

"No, I'm not!"

"Sis, you've got some explaining to do." Appeals Bonnie, standing 5'5 tall, her rich brown skin glowing. She has an oval face with a pointed chin, a Nubian nose, and full lips. Her hazel eyes are small, and she has tapered eyebrows. Her bob box braids enhanced her features.

She's dressed in a puffy blue cable turtleneck sweater, black high-waisted trousers, black leather ankle strap heels, and wide-band hoop earrings.

Speaking of her clothes.

"Wait a minute, is that my top?" You demand accusingly, eyeballing your sweater.

"Yup." She replies nonchalantly.

"What the hell?"

"You always borrow my stuff, so I felt like I should return the favor." She argues.

"What?" You exclaim indignantly. "That's definitely not true!" You protest hastily. It was true. Her closet was always a self-service for you to grab anything you wanted, but she wasn't supposed to know that.

"Hey, hey, HEY! Can we focus on the tall, handsome, tattooed man here?" Sarah interjects, snapping her fingers. She has lovely dark skin. Her face is lean with a rounded jaw, a snub nose and almond brown eyes with bushy brows.

Her hair is pulled back into cornrows and tucked into a bun. She's wearing a floral print jumpsuit and high-heeled espadrilles.

"Yeah, what's the deal with you and the tall, handsome, tattooed man?" Bonnie nods in agreement. "The way he was looking at you…."

"How was he looking at me?" You question abruptly.

"Like he wanted to…." Sarah starts.

"Rip your clothes off…." Bonnie adds, finishing Sarah's thought.

"And eat you alive," Sarah concludes.

"Eat me alive?" You blurt out, snarling with incredulity.

"Yes!" Sarah and Bonnie exclaim in unison as they sit on the bed's edge.

"It was really hot." Chuckles Sarah. "So, spill the tea already!" Squeals Bonnie.

"You're both completely overreacting!" You avert your gaze, embarrassed.

"I don't think so!" Insists Bonnie. "We know what we saw, sis."

Your sister's words pull your attention from your hands, resting uneasily on your lap. Cautiously, you look up. Two pairs of eager eyes meet you. You don't want to lie to them, but you can't tell them the truth either. You need to protect them; there's no way you'll involve them in your problems. It was your fault that Adrian was hurt. You won't let that happen to Sarah and Bonnie. You will do anything for them, but you can't tell them about what's going on. You have to keep them away from Rio. So, you just need to play it off, like it is nothing.

"He's just a client from the stationery store. We've gone on a few dates, but that's it. There's nothing more." You lie. You're eying their reactions, searching for signs that they don't believe you.

"But that's amazing!" Comments your sister, ecstatic.

"We are so happy, Y/N. You have no idea." Admits Sarah delighted.

You try to push the guilt away, focusing on their eyes. Eyes that are brimming with excitement, love, and trust.

They survived many obstacles; they are finally in a happy place, and it will be unfair to take that away from them. You know they will put themselves in unnecessary danger if you tell them the truth. They will try to protect you. Sure, lying to them is wrong. You hate yourself for it, but it's for their own safety. Otherwise, you'll only bring them pain, and you can't do that to them.

You've kept your secrets for a while now and have no intention of changing that. The scars from all the bad things you've done are a part of you. You don't want to hurt the people closest to you.

You inhale deeply. You know you can't let them see your guilt. So, you push harder. You bury it. You bury it deep. You keep that guilt inside, reminding yourself that you're doing it to save them.

You smile.

"So, I've been thinking…." You start, anxious to change the subject. "Obviously, after what happened, I need to move out and find a new place." In a gesture of consolation, Sarah takes your hand.

"I'm so, so proud of you. For the first time, you built your life with your own decisions.

For the first time, you're thinking about yourself, putting your happiness first. Keep going! Please don't let him win. Fight for your life! Don't be afraid." Implores Bonnie. "If you need a place to stay, you're more than welcome. Remember, you are not alone."

Not alone. That feels good to your ears.

"Come on, group hug." You order, spreading your arms wide open, inviting them to embrace you. They hug you warmly. The urge to burst out in tears grabs you.

"I love you, stupid." Announces Bonnie. "Y/N, you're suffocating me with your massive tits, but I'm not complaining." Declares Sarah.

"Shut up!" You laugh.

————

Mick called Rio and told him he needed to come to the warehouse immediately. It was urgent. Rio's instinct told him it was important, so regretfully, he left you and went over.

"You're not gonna like this." Reveals Mick solemnly as he hands a folder to Rio. "It's bad."

He opens it and looks through it. Rio's anger builds as he discovers what's in it. The police report your assault, including naked photos of you with your wrists and hands tied and unconscious.

He's livid. In a fit of rage, Rio pounds his fist hard on the table, letting out a thunderous roar. The thud echoes, making Mick flinch. Everyone in the warehouse stops, hearing the boisterous roar. They're in shock. A heavy silence hangs over.

Rio looks absolutely murderous like the devil's awoken in him. An angry muscle knot has formed on his face. A vein throbs on his brow, his muscles tense. His intense gaze leaves a deadly glint in the air. He's getting out of control. He can't think straight. His fists are clenched into tight balls; his nails are biting into his palms, blood trickling down from his knuckles. He continues to pound on the table, more violently this time; the metal creaks under his blows. Making the table's contents tumble into the ground. The thud reverberates. His eyes are a blazing inferno. He can't stop. The very air around him is fizzing like a bomb.

Mick is standing still, waiting for Rio's wrath to end. Finally, Rio stops and breathes hard.

"Did you catch him?" He hears himself ask Mick in a voice he didn't recognise.

"No, but we have the son of a bitch who helped him. We roughed him up a bit to get something out of him but trust me. He wishes he was dead right now." Assures Mick.

"Take me to him." barks Rio. He's at a boiling point. He wants to vent his fury on someone.

Mick leads him to the basement. Rio's senses are heightened. He can hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He can see every detail. He is entirely focused on the mission. His nostrils flare, and the blood pumping into his muscles sends energy and power surging through them. He is ready to strike.

Mick unlocks it and leads him inside as they reach a closed iron door with three men waiting for them.

There's a man tied to a chair. His face is bruised and swollen. He's trembling. They enter, and the chair he's bound to bounces around as he shakes with fear.

"Everybody out!" They walk out, close the door behind them, and leave him alone with the man, obeying his command.

All he can see is red. Rio watches him closely, and the man shrivels before his eyes. Rio steps toward him menacingly. The man is panting raggedly, terrified. Rio didn't know his name, who he was. He didn't give a fuck about it. He's an accomplice. All he cares about is that he's the reason why you were assaulted, he's the reason why you were in the hospital right now, he's the reason why his girl is in pain, why you were hurt.

Rio grips the man's hair in his fist and drags him into the wall, smashing his head against it. The man cries and begs for mercy. Rio proceeds to pound the man's head into the wall over and over again despite his pleadings. The cries become muffled screams for help.

The man's head is bleeding from every pore, his eyes bulge, his mouth opens in agony, and his face is a gory mess. The blood, along with the man's protests, creates a gurgling sound. He eventually collapses with a whimper. He's out cold, but Rio doesn't stop. He continues to kick him, and with each punch, he remembers you. Each blow in his memory of your torment and suffering, he can't stop seeing your torn and broken body, aching and asking for help. He howls like an animal. It's a primal sound.

He is utterly oblivious to the door opening or Mick coming. When Rio attempts to fight him off, Mick grabs his shoulders and jolts him back to reality.

"That's enough, man. He's dead."

Rio's eyes focus finally on Mick. It seems like he has snapped out of his trance. He examines the man's body, which is surrounded by a pool of blood on the ground. He now has a fully disfigured and broken face. He is no longer identifiable.

"I want that fucker, Mick. You're going to smoke him out of whatever hole he's hiding in and bring him to me, yeah?" He venomously spits out the words. He turns to Mick with a dark, cold look.

───────── ∙ ~εïз~ ∙ ──────────

<- Previous chapter: Hard Times

-> Next chapter: He Knows

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[wandering-wolf23]

I think a lot of it is self-flagellation, to be honest, or virtue signalling.

But telling people to get a goat or a pig instead of getting an exotic was... concerning. I’ll say it right now, it’s one of the dirty little secrets of livestock breeding, but most goats, pigs, cattle, and chickens are not bred with temperament in mind. Sure, you’ll cull something that tries to kill you (that happened with me. He was a beautiful, double registered, keep-back buck that was never harmed or teased, but he still turned nasty as soon as he hit sexual maturity) or something that’s way too hard to catch, but unless the animal hits those extremes, people breed it. Hell, I’ve known people who breed homicidal does because they’re completely structurally correct and produce stunningly beautiful kids. Most of these animals stay in a pasture. They’re only handled a few times a year or they’re doped up to go into the show ring. Health matters more than personality to the point where people are told to never turn their back on a mature buck goat or he’ll try to kill you. Gentle bucks do exist - I have one - but they are few and far between.

“It’s just the way the breed is.” “Spirited, flighty, alert, and nervous all mean crazy. You want calm and friendly.” “Not for beginners.” “Never turn your back in the pasture.” I’ve heard all these things over the past twenty odd years and I know what to look for, but the average person embarking on a Tumblr inspired animal quest won’t.

I breed for pet temperament, health, and flashy patterns. You will not believe the number of people who have horror stories about raising a beautiful baby animal, only to have it do a complete 180 on them. Or they buy a meat breed unknowingly (or get lied to: I’ve seen people told that a Boer was a Nubian cross before) and have to deal with an animal that has a very short lifespan and a ton of health problems.

Most folks told to get a goat will either head to their local sale barn or Craigslist. No shade to Craigslist, because I’ve sold through Craigslist, and it’s safer, IMO, than going to a sale barn. Sale barn goats are in the sale barn for a reason (either very sick, incredibly skittish, or they’re homicidal. In my experience, they tend to be the latter two). People will want to spend $20 for a cute bottle buckling instead of paying over $200 for a well-bred, 3 month old buckling with an appointment to be neutered and started lead training.

Livestock breeders have our own unethical sources, most of whom dump their animals in the sale barn for a quick $$$, and to pretend that we do not is stupid. Someone is going to get sick, hurt, or even killed. If I can produce a crazy animal when I’ve been focusing on docile, easy to handle animals... the ones that an asshole will happily sell an unsuspecting person are even worse. This isn’t even getting into the vet care aspects and how you need to get comfortable with using medication off label.

If you want the exotic, do your research and try to find a good breeder for the exotic. Don’t go get a farm animal “just because it’s more ethical”.

I bet you 500 bucks Owlvid has some nasty skeletons hidden away. People who make THIS much noise when there's no evidence and constantly go after everyone are usually doing it not just for attention, but to deflect from their inner demons. Their level of obsession with others is creepy and extremely sus to me

In my experience the loudest people have the most to hide. There's a fuck ton of examples of anti kink people getting outed for actual real world abuse

[solohux]

I really adore this Prince Ben and Thief Hux Au! It’s such a great idea! Got me thinking of this idea: Matt being one of the guards at the palace that Ben puts in charge of looking after Techie as he recovers from his illnesses. He probably keeps Techie company during those instances when his brother is being occupied by Prince Ben.

I must admit that I’m loving this AU too!!! There’s so much potential! ✨

Hux is a lot more relaxed now that Techie is in the palace too. The Prince has reassured him that his brother will get the best care and he’ll be safe here because he’s out his best guard on Techie’s door—he’s a force-null, failed clone of the Prince himself! I’m sure Techie would want some company whilst he’s recovering so Matt the Nubian guardsman is more than happy to spend some time with Techie when Hux is otherwise ‘busy’ with his majesty!

They grow close, of course. Friends first but both harbouring crushes on each other! And the happiness of being around Matt and having Armitage near him again and being treated for his sickness makes Techie’s broken heart heal too!

[stolen-pen-name23]

Hi Katie!! Congrats on the one year of writing🥰!! Can I request a number 28 with Padme and Obi-wan? Maybe he ended up on Naboo somehow after an awful mission and she was there to make sure he was okay?

Hello hello, my friend and thank you!! prompt fill from these prompts//prompts now closed

In what I'm sure will be very surprising to you all, what I intended as a 500-word fic turned into 2.6k, so I've posted it on Ao3, but the whole thing can be read below the cut!

Read on Ao3

Here ya go!

---

“I’m really sorry to ask this of you, but I quite literally need a place to crash.”

Padmé took in the blue, glowing form of her husband’s master and sighed. “Well, if you’re going to crash anywhere, Master Kenobi, I suppose I would rather it be here.”

“Thank you, Senator Amidala,” Obi-Wan said cordially. “It will be a controlled crash, I assure you. Really more like a bumpy landing than anything. I’ll keep it on the runway. All will be well.”

“Right,” Padmé sighed. “I’ll have firefighter droids on standby.”

“It is good to be cautious I suppose,” Obi-Wan admitted. He turned to the side and coughed into his elbow.

“Are you alright?” Padmé asked, concerned.

“Never better.”

Padmé narrowed her eyes at him, but his face remained impassive as always.

“Well then, I guess I’ll see you sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll see you soon, Senator,” Obi-Wan said before he shut off the line of communication.

Padmé’s lips tightened into a thin line as she worried over the Jedi that was about to fall at her feet.

“See you soon,” Padmé said to an empty room.

He’ll be fine. He’s Obi-Wan. He’s always fine.

***

And he was fine.

The ship crash-landed, but as far as crash landings go, his went pretty smooth.

Padmé met him at the wreckage of his ship.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Senator,” Obi-Wan greeted cordially as he crawled out of the smoldering remains of his starfighter. Grease was streaked on his forehead just over his eye and his cheeks were flushed.

“Are you quite alright, Master Kenobi?”

“Yes, though losing my only means of transportation is not my ideal situation.”

“You are welcome to borrow any of our—”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid Anakin was quite insistent that he pick me up. Funny how he never volunteers for such things when I’m on other planets isn’t it?”

Padmé gave him a nervous laugh.

“No matter. It is easier than having to bring an extra ship back..”

“Yes, of course,” Padmé said quickly. “I suppose you’ll be needing a place to sleep then?”

“I can make do just about anywhere,” Obi-Wan said. “But if you are offering a room, I will gladly accept one.”

“Of course, Obi-Wan. You are always welcome in our halls. Or in this case, the Lake House. I think you will be more comfortable there.”

Obi-Wan glanced at all the onlookers gathering around the fallen ship and the senator and the Jedi standing beside it.

“This Lake House you speak of… Are there fewer people there?”

“Yes.”

“Then, by all means, take me to it.”

They walked side by side, though Obi-Wan followed her lead. She did not miss the way Obi-Wan kept his gaze away from the numerous onlookers.

Padmé laughed to herself.

“Is something funny, senator?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just, for a people person, you never seem to really enjoy being around them.”

“Who said I was a people person?”

“Oh please, Master Kenobi,” Padme said. “You cannot tell me you are unaware of your own silver tongue? They don’t call you the Negotiator for nothing.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his beard as if pondering the thought.

“I don’t know if that necessarily qualifies me as a people person.”

“I’ve seen you at senatorial dinners. You’re good with people. You know how to talk to them.”

Obi-Wan blushed. “I suppose certain diplomatic skills are necessary when you’re a Jedi.”

“Don’t be so modest. The ability to work a room is one that doesn't come naturally to most. You would make a fine politician.”

Obi-Wan’s expression turned sour. “You insult me.”

“All I’m saying is you’re good at getting people to give you what you want. And don’t even get me started on all the flirting you do, I mean—”

“Fine, I won’t,” Obi-Wan said quickly. “Your point has been made.”

“Good, as long as we’re on the same page.”

Obi-Wan smirked but stumbled over his feet. Padmé reached out for him and clutched his elbow. He steadied himself and shook his head.

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé said. “You didn’t hit your head when we landed, did you?”

“No, no of course not.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want a concussed Jedi on my hands. Though it would not be the first time,” she smirked.

“No, it would not be,” Obi-Wan smiled back.

The senator and the Jedi reached a speeder with a driver and a guard in the front. Obi-Wan opened the door and Padmé slid into the back seat easily. Obi-Wan followed right behind her.

“It is not a long drive to the Lake House,” Padmé said. “I’m sure you’re eager to get some rest.”

“Quite,” Obi-Wan said, rubbing his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, Senator. No need to worry over me.”

Padmé did not agree with his sentiments, but she did not argue with them either. Instead, she remained silent the rest of the ride to the Lake House. The cool, evening breeze blew baby hairs out of her tightly pulled-back bun.

Padmé turned back to Obi-Wan, but he was slightly slumped over and fast asleep. She quietly snapped a holo photo of him and sent it to Anakin.

Her message to him read: “I have your Master. He’s my hostage now.”

“Oh, so you’re going to make me pay a ransom? What do I owe you?” Anakin replied.

“Oh, I’ll think of something, love.”

“Looking forward to it. I’ll be there in the morning. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Padmé snapped her comm shut and smiled to herself. She was glad Obi-Wan was not awake to see the stupid grin on her face.

***

“Master Obi-Wan. Wake up,” Padmé said quietly, shaking the Jedi’s shoulder. “We’re here.”

Obi-Wan blinked at her groggily. “Where…?”

“We’re at the Lake House.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said. He yawned and blinked tired eyes at her.

“Come on. You’re exhausted. Let’s go inside.”

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement and followed Padmé out of the speeder and into the Lake House.

“This is a beautiful home,” Obi-Wan said, casting his gaze across every wall and wooden beam.

“Thank you, I would offer to give you the full tour, but you look dead on your feet.”

Obi-Wan smiled gratefully at her. “Perhaps in the morning, Senator.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Let me show you to your room.”

Padmé led him up the staircase and guided him to the guest suite. She opened the door and motioned for him to come in.

The room was one of the largest in the whole home. Large tapestries with traditional Nubian art adorned the walls and a large bed with a white duvet was centered against the back wall. Bay windows overlooked the lake and had a bench seat for guests to curl up in a quiet place for reading or meditation. In other words, it was the perfect place for Obi-Wan.

“This is more than generous. Thank you, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, taking in the opulent room before him.

“Anytime,” Padmé said. “Do you need anything else? Do want something to eat before you go to bed?”

Padmé did not miss the way Obi-Wan’s skin seemed to pale at just the suggestion. “No, thank you. I’m not very hungry.”

“All right,” Padmé said suspiciously. “Have a good night, Obi-Wan. Sleep well.”

“You too, Padmé. Thank you again for your hospitality.”

“There is no need to thank me. Naboo owes you a great debt for your actions here all those years ago. And you are my friend. Only my friends are allowed to stay here,” she grinned.

“It’s good to have friends, Senator,” Obi-Wan said, though his tone was more subdued. “Goodnight, Padmé.”

The door clicked softly behind him and Padmé was left alone in the darkened hallway.

***

The Jedi were not the only ones who got bad feelings about things.

Padmé fretted around in her kitchen, unable to go to sleep with the feeling that something was wrong with Obi-Wan. She scrubbed at her counter, the marble already spotless and shining, and tried to think of an excuse she could use to check on him.

Her eyes landed on a red tea kettle and she smiled.

Padmé had her plan.

***

Padmé knocked on the guest suite door and waited for a response. If he didn’t answer, she would simply leave the steaming mug on the nightstand and leave. A simple, innocent plan.

She knocked again and when no response came, she opened the door just a crack.

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé questioned softly as she peeked inside the darkened room “I brought you some tea.”

A quiet murmur is the only response she received. Padmé stepped into the room and turned on a lamp.

“Obi-Wan?”

He shifted, but his eyes remained closed. Discomfort was evident in the set of his jaw, even in sleep.

Setting the mug down, she approached his bed and took note of the sweat dampening his hair and the flush high on his cheekbones. Sighing, she sat down beside him and pushed his sweaty hair off of his forehead. His skin radiated heat.

There was something wrong with him. Her instincts had been right after all.

Obi-Wan tossed his head to the side and let out a soft whimper. A soft, but desperate sound that sent alarm bells ringing in Padmé’s head. “Obi-Wan, wake up.”

His eyes remained firmly shut and the quiet, pained whimpers continued.

“Obi-Wan, please, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up.”

Padmé grabbed hold of his shoulders and shook him until fever-bright eyes stared into her own.

“Your Highness,” Obi-Wan said. “You have to get out of here, it’s not safe. My Master and I…” Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “My Master and I…”

Padmé’s heart sunk. “Obi-Wan, you’re sick. You’re in the Lake House. Everything is alright, we’re both safe.”

“Your Highness?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan. It’s all right. I’ll be right back. I need to get you some medicine. Just wait here.”

“It’s not safe.”

“Yes, it is. Just wait here.”

Padme rushed back down to the kitchen and dug around for some fever reducers. Finding what she was looking for, she raced back up the stairs and returned to the guest suite.

“Here, take these,” Padmé said, handing Obi-Wan the pills and the mug of tea. “You’ll feel better.”

“Padmé?” Obi-Wan asked, confusion still lacing his tired voice.

“Yes, it’s me, Obi-Wan. Just take these.”

Obediently, Obi-Wan swallowed the pills. Padmé took the mug from his hands before he could spill the hot tea on himself and she set it to the side once again.

“There you go,” Padmé said soothingly. “Lay back down. That’s it.”

“Not safe,” Obi-Wan insisted, though his resolve was weakening.

“Just go to sleep. I’ll protect you.”

Her words seemed to soothe Obi-Wan. The fear that left him rigid and tightly coiled seemed to drain from his body as his muscles and jawline relaxed. It was not long before Padmé’s order to sleep was heeded.

True to her word, Padmé watched over him until dawn broke.

***

The morning brought recovery. Obi-Wan’s skin lacked the pallor of the ill and his eyes were clear of the feverish glaze.

“Goodmorning, Master Kenobi,” Padmé said when his gaze landed on her.

He blinked at her in confusion. “Senator Amidala. Why are you...?”

“You’re sick. Or you were. Your fever broke this morning, but I think you should still take it easy.”

“When did you… I thought I was alone?”

“Forgive me for intruding on your privacy, but I couldn’t shake the feeling you were unwell.”

“Did you stay here the whole night?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Senator. I did not mean for you to…”

“Save your apologies Obi-Wan. I am happy to help. I just wish you had told me you were ill sooner,” she said. Her lips tightened in a thin, disapproving line. “I knew something wasn’t right.”

“You sound like Anakin with all of his unhelpful I told you so’s.”

“Still, you should have told me you were sick,” Padmé protested.

“I did not think it was that bad,” Obi-Wan said. After a pause, he added, “until I woke up with you sitting right there.”

“It never starts bad, does it?”

“No, it never does.”

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé asked, her tone changing from teasing to concerned.

“Yes?” Obi-Wan asked, though apprehension filled his answer.

“In your sleep, you… you were having a nightmare. You called me your Highness. You brought up your Master.” If she did not know him, Padmé might not have seen the way his eyes darkened or the subtle clench of his jaw. “Do you want to talk about it?” she added on.

“Not particularly.” The sheets began to twist in his hand.

“It might be good for you, you know? To talk about it with someone who isn’t… well… Anakin.”

“I do have other friends, I’ll have you know,” Obi-Wan said indignantly.

“And do you talk to them?”

The way he looks down at his hands is answer enough. “It’s just… being on this planet, and what you said about Naboo owing me a debt. I guess it just stirred up some memories that I think were compounded by the haze of fever.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It is not your fault.”

Silence rests between them and Padmé searches for a way to fill the void.

“I do have a question for you,” Padmé finally said, lightening her tone once more.

“I’ll do my best to answer it.”

“Do you think that there is a possibility the ship malfunctioned due to… I don’t know… user error?”

“No, not at all.”

“Really? You don’t think that perhaps, maybe, just maybe, you were feeling so under the weather that you failed to notice the hyperdrive overheating? A simple fix if found early?”

“It’s not that simple,” Obi-Wan said defensively. “Anakin just makes it look simple.”

“Uh-huh,” Padme said. “Of course.”

As if the act of speaking his name summoned him, Anakin strode through the door.

“Hello Anakin,” Obi-Wan greeted, sitting up on his elbows.

“Master. Senator,” Anakin said, bowing slightly. “I was looking for you downstairs. I didn’t think you would be here. In the same bedroom. Together.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“I was sick, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, sparing Padmé the burden of explanation. “The good senator over here sacrificed her night of rest to ensure my health, though it was unnecessary and I would have been just fine.”

“He was delirious!” Pamdé said in defense.

The rigid line of Anakin’s shoulders softened. “Are you all right, Master?”

“Perfectly fine and quite ready to go home.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know. You seem a little pale. Maybe we should wait a day before travelling back to Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan scoffed.

“Yes, you are still a little pale,” Padmé said, only looking at Anakin and his conspiratorial grin. “One more day of rest wouldn’t hurt.”

Obi-Wan sighed and flopped back down on the bed. “I’m not winning this one, am I?”

“We care about your health, Master,” Anakin said innocently.

“Mmhmm I’m quite sure that’s what it is. Very well. But we are returning tomorrow.”

“Of course, Master,” Anakin said. “Now get some more rest.”

Obi-Wan made a face at them both as Padmé practically pushed Anakin into the hallway. The door closed softly behind them, but it sounded louder in the quiet of the hall. Anakin grabbed her hand and pulled her down the stairs. When they made it into the kitchen they erupted into a fit of giggles.

“Well Senator,” Anakin said, grabbing her hips and swaying her around the kitchen. “It looks like I have a little time to pay my ransom.”

“Good,” Padmé said. “I was concerned you weren’t going to pay up.”

“I’m true to my word, my love,” Anakin said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Padmé smiled. She let Anakin twirl her around the kitchen, knowing full well that it would not, could not, last. She soaked up every fleeting moment with him and refused to think about the inevitable tomorrow where they would once again be parted.

It didn’t matter. This moment was enough.

[giggles-and-freckles]

febuwhump day 16: allergies

I went with an alternative prompt for today! because sometimes you just need to mask some classic sick-fic fluff under whump.

“Hmm, yes. Just as I expected.”

Ahsoka blinked at the unamused man standing in the doorway, her mouth hanging open. “Huh?”

“Very polite.”

“M���master Kenobi,” she said, straightening up and shaking her head in recovery. “I’m so sorry. I–”

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Move aside, Padawan. I didn’t come over here to hover in the doorway for an hour.”

“Why...did you come over here? Not that I don’t want you here, of course. Just that–I wasn’t...and you,” she trailed off as she stepped to the side. Obi-Wan strode in, robe swishing behind him. As the door slid shut behind him, he observed the room with a thinly veiled look of disgust.

“Force. Doesn’t he have a sense of smell?” 

“What?”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to blink. “What?”

“You asked–”

“Your comm,” he cut in. “When I spoke with you a moment ago...asking for the report. You sounded sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Ahsoka said quickly.

Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. “Are you suddenly dabbling in cosmetics, then?”

“Cosmet–”

“Blush,” he explained. “Your cheeks,” he gestured to her face, “are pointedly pink.”

If they weren’t already inflamed, she knew they truly would be now. They heated under his gaze.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you drink tea?”

She scrunched up her nose. “Not if I can help it.”

“Excellent. I’ll make some.” He nodded, then clapped his hands. “Off to bed. Go.”

“What?” she squeaked, frowning at the raspiness of her own voice.

Obi-Wan rustled about the kitchen, humming to himself. He moved with the deftness of someone who knew the ins and outs of the cabinets–someone who had been the one to configure the order within them. He’d lived here before she had, Ahsoka knew that. But he hadn’t been here since he moved to the Council quarters.

“When I turn around, is there still going to be a shivering Padawan standing in the living room or is she going to listen and go to bed?” Obi-Wan chirped, not turning over his shoulder. He continued to hum.

Ahsoka sputtered for a moment, unsure of what to do. On one hand, she knew that Anakin probably wouldn’t be happy with her not putting up some sort of fight in keeping his old Master out of their messy quarters. But on the other hand–Obi-Wan was scarier than Anakin. And she was cold.

She scrambled to her room and climbed into bed.

The humming turned to singing after a moment and Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile as she listened. Her only time with Obi-Wan so far had been on a battlefield. Not exactly a place conducive to music-making.

“Ah, here we are,” he said, walking into her room with a small tray balanced on one arm. Without dropping it, he scooted a chair across the room and pulled it up to her bed. A man of many talents, apparently.

“But I don’t like tea,” she said, grimacing at the cup he lifted from the tray.

He frowned indignantly. “Well, this is for me, obviously. Juice for you.” He set the teacup on the side table, but passed a glass of japa juice down to her. She ducked her head appreciatively. 

“What hurts?” he asked, leaning to set the tray on the floor.

“Nothing, Master. I’m fine, really–”

He popped back up. “In time, you’ll find that I’m rather practiced in the ‘I’m fine’ cycles myself, so...save your breath.” He took a sip of his tea. “What hurts?”

She sighed. “My head. And my throat. It’s...hard to breathe.”

“Did it just start today?”

Ahsoka shook her head. “Day three.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, curiously. “The day Anakin left for his mission?”

“Yes,” she said. “It started that evening.”

“But he wasn’t sick.”

She bobbed her head in agreement.

“And you haven’t been around anyone else. You two just got back from Raxus.”

“Right,” she said.

“Hang on.” He pushed out of the chair and disappeared into the living room. Ahsoka propped herself up in bed, trying to get a visual of the cause of his abrupt departure, but he was back before she could truly investigate.

Her eyes widened as she noticed what he was holding.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Um.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ahsoka…”

“A plant!” she said loudly. “It’s a...a plant!”

He peered at the leafy specimen in his hands. “You know,” he said slowly, “funny as it may seem, a base level of intelligence is required to become a Jedi Master.” His head snapped back to hers. “I know it’s a plant, Padawan. I want to know where it’s from. It wasn’t here when I lived here only a few months ago.”

Ahsoka shifted in discomfort. “I don’t–uh…”

He huffed impatiently. ���Ahsoka, honestly–”

“It’s a Nubian honey sprout!” she cried.

“A…” His eyes went to slits. “Nubian?”

“Yes?” she grimaced.

He released a breath of air. “For the love of–Ahsoka. Did Senator Amidala give him this?”

“I...think so?” 

“So, yes,” he correctly interpreted with a roll of his eyes. Then, his face softened as he shifted his gaze away from the planet and back to Ahsoka. “I think you’re allergic to this, little one.”

Ahsoka considered this. Right before Anakin had left for his solo mission, he’d come bustling in the door, out of breath and running late for his departure time in the hangar. But alight with happiness. It was strange, really. Ahsoka hadn’t seen her Master like that before. And when she’d asked questions, he’d only presented the plant. Told her it was a gift from Senator Amidala. When she’d asked what it was a gift for, he’d reddened and stuttered. 

“For...being…” He’d tugged at his collar and chewed on his lip. “Tall,” he’d settled on. Real quick on his feet, her Master.

“I think you’re right,” she groaned to Obi-Wan now, regarding the sprout with disdain.

Obi-Wan studied the plant in his arms for a moment. Then, his eyes lit up, mischievously. “The situation being what it is...with you completely incpacitated,” – he motioned toward her figure in the bed – “I think it’s only proper that I...dispose of this...gift from the generous Senator Amidala.”

Ahsoka coughed in surprise. “But Master Skywalker will–”

“Surely not value the survival of a plant over the well-being of his Padawan?” Obi-Wan scoffed emphatically. His eyes twinkled.

“You’re evil,” Ahsoka said, a grin of her own forming.

“Not evil,” Obi-Wan mused, twisting one of the leaves between two fingers until it popped right off. “Oops.” He looked back at Ahsoka. “Only trying to be helpful. Now...I’ll be right back. You drink your juice and rest.”

He walked out the door, plant in hand. Ahsoka felt confident she would never see the Nubian honey sprout again.

febuwhump 2021 prompts list

[whirlybirbs]

                                          (   gif from the lovely @starwarsfilms​.   )

---   LOVE SICK.   ;

summary: khairyn sar is an important holiday within nabirian religion -- it celebrates love and fertility. obi-wan gets a gift for you from the lower-level markets, aided by a helpful women who urges him to buy a certain plant...  pairing: obi-wan x handmaiden!reader, established in this fic & this fic as well. word count: 8k warnings: this is porn with a dash of sex pollen trope / nsfw, 18+ a/n: i am literally not even sorry. here’s a late valentine’s day piece for you all, my lovely lil valentines. pls don’t repost!

It’s a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it is. 

Padmé’s usual senatorial garb is exchanged for one of deep reds and a grandiose headpiece that mirrors the visage of Khairtai, the goddess of Fertility and Love. Beside her, Dormé, Sabé, Ellé and yourself bear a smudging of crimson down the center of your foreheads. It’s from the crushed millaflower -- ground into a fine, deep red powder and blessed by the resident royal Pontifex. 

Your outfits mirror Padmé’s, hair pinned back tightly into a tight, neat braids with a golden pin halo-ing your heads. It’s of religious significance; each comb bearing two bounding ash-rabbits. Symbols of fertility.

The Royal house of Naboo, namely the Amidala’s, are one of many devout to the Brotherhood of Cognizance -- a polytheistic, monastic, allegorical based religion. Padmé herself was a larger worshipper of Shiraya, the goddess of the moon; Obi-Wan, on more than one account, found himself rather enraptured with the large statue on the outside patio of her Senatorial apartment upon visits with his friend.

In the evening sunset, the goddess’ moon shaped harp frames the horizon quite perfectly. Obi-Wan always wondered if it was some sort of metaphor -- perhaps that Padmé was right where she needed to be, away from the throne and serving her people worlds away. 

She’d moved to Coruscant following the ending of her second term of Queen, promptly slipping into her elected position as Senatorial representative. With her, she’d brought Dormé, Ellé, Sabé, and you -- along with a small squad of royal guards. Though, Obi-Wan believed she hardly needed them. Padmé’s handmaidens were more than capable.

You were more than capable.

Obi-Wan, from the upper deck of the Senate’s session, can hardly tear his eyes away from you -- you look rather stoic beside the ex-Queen. You’d joked a few days ago to him that you needed to mind you expressions when some of the other Senators spoke. Obi-Wan bites back a chuckle when F’aralo Pxo from Ithor finally stops babbling and your awfully sour look fades. 

Crossing his arms, the young Jedi Knight watches as the session is dismissed by Sheev Palpatine and the large, cavernous room begins to dissipate of senators and delegates. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi catches you and the others on the sixteenth floor, about to enter Padmé’s apartment.

“Merry Khairyn Sar.”

He strides close, like a glimmering star flashing across the sunset. Handsome and bright-eyed -- you wonder if your heart will ever cease it’s crescendo of excitement when you see him. Your stomach flips and you can’t help but stare at the appearance of one certain Jedi Knight. 

The gaggle of women turn on their heels, their faces lighting up at the appearance of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your face, by far, is the brightest. 

“I only have a minute, but I thought I might come say hello.”

The two of you bite your tongues, amused little smirks threatening to bloom on your faces. It’s childish, but it’s lovely.

Padmé laughs happily at the sight of you both, moving to gesture for Obi-Wan to come in -- once inside the apartment, the Jedi is quick to loop his arms around your waist and haul you high; the reunion is short and sweet and brings smiles to the faces of your closest confidants as the move to spread throughout the apartment. Your earrings sway as you grapple with his shoulders, sliding down him when he places you back on the plush carpet carefully.

The others have known since... gods, what? Years ago? 

Before Anakin had even reached puberty and before Obi-Wan had started growing this beard out. You recall in this moment the first time you’d seen him since his diplomatic mission to Naboo, when you’d fallen in love with the kind-hearted Padawan, and how the others had been so keen on seeing the romance play out on the tarmac. 

They had, after all, read the correspondences the Jedi had sent in the time apart from one another. 

It’s been four years since -- and yet, the sickly sweet tempo of love is still enough to make your knees weak. Seeing him, though often enough now that you’re permanent residency is on Coruscant, is still enough to bring a needy whine to your heartstrings. 

“Don’t you have a Padawan to be minding?” you grin, kissing him quickly as he smiles. The prick of stubble tickles. 

“The younglings have a trip to the Archives today,” Obi-Wan explains, bowing slightly to chase your words with a kiss to your cheekbone, “But I do have a council meeting within the hour..”

You swat at his chest gently. “What have I said? Anakin is not a youngling. He’s fifteen --”

“Acts like it,” Padmé supplies, pointing at Obi-Wan who mirrors her amused-yet-trying-not-to-seem-it look, “I’ve heard the stories.”

“I’ll have greys because of him soon, I swear it.”

Another kidding swat. This time, the ruddy haired man catches it and laughs warmly. He holds your hand closely, kissing your knuckles. Your face grows hot as sheepishness creeps up your collar due to the semi-public display of affection.

“I have a gift for you,” he says quietly, eyes softening, “For Khairyn Sar.”

You should have known Obi would have figured out about the holiday.

He was a romantic -- charismatic about love and flirtatiously sweet. 

Of course a holiday celebrating love would be right up his alley. You hold your tongue -- you wonder if Obi-Wan truly understands the meaning of Khairyn Sar, or if to him, this is a just a small patronage holiday dedicated to romance. 

Khairyn Sar is an important holiday within Cognizance. Weddings and performative engagement ceremonies are large parts of the holiday, as well as... well, plainly put: conceptions. 

Nearly every devout Nabirian’s dream would be to conceive a child on Khairyn Sar. Those born within nine months of the day are said to be gifts from Khairtai herself, after all. Those with the blessed with being a Khairtai’é frequently found success within relationships, love, and careers. Fertility meant more than simply sex. 

Padmé is a Khairtai’é. She truly did have the making of a Queen.

Ellé speaks up from the couch, balancing her vibroblade on her fingertip effortlessly and watching you both. “...Obi-Wan, you do you have a brother?"

“Maybe a cousin?” asks Sabé, melodic and sweet, “A single cousin?”

“A sister, even,” Dormé croons, dropping her chin into her hand -- her voice goes a bit mopey, “I wish someone would bring me a gift for Khairyn Sar.”

It is akin to announcing your love to the world, after all. 

Obi-Wan offers one of his trade-mark smiles. The dimples beneath the blonde shadow of his beard are charming and Padmé can’t help but grin as he watches you blink up at him with a moonstruck look that says it all:

You love him.

“I’m afraid not,” he apologizes, hand gracing the small of your back, “Though, if I find any formidable suitors of the Royal Handmaidens of Naboo, I’ll make sure I let you all know.”

“You better,” Dormé swats at his shoulder as she passes by, hanging her cloak and grinning when the Jedi leans to swats her back.

In the last few weeks, he’s become a fast friend -- they’re all within the same age, and Obi-Wan had fallen easily into a brotherly cadence when it came to the girls; you trusted them all, and so, he did as well. Happily. He’d known them all briefly from the time him and Qui-Gon had on Naboo during the negotiations with the Trade Federation... Dormé, Sabé and Ellé had all been on the Nubian by your side when you’d first met the charming Padawan. 

“I’ve got to go,” he breathes, leaning to kiss the crown of your head, “Will I see you later?”

You nod, enjoying the warm pass of his fingers on your cheek. 

“Of course,” you promise, “Dinner?”

"Dex’s?”

You groan happily, bending a bit in the knees as you nod vigorously at the thought of fries and a shake. Not the most glamorous meal, but a favorite of you both and a safe haven from the Senate and Council. 

“Yes, please.”

Obi-Wan grins, tosses a wink, and sneaks out the door with a wave.

As soon as the door shuts, Dormé is quickly to speak.

“You better marry that man.”

“Someday,” a mindful smile, “For now --”

“For now,” Ellé points, “Please give that man a night worth remembering.”

“Ellé!” 

You scold your sister-in-duty with a sheepish look of modesty on your face, swatting at her as you fall beside her on the couch. The others laugh. 

If only you had any idea what was in store for both you and Obi-Wan. 

✶   ---   ✶   ---   ✶

You meet him outside of Dex’s as the sun begins to set, happily falling into both his arms and the smell of fried food wafting from inside. It’s not often that you’re able to make the trek to the lower levels with him, and seeing the friendly Besalisk owner, Dexter Jettster, was a perk -- the four-armed man had always been kind to you. Fatherly, almost. 

He’s tenfold that with Obi-Wan. 

Dex happily supplies a hot plate of fries and two bantha burgers you and Obi’s way, free-of-charge. Dex mentions something about owing Obi-Wan for dealing with “those damn kids last week”. You raise a brow, taking a big bite of your burger, and Obi-Wan waves his hand.

“Street kids,” a shrug, “Pick-pocketing.”

“They stole the damn credit drawer!”

“Mm,” you mumble shaking your head at his uncanny ability to downplay every situation, “Always the humble hero, huh?” 

He nudges you with his boot as he laughs, dropping his gaze into his meal. You have a way of making him feel sheepish. It’s been years, but your words of flirtation still strike him in his composure. His cheeks are rosy when he looks up, wiping sauce from the corner of his beginning-beard. 

“You love it.”

“I do,” you waggle a fry in his face, spurring a breathless laugh from the Jedi, “Very much. So much, that I’m spending Khairyn Sar with you, in a diner, eating terrible food -- no offense, Dex... Says a lot, y’know.”

“None taken,” the cook calls out from behind the counter, “Merry Khairyn Sar, kid. Yer lucky, Obi-Wan! Those Naboo girls usually spend tha’ holiday with th’ man they’re set t’ marry --”

“Hear that,” you call, raising a finger and pinning Obi in his spot with an amused look as you both play-off your well-kept secret, “You’re lucky.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan clears his throat nudging your boot as you nudge it right back, “Aren’t I, Dex?”

“Sure are,” the Besalisk chortles, “If y’ weren’t a Jedi I’d say hurry up ‘n’ marry ‘er already!

Oh, if only he knew.

“Thanks, Dex,” you say sweetly, throwing an appreciative look the cook’s way, “And thanks for keeping this one in line.”

A big, guffaw of laughter meets your words and Dex hits the counter. “He’s trouble!”

“He is,” you shake your head, “He has everyone fooled. Everyone thinks he’s a flawless Jedi Knight, but he’s trouble. I’ve been saying it for years...”

Obi’s eyes crinkle with fondness. You mirror it.

“I love you,” he mouthes when Dex’s back is turned.

“I love you, too,” you mouth back.

✶   ---   ✶   ---   ✶

You like Obi-Wan’s quarters.

They’re very him. 

Warm, quiet and neat. 

The room could be considered a bit small, but with a reasonable sized refresher and a large bed, you find no reason to complain. There are a few trinkets lining the shelves above his bed -- tokens of missions and trainings. 

Among them is a pebble from the beaches of the Lake Country; one he’d taken before leaving Naboo after the negotiations. You and him had spent hours on that beach, swimming and rolling in the sand, before things changed. Before Qui-Gon’s death and his rise to Knighthood. 

He doesn’t have many belongings, but so is the way of the Code.

His bedroom is a familiar space, now. You’ve spent many nights in this room, tucked beside him in the vanilla colored sheets. You wish it was every night. But, you both knew you needed to keep suspicions low. You were just thankful that Obi-Wan’s direct neighbor, Aayla Secura, was wise enough not to ask questions. 

The lights to his room are warm and low, illuminated strips of light coming from beneath the shelving -- the large bay windows that reach from floor to ceiling frame the colorful air-lanes illuminating the night sky of Coruscant’s Senate District. Like stars weaving a path, traffic moves slow across the horizon. 

Obi locks the door behind him before his hands find your waist and he drops a kiss to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth through the layers of your cloak and dress, smiling as he fiddles with your hips and noses your ear. 

“Do you want to see the gift?”

You nod, chewing your lip and turning to catch him in a quick kiss. The Jedi leans in, putty in your hands. Obi-Wan makes an appreciative sound when you hold his jaw, pulling him over you as you bend back a bit. 

“Alright,” he says, a little breathless, before pecking another kiss, “Stay here.”

You do as your told, laughing as he takes two steps forward only to retreat back for another smile-laden kiss. He disappears into the walk-in closet; as he does, you strip your cloak from your shoulders and toss it on the bed. 

Obi-Wan returns, sans his own robe, clutching something behind his back.

You quirk a brow, noting the incredibly excited look plastered on his face.

“Close your eyes.”

“Obi-Wan,” you warn playfully as you do as your told, “If it bites --”

“It doesn’t bite.”

“I swear,” you outstretch your hands, palms up, eyes closed tight, “It it bites...”

He’s laughing. “It won’t bite!”

Suddenly, there’s a cool, heavy weight in your hands. It’s glass, you realize quickly, and as Obi-Wan smiles, you peel your eyes open and quickly sigh in awe.

“Obi...” the bouquet is large, with three or four different flowering bursts of color nestled inside a large vase, “It’s beautiful.”

You’re quick to move across the room, placing the bouquet down on his desk as he hovers, watching you tut over the flowers -- all of them Naboo natives, you realize with a slack jaw. Your whirl around, handing finding his chest. He smiles, dimples kissing his face.

“You didn’t have to --”

“Oh, hush,” he chides, hand sweeping a circle along your lower back as you bend and admire the plants with gentle hands, “I wanted to.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“I only wish...” a soft sigh as he leans forward and pokes at the stem of a deep purple plant that’s clasped shut tightly, “This one refused to bloom, it seems.”

In hindsight, you should have known better.

You should have known what was going to happen when you reached out and touched the plant the same time as him. You should have known a puff of pink pollen would come flying out, right into your face. You should have known the smell would make you gag and Obi-Wan do the same. 

You should have known. 

You stagger back, grabbing his arm.

“Oh gods --”

“Open a window.”

“What the hell was that thing, Obi?!”

You should have known.

“Open a window!” 

“It’s moving,” you screech, carrying the vase in outreached arms as your make a disgusted face and quite literally run to Obi-Wan who is throwing open the small window of his refresher, “Ohmygod, does it bite?!”

“I don’t care to find out!”

“It smells,” you choke, “It smells --”

“Give it to me --”

“What’re you -- Obi!”

Obi-Wan Kenobi, trained Jedi Knight and well-regarded rising leader within the Council’s tanks, promptly takes the bouquet from your hands and lobs it out the thirtieth story window of his quarters’ refresher in the Jedi Council building, vase and all, all while maintaining eye contact.

He quickly slams the window shut and drops his hands to his waist with a panicked look on his face. He looks pained, like he can hardly believe he just did that.

There’s a beat of silence as your mouth falls open, then you cry:

“...What was that thing?!”

“I don’t know!” he throws his hands as his agitation peaks, “The woman at the market said it was for Khairyn Sar -- she kept, gods, she kept saying it over and over --”

Oh. 

Oh. 

“... Obi.”

“... What do you mean ‘Obi’?” Obi-Wan’s voice nearly splinters, panic striking hard and fast across the Jedi’s face at the slow realization in your tone, “Don’t say -- don’t say ‘Obi’ like that -- You know it worries me, when you say --”

“Did she say Khairyn Sar,” you annunciate the syllables slowly, moving from the bathroom and sitting on the edge of the bed as you dot the sounds with your finger in the air, “Or, did she say Khaitai Rysar?”

Obi-Wan blinks.

“... Is there a difference...?” he pushes a hand through his hair as you drop your head back and groan; quickly he breathes out a sheepish mutter, “From the look on your face, there’s clearly a difference --”

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant -- named after the two god’s who... they... it’s... Oh my gods --” you drop your face into your hands, not bothering to tip-toe around the subject any longer, “You bought a sex plant, Obi-Wan!”

He blinks. His mouth moves but no words come out. His brows climbs his face. He tilts his head. The look is owlish and mildly terrified.

A pause.

“... Excuse me?”

His voice is an octave higher than usual.

“Khairtai Rysar is a plant from Naboo,” you squeak out, flopping backwards onto the bed and groaning, “It’s a gift typically given to newly weds. It’s got a pollen that acts as an powerful hypnotic aphrodisiac --”

"Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“-- When we touched it, it must have blossomed,” you barely manage, rubbing your face and sighing, “The spores are extremely potent. Any contact with them is...”

Obi-Wan’s face falls and when you pull your hands from your face, you see him staring at the spattering of pink pollen across your nose and cheeks. You shoot up straight before pulling away your hands and gawking, realizing you need to wash your hands right now because you’re covered in the pollen --

Quickly, you dash into the refresher as your curse when you see your now pinkish reflection and make work on scrubbing your face and hands. 

Obi-Wan had lucked out -- well, to a degree. The pollen had only caught him partially; cast off from when you’d staggered back and grabbed onto him. 

“Oh, this is horrible,” you mumble, washing your face with ice cold water and staring at him in the mirror, “Horrible, but hilarious -- stop looking like you’ve murdered me --”

“I feel horrible!” he cries, face pulled into an apologetic look, “Gods, I’m sorry --”

“Maybe we can... just... sleep it off?” you offer, wiping your face with a towel he offers, “Right? I mean, I’d by lying if I said I wasn’t anticipating us sleeping together anyways --”

Obi’s fiddling with the facial hair along his jaw, nodding as you speak. “Well, yes. Considering the holiday -- I’d planned for it.”

“I mean -- I feel fine,” you wave your hands, “Do you feel fine?”

“Yes,” he nods, sea-green eyes watching your expression, “I -- I feel fine.”

You’re both panicking. 

“Okay,” a little squeak, “So... let’s just... try -- try to sleep it off. For now.”

“And if we can’t?”

You hesitate. Both of you swallow.

“Let us cross that bridge when we get there,” Obi-Wan offers, sounding a bit pained, not even wanting to think about the answer to his own question. 

✶   ---   ✶   ---   ✶

Neither of you can sleep.

It’s been about an hour since the entire debacle began.

You’re both laying awake, staring at the ceiling, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Not that you can blame one another -- you both tend to shoot as straight as an arrow when it came to... stimulants. You really had no need for death-sticks or spice, and Obi-Wan was the same. Having come to terms with the fact you both will be out of control in a matter of hours is a bit terrifying, especially considering the delicate balance of things. 

Hiding your relationship wasn’t easy. 

In reality, it brought with it a wide array of challenges, including the whole fact that you and Obi-Wan, more often than not, needed to be quiet and quick about sex. 

Your encounters were always sweet; always gentle and loving and brought on by moments of happiness or longing. Seeing him for the first time in a while always brewed up arousal in your gut -- you couldn’t help it. It came with the territory of love. Just seeing Obi-Wan smile somedays was enough to snap that coil and wind it tightly in your gut. 

After all, he is so damn handsome. 

Even now, looking mildly horrified and extra concerned, he looks handsome -- his profile illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows. 

The Jedi exhales, rubbing his face, and turns to eye you in the dark light of the room. 

You’re already staring -- in the dark, he can make out the trace of a smile on your lips. It’s endearing, and it puts him at ease to know this big mistake hasn’t caused you to hate him

Yet.

“Do you feel any different...?”

You shake your head, pulling your lips into a grimace.

“Maybe I was wrong?” you mumble, “But I’ve heard others tell stories about the smell. Like... rotting meat. There was a guard once, when I was in the Naboo Royal Academy, who was out for an entire week on account of the plant. He’d just been married and...” 

Obi-Wan swallows. “I can’t believe --”

“Ah!” you tut, raising a finger, “Stop -- if we’re both about to be off our minds on some aphrodisiac love pollen, it’d just like to remind you that this could be a lot worse.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

You roll over, prop your chin up in your hand, and quirk a playful brow. “You know I’m good at riding things out --”

Both of Obi’s brows rise at your words, his face warping into something of curious contemplation -- he props his head up, mirroring your position in bed. “Has the pollen already gotten you in its grips, then?”

You laugh, ducking your head and snorting a little. “I’m just saying! Trying to stay positive.”

“You’re a wretched minx and you know,” he mumbles, leaning in to steal a kiss, “That I quite enjoy when you do ride things out. Ever the optimist.”

“So, worst case scenario...”

“We lock ourselves in this room for a week?”

“Or we just... get it out of our systems. Ride it out.”

Obi-Wan hums, flopping back down to the pillows. “Right. Ride it out.”

✶   ---   ✶   ---   ✶

That bridge Obi-Wan had talked about crossing?

Well, it arrives a little past midnight.

And along with it, a roaring river runs below. 

You wake up feeling like your body is two hundred degrees and climbing. At first, you’d just figured you’d had one too many covers on you -- Obi-Wan did have a bad habit of being a small space heater -- and so you’d opted to crawl on-top of the covers. But, even that’s not enough.

In your half-asleep haze, you’d nearly forgotten about the earlier events of the night. But, it’s when the sudden urge to strip flashes to the forefront of your mind, you remember exactly what had happened with that damn Khairtai Rysar plant.

You’re peeling off the spare tunic Obi had lended you in a flash, skin glistening with a feverish sweat -- you give in to the urge and nearly sigh when your skin hits the cool air. 

Your eyes drift as you sway a bit, room spinning slightly from the quick movement. 

The moon casts a cool glow over the man snoring softly beside you, his own shirt having been discarded a few minutes ago. His arm is over his eyes, his entire body above the sheets. 

His trousers hang low on his hips and you watch him breathe out a sigh.

He’s dreaming. 

The dip of his waist is where your eyes glue themselves, for some reason, and your lapse in reality draws to a conclusion between your legs. The ache there is... horrible. Suddenly, you realize you’re uncomfortable, and you shift in bed. Your mind feels like it’s six steps behind your body. 

You lay back down, rolling over to bury your face into the pillow, and groan.

This is bad. This is really bad. 

And from the timing of it, it was only going to get worse.

It wasn’t as if you and Obi-Wan hadn’t had sex before -- you had, plenty of times in plenty of places you maybe shouldn’t have, but this was different. This was... This was the sort of thing you’d both heard horror stories about. Hours and hours of feverish impulse, little to no control... Wonderful if you’re trying to conceive a child on the eve of Khairyn Sar, like the market saleswoman probably thought when she sold Obi the plant. 

You sigh, a small smile worming it’s way on your face despite the circumstances. 

You just want to skip to the part where you can both laugh about this. 

You try and keep yourself present -- but it’s getting harder with the sensitivity to every slight breath coming from the body beside you. Your mind wanders as you try to count yourself to sleep; your mind has better ideas, readily delving into fantasies that feel like half-truths, and the ache between your legs worsens. 

You’re mid-dream of Obi lapping between at your core when he moves, brushes your arm, and you jump awake. 

“Sorry.”

You can only manage to grit out a muffled moan. 

The Jedi rolls, ignoring the evident hardness that’s now painful in his trousers, and eyes you carefully -- you’ve stripped, the only thing on your body are the thin, red satin bottoms on your lower half. Sweat is glimmering along your back, and Obi-Wan feels a twang of guilt build in his chest.

He rolls, props himself up, and touches your spine. It was supposed to be a calming gesture, one rooted in apology, but...

It’s a mistake.

Your body reacts immediately, a gasp wringing itself from your throat as your fingers tighten in the sheets -- you grit your teeth, raise your head and nearly plead: 

“Please,” a whisper before it all rushes out, “That... feels good.” 

You can’t find the words to explain that his touch is like pour ice water over a burn. It feels wonderful. You squirm against the mattress as Obi tries to catch his breath. His lungs stutter and he ghosts his fingers along your spine once more -- this time, it sends a pang of arousal straight to his gut. 

“I... I think,” his voice is hoarse and his throat is tight, “I think --”

You just chew your lip and nod, nose brushing the pillow as you remain face down. You feel it too. 

It’s all he can manage. His brain is a foggy mess of fantasy and arousal. You’re the focal point of it all; the force around you is louder now, mingling between him and his sensitivities. His fingertips brush the dip of your spine and you inhale sharply, nerves alight at the contact. He can feel the sensation along his own spine -- it’s like a punch square in the gut. 

Then, on the hazy impulse of some rose colored pollen, Obi bends, slowly, and kisses the blade of your shoulder.

You whimper, gasping slightly when his hand spreads flat across the back of your ribs and sweeps along your skin, bringing with it a electric sensation that throbs your sex with painful, empty want.

“Obi...”

“This is...,” he breathes, lips ghosting your shoulder, “Not good.”

“It hurts.”

He couldn’t agree more. His brain feels like it’s on fire. When he closes his eyes he only sees you, spread out beneath him and saying his name over and over and over -- fucking hell. His voice is low. “What do we do?”

You pull yourself up in bed, hair wild and eyes set in dark circles. You look dazed and far-away, but your attention is rooted on him. 

You reach out and touch his chest, busying your touch with the thatch of reddish hair there. Your fingertips buzz and your body cools immediately -- Obi-Wan leans into the touch, his hand finding yours as he exhales a shaky breath. 

“Ride it out?”

Obi’s eyes are as large as dinner plates at the recommendation -- the usual green over-taken by his dilated pupils; his touches are hungry. He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing furiously as you shift closer.

“Ride it out.”

It’s a downward spiral from there.

You both surge forward, meeting for a kiss that’s like being plunged into an icy lake -- it soothes a bit of the fever, waves of relief coming in the form of wandering hands and messy love-bites. You roll yourself on-top of him, pushing your arms up beside his head and gasping when the Jedi grabs your jaw and pulls you right back down for a kiss that steals the very air from your lungs.

... This is different.

You whimper, collapsing to his chest --  and Obi shudders at the brush of your clothed hips against his own. He feels like he’s drowning in you, happily, and his whole body is alight from your touch. His brain is six steps behind his body and the room spins around him as he pushes himself up and you follow suit, sitting up in his lap. 

Instantly, calloused hands snake around your waist and you have to bite your lip so tight you draw blood to keep yourself quiet when Obi-Wan’s mouth latches onto to the curve of your breast and bites a tender little mark there. Your hands shake, tightening into the tufts of hair at the base of his neck as he makes an appreciative sound at the reaction and blinks up at you from underneath thick lashes. 

Gods above this is heaven. 

Everything feels so... hot. Tight and needy and wet and just the mere pass of his hands along your waist has your squirming in his lap as his tongue draws up and around the swell of your right breast. In a flash, he’s taken the perk nipple there into his mouth and your body quakes.

In response, you fist his hair. Tight.

And he moans. Right against your skin, gasp worming itself from his throat as you get the message and tug again -- this time exposing his throat and allowing yourself to dive below his stubble and little sloppy little kiss there to his delight. 

His whole world is swimming with pleasure and he can feel his own arousal throbbing eagerly in his trousers as your nails run along his scalp and drift to his beard, giving the hair there a gentle tug. 

His heart stutters, mouth dropping open as you laugh greedily into his neck. 

“You like that?” 

A breathless nod; he’s stuck on the way you speak -- half-way in the room and half-way in his mind. Obi-Wan feels like his whole heart is going to give out; he can’t focus, to stuck on your body and the way the force is running directly between you both like a pool of water. Each touch casts a ripple and... 

Fucking hell. 

He flips you both, pressing you into the mattress with enough force to rush the air out of your lungs and make the bed creak; you can’t help but muffle a surprised laugh, shoving your hand over your mouth lazily as Obi-Wan noses your jaw and litters exploring kisses down your neck and shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes into your skin, stubble raising goosebumps along the hot burn of your fever. You shiver, fingers greedily looping into his hair as he bites a daring little mark into your décolletage, “You’re so beautiful --”

He sounds like he’s underwater. Your hearing is going in and out, eyes half-open to watch the sight of him drifting lower and lower and lower and...

Obi’s fingers brush the band of your bottoms and you gasp loud enough that his eyes shoot open and he moves to slap a hand over your mouth.

The motion is rough enough to spur you on, lending you to arch your back and laugh headily into the skin of his palm. You feel intoxicated -- like you’re tipping over the edge of a blissful high and every touch is enough to make your legs shake.

“I’ll be quiet,” you murmur, plucking at his fingers and watching his eyes grow darker -- you sit up, gripping his palm, before darting your tongue out to draw around his index finger. Instantly, the Jedi turns to putty, and he drops his head as he curses. You laugh, taking his whole finger in your mouth, before he pulls away and sweeps his hands under your bottom.

“Up.”

It’s not a request. It’s a demand.

Your lower abdomen burns with arousal as you do so, lifting your hips and allowing Obi-Wan to snag the band of your underwear and drag them down your hips. You can feel the wetness brush your thigh as he tosses them over his shoulder. Your legs shake a bit, hands winding into the sheets as Obi-Wan hangs himself off the bed and presses your legs apart with warm hands.

There’s no precursor, no build-up.

Not that you need any.

He just lays his tongue flat to your soaking clit and groans, like it’s the first meal he’s had in days. The vibration is heavenly. Your whole body goes hot-white at the sensation, need to feel full peaking in that moment; your arms collapse and you fall back to the sheets gasping as the Jedi between your legs traces the swollen, pink folds of your sex with his tongue. It feels like you’re not even in your body -- like you’re floating somewhere above the moon and swimming with the stars.

You taste like honey. Sweet. So damn sweet. And he can’t get enough of it.

The sensation of his mouth on your center isn’t the only thing winding the spring in your gut higher and higher. It’s... hands. Everywhere. Touching you where his hands aren’t -- across your waist and pinning your thighs down to the mattress as you squirm, in your hair and running across your breasts as you quiver. It’s like you’re the center of three people’s attention, and you realize with a wanton moan that it’s the damn force. 

“Obi...”

He raises his heavy-lidded eyes only for a moment, arms wound around your legs as he holds the apart. A lock of his hair has fallen into his face and you can feel his stubble grace the inside of your thigh as he smiles.

“Sonofabitch,” it rushes out when a non-visible hand ghosts your jaw, trailing down your throat eagerly, “Is that -- is... Obi --”

“It’s me,” he mumbles, pulling away for a moment -- you can see your wetness along his chin as he sways a bit, his grip tightening on the flesh of your thighs, “I’m here.”

And all over.

You move to dig your fingers into his hair, only to watch one of his hands gesture slowly through the air and -- suddenly, both of your hands are above your head and you’re arching against the mattress.

“I’m busy.”

It’s all Obi offers in explanation for the action, jaw falling open as his tongue presses deep past your entrance; once, twice, and again. He rightly fucks you with his tongue, and you suddenly snap.

Your whole body quakes with an orgasm that sends your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. He coaxes you through it, tongue sweeping up your clit as you shake and moan and cry his name over and over.

“What a good girl.”

The reaction is wonderful -- but, it begins an even further downward spiral for you into the land of need. 

Suddenly, the fever flares in the glow of the come-down. It’s worse. Hot and terrible and the ache between your legs isn’t stopping.

You mumble, bleary and quiet, trying to keep your voice level. “I n-need more.”

He does as he’s told, watching as your chest heaves and you continue to squirm despite the light hold on your wrists. In his mind, he traces the curve of your waist and you jump -- it makes him chuckle. It gives him enough time to let go of your thigh and slip his middle finger over your clit, down your folds, and past your entrance.

Gods, he loves you. 

His name spills over your lips so sweetly, Obi has to catch his own breath. 

It’s when he crooks a second finger deeply into you that he gets a real reaction -- this one stirring the haze in his mind and making his thoughts spin. You writhe and gasp and buck your hips down onto your hand, all while begging for more. 

And who is he to deny you that?

Suddenly, the pressure for your wrists is gone.

You sit right up, hair a mess and lips pulled into a terrifying snarl -- you grab the back of his head as he shifts up the bed, slamming your lips onto his and clawing at his back; the Jedi can’t help the desperate whine that worms out of him. 

Somewhere, far in the back of his mind, he hears himself promise to get Aayla an apology card. 

“Lay down.”

Your voice is low, and Obi’s brows raise slowly -- he looks fucked out of his mind, but it’s just the pheromones and the force making it hard to think. He obeys the demand wordlessly, rubbing at his face as his head lolls back against the pillows --

Then, your hand ghosts along the imprint in his trousers and he sees stars.

If this is what you’d been feeling... Gods, he’s two beats from coming himself. It doesn’t get any easier -- maintaining some semblance of pacing and composure -- when you tug the hem of his trousers down and away. 

Obi bites his knuckles so hard it draws blood.

Everything feels so... overwhelming. 

It’s only elevated when your hands brush the warm flesh of his cock, eyes hooded with lust weighted lashes. Your bottom lip only brushes the underside of the head and Obi-Wan has to grab something to ground himself.

His arm bows above his head, securing itself to the pillow. You watch his bicep flex with a greedy gaze.

“You’re so beautiful,” you breathe, tongue darting out to slip flat along the very base of his shaft, “I love you -- so much.”

He can’t speak. Not at all. His mouth moves, but nothing comes out -- only a desperate sound of approval muffled against his knuckles when you take the tip of his cock into your mouth and giggle. The sound has his hips twitching at the vibration. You notice, and happily slip your mouth farther along his manhood.

Obi-Wan just swallows, inhales sharply, and muffles a needy moan behind both of his palms. 

Your nails run down his sides, causing the muscles there to jump -- years of training has given him more of a physique than he lets on, and you find yourself watching him hungrily as you bob up and down his member. It’s sinful and in no way pretty, but Obi’s two beats from death’s doorstep when you pull away and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Gods --”

You crawl up his side, kissing him hotly as he leans to meet you halfway. 

“I -- I need to feel you,” your whisper, voice shattering, “Please.”

He sits up, moving quickly to drag your towards the edge of the bed -- you follow, watching as his cock brushes his stomach when he sits up; it’s all you can think about. Right now, the hollow ache between your legs is driving you mad. 

Obi watches as you throw your leg over his hip; he can see the glistening of wetness running down your thighs there -- and the fact the room smells like flowers hits him suddenly. The pollen, he realizes. Which is better than it smelling like sex, which in a few hours, it most definitely will. 

You hover above him, backlit by the moon and the sight of Coruscant’s night, and kiss him like it’s all you need in this world. Everything is mingling together, painting an overwhelming collection of synapses just trying to rid the pollen from your system. Every touch, every kiss, every breath... all of it is enough to have you needing more. 

“Go ahead,” he breathes, watching as you nose his cheek and sigh, melting into his arm, “I’ve got you --”

You sink down on him and...

That’s it.

There’s no better feeling in the world. 

Nothing like riding it out. 

It’s all him and it’s wonderful and loving and thick and fits the need just perfectly. His fingers dig little half-moons into the skin of your sides as he gasps, mouth falling open as yours does above him. You don’t need time to adjust; you instantly pull yourself upwards and pack down the slick heat of his cock again. The fever washes away with every thrust, your need escalating to sheer bliss by the time Obi-Wan has finally begun to get his bears.

His grapples with you, words stringing together praise and adoration through messy kisses and delighted moans.

“Just like that,” he whispers, snapping his hips up into yours as you scramble to hold onto him, “Gods, you’re so perfect --”

You tighten a hold into his hair and pull, spurring his words to fall off into pleasure and for the sound to be smothered by a bruising kiss. He’s tipping into the territory of carnal, now, hands scaling your back to lift you up and guide you back down with enough force to make you see stars. 

“S-shit --” you hiss, throwing your arms around his neck, “Again.”

So he does. Again and again and again and you’re shaking. Your legs are burning, pace stuttering into a disjoined slow -- and it prompts Obi-Wan to take the lead. You nearly shriek when he lifts you off his member fully and tosses you to the bed, forgetting their previous position in favor of one where he can fuck you right into the mattress. 

Calloused fingers slip between your legs as you grin, legs spread wide and back to the sheets. 

Above you, the Jedi’s smiling. “Let me do the work.”

A shaky nod; he climbs over you, bracing himself up on his elbow beside your head. His cock slips into you easily -- the sound you both make is akin to bliss. Again, the fever begins to receded. Now, his hands are in your hair and your legs are hiked around his hips. You can feel your muscles shaking with each filling of your core. 

“I love you,” it’s muttered against your lips, bodies jostling with each impact of pleasure, “I love you so much --”

Your arms are tight around his neck when he bends, lifts your hips, and drives home. 

It’s world-ending -- before you can even vocalize it, you’re screaming his name and coming so hard you swear you hear something in your chest snap. You shake, tightening harshly around his cock and working his own sudden orgasm out of him in a blink; suddenly, the whole bed moves an inch with a sudden push and the room rocks on impact.

BOOM. 

He’s grasping at you, catching you as you writhe against the sheets and send him spilling a mess everywhere. Inside you, across your thighs, along your stomach. He can’t help but muffle the mantra of your name into the skin of your shoulder as he heaves and shakes and tries to grab your hips for stability with one hand. 

There’s a moment, then two. 

Then, Obi-Wan collapses next to you on the sheets. 

His eyes are wide, chest rising up and down quickly as he swallows and turns to look at you beside him. You’re no better, arms spread out and jaw slack -- there’s a smile on your face, one that blooms into a laugh when you raise your head and stare down at the mess between your legs.

You drop your head back and Obi-Wan exhales slowly.

His voice shakes.

“... I feel better.”

“Yeah,” you muster with a tired laugh, “Me too.”

✶   ---   ✶   ---   ✶

The next morning is... interesting.

His room is a mess. You both wake to find nothing is where it was before. All the trinkets adorning his shelves have flown across the room and even the bed as moved an entire foot from its usual location. 

There’s a crack in the wall where the headboard meets the dura-plaster.

You both wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a land-speeder, full throttle.

Obi-Wan sits straight up and you nearly scream when you see the state of his neck and back. He’s covered in dark purple bites, and running down his back are welts from your scratches. You’re in no better shape -- you face plant into the carpet upon first attempts to stand. 

You both stand in the refresher, slack jawed and just as dazed as you’d been when you’d finally won-out the pollen last night, sometimes around two in the morning.

You just know that the girls are going to have a lot to say about this.

Obi-Wan spares you a single mortified look -- and you both burst into laughter.

Gut-wrenching, tear bringing laughter that sends you both out of the refresher and bracing against the objects in his room. He’s smothering a terrible snort when you try to speak.

“I can’t... I can’t believe --”

“Merry Khairyn Sar?”

You shriek, swatting at the Jedi’s arm as he descends into another bought of laughter. You can’t worm the smile off your face. At this point, you don’t want to.

“I need breakfast,” you point, gathering up your gown and robe from the day previous, “Before I can handle the trademarked Kenobi snark.”

“Dex’s?”

“I’d love to see you try and explain those hickey’s on your jugular to him,” you prod at his neck, earning you a delighted kiss on your way to change in the bathroom, “So yes.”

“Oh, trust me,” he waggles his finger, “I’ve got everyone fooled, you know --”

Obi-Wan eats his words when, after cleaning up, dressing, and straightening his quarters, you both step into the hallway only to come face to face with certain an exhausted looking Twi’lek.

Aayla Secura most definitely heard everything. 

The apologetic look she offers is enough of a give-away as you cover your mouth and Obi-Wan guides you away before you can even utter an apology.

“Morning, Master Secura!”

Once you’re in the elevator, the laughter begins anew. 

Obi-Wan will find a way to make it up to Aayla.

After all, it was a holiday.

Maybe not on Coruscant, but to the Naboo senators and delegates on Coruscant, it was.

[wildernessuntothemselves]

HAHAHAHAHAHA people I your asks are wild. Listen I understand that black people especially in America have been robbed from a big part of their culture and identity. But that doesn't mean we should attribute other cultures to them.

I'm personally not considered Egyptian to most people, but my family traces back to an Egyptian group of people who migrated to palestine on missionaries. And it baffles me how easily people claim that Egyptian culture is black culture.

Ancient Egyptians looked literally how Egyptians look now. The sculptures are like, right there. I'm very confused on how there is doubt in some people's mind about this.

Are some Egyptians black? Sure, most of what is considered arab countries now have black people that are as much belonging to that country and its culture as everyone else.

It's honestly so off-putting seeing Ancient Egyptian culture being stolen like this from Egyptians. As an Arab I can easily say that Egyptians are one of the most disrespected nationalities in the Levant and in the gulf, and now people want rob them from the amazing scientific advancement that ancient Egyptian culture had.

I'm not sorry, anons, Egyptians are Egyptians. Black or not. If you're not Egyptian don't use their culture for a performance if you find cultural apropriation a serious issue.

I'm honestly tired of the international disrespect and marginalisation Egyptians experience. These people are chemists, doctors, artists, leaders. And they are Egyptians, that's an identity of their own, sparate from the concept of race that the west is so obsessed with.

exactly! like I get why black people try to latch onto egyptian culture as white people have claimed that there are no advanced black cultures and so black people are barbaric and below them and that's obviously not true there are plenty of black cultures like the Nubians, but this doesn't give black people the right to steal our culture and claim it as their own and then try to silence ACTUAL EGYPTIANS when we speak out against their claims. Literally everyone tries to claim egyptian accomplishments for their own: white people, black people, jews... and I'm fucking sick of it. We're right here!

DNA tests have revealed that surprise surprise modern egyptians share the same dna as ancient egyptians, not to mention that once again egyptians clearly separated themselves from their african neighbors and didn't identify themselves as the same race

yes there were black egyptians absolutely like queen Tiye. it is well known that she's black BECAUSE most other kings and queens weren't. I just really hate when oppressed people turn around and oppress others to elevate themselves like they should know firsthand how infuriating that shit is

anyway I don't care about cultural appropriation, lil nas can do what he wants and that's my entire point. if he can wear my culture as a costume and no one bats an eye then I don't want to see y'all raging when an idol wears dreads or something lmao or just say you're a hypocrite

[widowsofchaos]

Pretty please do #51 with Steve Rogers.

Sweet Dreams

summary: the Captain has only eyes for you.

pairing: darkish!Steve Rogers x black!reader

warnings: mention of alcohol, drunk reader, dark yet soft yandere Steve, somnophilia, vaginal intercourse. dub non-con. Requested prompt 51: “Are you trying to seduce me? Depends. Are you seducible?”

a/n: Finally writing for my fav Captain. <3 requested from this prompt list. shoutout to @punani for helping with the “isn’t this your dream, princess” line for the smut. Thanks so much, boo. <3 xoxo T

do not repost my works!

“You’re doing it again, pal.”

A gruff chuckle could be heard behind Steve - earning a grumble under his breath. The greenery that swirled in his oceanic orbs blackened, and dilated into inky madness; his thick brows peering over his muscular shoulder.

Staring, gawking -- admiring.

“I’m not doing anything, jerk.”

“Punk, please–” an airy snicker, “I know you like the back of my metal hand.” Another snicker, “Even after over seventy years, and you still can’t talk to a dame.” Bucky took a quick gulp of Asgardian ale, his upper lip sneering in satisfaction.

Fueling his mischief.

“Shut it, jerk.” A forced chuckle slipped from Steve’s pink lips, finally facing his long-time companion, grumbling at his best friend’s smug grin. Clicking his jaw tightly, not willing to admit it.

No one can read Steve like an open book like Bucky can.

No one ever.

Brotherly adoration manifested in sibling bickering, always prodding and pushing each other’s buttons.

“Go talk to her.” Bucky’s stormy baby blues searching for a familiar Nubian beauty among the obnoxious faceless crowd that’s festering within the extravagant Stark party.

In his view, he found you sitting on the couch next to Sam, adorable tipsy giggles escaping you. Friendly coziness, you were resting your head on Sam’s shoulder. Now aware why his best friend is fuming at the ears.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” A huff of breath escaped through Steve’s flared nostrils. Denial beating against his fractured mind like a Cherokee drum.

A smirk grew slowly on Bucky’s chiseled bearded jaw, he tsked, his eyes focusing back on Steve’s face, “Alright. Good to know.” Bucky deadpanned — with a touch of a tease, deliberately taking small sips, never wavering his eyes from Steve.

Steve’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “I’ve been meaning to ask Y/n out anyways...” Steve snarled at Bucky. Bucky leaned over, wagging a finger in Steve’s face.

“I’m gonna dunk my dick in her–”, grinning placidly. “Jerk!” Steve roared in a raspy hush at Bucky, punching his metal arm repeatedly, rearing metal meeting Steve’s swinging knuckles.

Tears were forming in Bucky’s eyes as he belly-laughed, doubling-over in his stool— Bucky’s snorts was gaining other party goers’ attention.

Steve’s entire face was reddened – resembling a cartoonish bull fuming — quickly realizing that confused, and amused eyes were zeroed on the super soldier duo.

Nervously his dilated eyes scan over multiple faces, incoherent apologies slip from his lips, only to stumble upon you chuckling, giggles fumbling over your manicured fingertips muffled your lips.

Steve quickly tore his gaze away, his forearms crossed on the marble counter. Sulking and hiding himself against his arms; like an angry toddler.

Muffled embarrassment could be heard within Steve’s arms, his choppy groans and breaths fogging the transparent counter glass, an amused guffaw hissed through Bucky’s teeth.

Patting Steve’s sculpted shoulder blade, “Twah. Don’t worry about me, Stevie. Because tweety over there would probably beat me to the punch. Have you seen the way he gawks at her?” A sing-song jab.

Push. Shove. Goating Steve to grow a pear, hit a nerve for him to finally snap. Knowing full aware that Steve deserves an ounce of happiness – two men forced out of their time, lost possible futures due to out-of-control occurrences, but now?

Why not try to make a new future finally by their own hands? Take what they want. Bucky and Steve deserve it after everything they knew was ripped from them.

Steve’s blonde-head short up, “Don’t say that!” A raspy bark, but no bite — not for Bucky at least. A wolf ready to chomp a particular bird’s head off.

“Then ask her out!” Bucky jabbed his finger in Steve’s chest. “I’m tired of you moping around, staring at her like a sick puppy.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“All that pining -- just get your dick wet already, Stevie.” A harsh cough caved through Steve’s throat.

“Jesus -- what’s with you tonight?” He grinned at a howling Bucky, a swell of relief but mild humiliation bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

Right before his eyes is a vision from the past, this is the closest Steve has witnessed Bucky to three sheets to the wind in a long time -- a cocky sailor-mouthed Casanova slurring flirty innuendos in a dame’s ear, promising necking behind the church, and a call back that will never occur.

Or the curious sixteen year old, who snuck miniature polaroids of stag porn; claiming it’s from his father’s stash -- gawking chuckles, and bashful gasps stifled in the silent night -- two curious boys beyond their years.

It’s refreshing. Bucky, the one last link to Steve’s past that reminds him of home. Bucky is his home -- but now, there is a beautiful being--not more than five feet away from him--who he yearns to create a garden within her heart and soul; you.

A grin slowly faltering to a genuine solemn smile, “You deserve it, Steve. You deserve her.” There he is. An emotional chameleon, faux cheeky ego veneering battle scars, years thick of abuse, and loneliness -- a molded machine guising a little boy. A flicker of vulnerability sheens in Bucky’s eyes, tittering hope of an old soul.

Steve opened his mouth to succumb to his natural instinct of denial, but Bucky cut him off, “Stop it.” A soft demand, gesturing his hand for Steve to shut it.

“How long are we going to suffer?” a swallow, “Reminiscing on what could’ve been. Imaging years after the war, getting married with kids. The all-American suburban dream.” He was getting misty-eyed.

“A pipe dream -- I’ve finally come to realize that it was never intended for us.” Bucky croaked, laughing it off as he downed more mead.

Steve sniffled, projectile vomit churning -- those aren’t his dreams anymore -- at least, not for a lost era. Those late-night thoughts ending with day-dreams buried in a tear-soaked pillow.

“I used to think if I dated Sharon -- I could regain a piece of Peggy back. Fulfill that hole in my heart.” Remorse, and disgust gurgling inside himself, “But -- I know that wasn’t right -- for either of us.” He stammered, his index finger tracing the rim of his glass.

“Peggy wasn’t the one for me. I just got attached to the first woman who saw me as myself -- she saw beyond the swarny loser.” Steve snorted, his throat constricting.

“You were never a loser.” Bucky spoke tenderly, “A loser wouldn’t have accomplished all that you did.” Bucky gripped Steve’s shoulder, a squeeze of reassurance.

He mumbled a thanks Buck with a curt smile. Steve hung his head a bit, gulping the last drops of his beverage.

Attached. What a silly word to describe the Captain’s past affection for Peggy Carter. He looks back to a time where he would’ve gotten on knee for her, and proposed.

Propose the promise of a better life together, with a bunch of rugrats running around, and saving the world.

Now? It’s a memory. The past. He’s learned to let go, accept his life for what it is -- despite having no choice in the manner. A man out of his time, adapting to the 21st century -- with its entertainments, trends, fashion, and evolved society.

Don’t even get Bucky, and himself started on food. Both men have engorged themselves on cusicines, vowing to never eat plain boiled meals again.

Steve’s genuinely thrilled that times have changed with more liberation for marginalized groups -- people being treated as humans, and exercising their rights.

But if anyone asked Steve Rogers what was the first thing he enjoyed since he got out of the ice? He would say you. Without a doubt, you have brought a light in his life -- a light he has been searching his whole life.

Your strength, poise stature, your sweet voice -- always following his orders on the battlefield, but stood your ground, a perfect dance of partners.

Your beauty is unmatched, classy, but never a prude. Sexy, intelligent -- he can go on, and on.

Steve leered over his shoulder again, his eyes focusing on you. Your head was still perched on Sam’s shoulder, Steve huffed.

How he desperately itches to snatch you off of Sam, and just cradle you all night. He sighed, rubbing his temples, “Hey Buck, I’m gonna take off.” Steve stood up, stretching his muscles, “Awh already, old man?” Bucky teases, snickering. “Goodnight, jerk.” Steve laughed, lightly punching Bucky’s shoulder.

Steve began trekking towards the elevator, passing by buzzed individuals. “Stevie.” A familiar seren voice beckoned him, followed by pitter patter. He turned a little too fast, but he didn’t care. It was you.

“Steve!” a slurred glee shrieked out of you, arms extended out to engulf the sculpted Herculan -- ensnaring him tightly around his neck, curious fingers twirling his combed angel-hair, his ears were forming red. A shiver crawled down his spine -- your touch is intoxicating. Your scent -- mouth-watering.

Quickly stilling your swaying, rubbing your face against his broad chest, “How are you?” your words muffled against the tight fabric, “I missed you.” A surprised huff left Steve, searching for Bucky, only to see his friend wiggle his eyebrows suggestively from the distance.

Ever so the gentleman, he didn’t dare lower his hands to a tantalizing region, locking his grip on your waist, “I’m okay, doll.” He chuckled, “How are you?” Sweetly shifting your body against him by the guide of one forearm on the nape of your back -- petting your curled dome, and swiping wild curls from your doe-eyes.

You hummed, squinty hooded-lids, a blissed placid smile, it's a bit goofy -- adorable nonetheless.

“S’good, Stevie.” Your head bobbled a bit, stifled giggles biting your lip. You lazily titled your head towards the elevator, then sloppily turned back to Steve.

“Where ya’ going, Stevie?” You pouted, and Steve just wanted to trace your bottom lip -- dig his thumb between your lips.

“I’m just gonna head to bed.” Steve’s babifyed his tone, “Sleepy too.” You murmured. Steve internally awed, as your head leaned back on his chest.

“C’mon, doll. Let me help you get to bed.” Steve chuckled. “Oh, how about I put you to bed, Cap--tin?” You slurred, stretching his formal title with a pause -- your eyes fluttered for a second, lazily jabbing his bicep with your finger.

Steve’s ears were dusted pink, shocked at your flirty attitude, catching onto your teasing manner. “Are you trying to seduce me?” Steve’s brazen confidence soared for a momentary lapse. A bit disappointed that most likely, you won’t recall any recollection of tonight’s event.

“Depends. Are you seducible?” You cheekily lightly smacked your lips, with a pout. Steve desperately wants to kiss that pout forever. But he restrained himself.

“Let’s go, Y/n.” He smiled sweetly. Steve lifted you more upward, guiding your feet so you won’t fall on your face.

Walking into the elevator Steve pressed your numbered button, his eyes caught Bucky, who wiggled his eyebrows, mouthing hushed words just for Steve’s advanced hearing, “That’s my boy.” Steve rolled his eyes playfully.

-

During the journey in the elevator, you fell out like a light. Steve carefully hoisted your limp body in bridal style. Steve gazed at you happily, the slope of your nose, your spidery lashes, ruffled curls -- how your breasts heaved under your purple sun-dress.

The ding of the elevator alerting Steve that you both are on your floor, interrupting Steve’s haze, he grumbled a bit but he began walking out towards your room.

Steve gracefully walked to your room, not even paying attention to his steps, focusing on your peaceful sleepy face. The path to your room is already memorized.

“FRIDAY, open Y/n’s door.” Steve pecked a lingering kiss on your forehead, “Of course, Captain Rogers.” The lock of your bedroom clicked open. Steve made himself home, a natural occurrence of him.

Strides towards your bed, gingerly placing you on the bed. Steve gulped, his fists straining at his side; his eyes stared up at the ceiling, counting to five.

Reprimanding himself; reminding himself that he should leave you be. Just like the times before.

But one look at you, and he’s a goner. He has to just touch you — oh God, please.

Shaky palms reach for the hem of your dress, grazing your skin as he perched the fabric upward. Savoring the smoothness against his fingertips.

Toned curves and planes of soft-scented, smooth sepia flesh; his heartbeat drumming out in a rapid rhythm, serene sleepy smile rests on your face. Pouty heart-shaped lips -- Steve’s cock twitch at the mere idea of slipping his veiny dick in your warm mouth, your slurping tongue gagging on his swollen balls.

But not yet. The scenery isn’t fitting -- next time.

Gingerly kneeling on your carpeted floor, Steve delicately seized one of your ankles, pinched tips toying with the leather straps; leisurely unclipping the sandals, he licked his bottom lip.

A wolf playing with its food, favoring the image of an anxious boy unwrapping his prize.

As his nimble fingers unlatched the straps off, steadily he tugged the sandal off, silently placing the shoe on the floor -- he repeated the exact action with the other foot.

Steve internally awed at your dainty feet, a small whine restrained by a tight-lip smirk. Hiking his clutch on your ankle, peppering modest kisses on the tips of your toes.

He couldn’t help but to worship you.

Hosting himself upward, tenderly repositioning your leg against the mattress.

Limbs spread eagle, your forearms perched above your dome like a mid-froze ballerina, the hem of your dress hiked up -- bundled, and wrinkled -- to your navel, exposing your lace thong.

A shuddering groan crawled up his throat,swallowing thickly, calloused fingers skate past the terrain of ankles to legs -- thumbs rubbing, savoring -- to waist, kneading slightly but only to flinch away.

Scared to break you, as if he’s too broken to handle your beauty properly. Steve grew the confidence within him, and quietly began removing your dress off your body.

His fingers sneak underneath the cotton dress, slipping it up towards your chin; clutching one arm to maneuver the short-end sleeve off.

A small groan vibrated in your throat, but you remained in a drunk slumber. Steve’s breath hitched, fearful for you to awaken with him hovering over you. To scare you off -- he just wants a taste.

To feel what’s his.

Presented before Steve was your bare essence; and he just wants to fall to your feet. All his sketches of your sleeping form doesn’t do justice, being able to view the entire masterpiece beyond hidden sketches.

“You’re so beautiful, doll.” He murmured, his lips foraging your chavlices.

You sleepily mumbled, a lazy smile curling just a bit. A lingering kiss on your hairline, Steve lowly hummed happily. Your bare breasts heave with your calm breathing, Steve littered your sheen skin with small kisses, a few kitten licks on your nipples -- the tip of his tongue swirling on the erected nubs.

Little whimpers, and moans swelled Steve’s cock. “My sweet little doll is so responsive … so sensitive.” Steve cooed. With much silent vigor, Steve unbuckled his pants, fumbling the fabric below his ass; just enough space to release his weeping cock.

His fingers hook your flimsy lace, tugging it by the side -- salivating at the mouth at your glistening mound. His thick fingers wrap around his cock, love taps by his swollen tip against your clit. You softly mewled in your sleep, a cute whine. Involuntarily your hips shifted, your body yearning for contact.

Steve tsked playfully at your impatience, “Even in your sleep, you need me.” Steadily Steve inserted himself inside your soft velvety walls, biting down on his lip to prevent a lew groan. He shivered internally, you feel heavenly.

Steve languidly thrusts, his fists crumpling your sheets underneath you. Slowly leaning half of his weight onto you, his light pants fanning on your face. Steve indents his elbow that was sunk just a bit in the mattress, trapping your head between himself.

“Isn’t this your dream, princess? Isn’t this what you’ve desperately wanted all this time?” Steve whispered in your ears, “Flirting with your Captain, naughty girl.” His fingers caressing your arms, soothing you back to a fluid state of sleep, a small loose smile adorning your face.

Licks his teeth, as he gently pushes his girth inside of you. Mumbled whines alert him, he shushes you, pecking little kisses on your cheeks while maintaining an agile insertion. Trembling slightly at the heavenly touch that is you, Steve hissed under his breath.

He preens as he finally is at a full brim. His pelvis against your vee, fully satiated between your thighs.

His heart pounding, snapping his hips slightly, your body jolts a bit underneath him. Steve’s chest tightens, as he pounds into you, the squelching wetness coating his cock.

His limbs twitches, struggling not to groan, or growl in pleasure. Steve’s head glides down to meet your heaving breasts, suckling onto the nipple.

Blinded by lust, he suckles, imagining it’s full of milk, a muffled grunt leaves him as he pictures you swollen with his child -- another on your hip. He rolls his hips, losing his control as the mellow pacing turns faster, more needy.

One day — one day, there will be a ring on your finger; and a litter of your own together. The Rogers — Mrs. Y/n Rogers; oh this is just beginning.

Eyes screwed shut, he keens to feel your rapid breathing spike, tremors shudder throughout your body. His golden hair is sweat slick against his forehead, a little pop from as he detaches himself.

Flickering the tip of his tongue against the nipple. Steve changes the angle of his cock, you jerk in your stupor, high-arch keen off the bed.

“That’s the sweet spot.” He hummed to himself. His voice scraped in a hush, “I can feel you tightening on me, doll.” It’s like a vice on his cock, blurry visions you dream -- his veiny cock pounding into you with no mercy.

“Steve …” You murmur, Steve leans more into you, a goofy grin of joy stretches on his face. “My sweet doll is dreaming of me. You can feel me.” Steve’s is over-joyed, his heart flutters, butterflies are rapid in his belly. You’re thinking of him. Pressing his chest against your breasts, “I’m going to cum, doll.”

Sneaky fingers snake itself between you both, rubbing your clit in circles, a breathy gasp escapes you.

“I love you.” Steve whimpers, painting your walls white -- not daring to let any ounce of cum escape. Biting his lips till it draws blood, preventing any roar.

His nose scrunches up, his muscles tighten. You exhaled, you slick dripping down Steve’s pants.

He kisses your lips gingerly, “Sweet dreams, doll.”

[omegaplus]

# 3,895

Academy Annex mail order; December 2021 / January 2022.

I had an eventful 2021. After all was said and done, the positive far outshined the negative. City trips to Williamsburg’s Rough Trade. Surprise pinball arcades. Endless radio broadcasts. Picking up Rob Villian for the first time in nine years. Meeting slender -Tash. Uniform at Saint Vitus. Family Christmas dinner at Staten Island. For once, no major bombshells or derailments put me in a deeper hole that I was already trying to climb out of.

Not a day goes by where I don’t use Discogs. I use it all the time to grab album artwork, expand my horizons, and even purchase music there if I feel. Out of nowhere I saw that someone was selling the Boulders’ Rock And Roll Will Never Die 12” for $2.97. Now that gave me an idea: who’s selling it and what else could I buy from them? Turned out it was Greenpoint’s Academy Annex, Oak Street to be exact.

Here we go again with Brooklyn record stores. In fact, I should’ve started city music-shopping a long time ago, but it never occurred to me as Long Island has at least ten to twelve locations itself and that’s more than enough for me. For the past couple of years, the New York City post-punk, d.i.y., industrial, and punk worlds have fascinated me thanks to my former allies at WUSB. I played and supported many of these artists but never had the releases to show for it. Now’s the time.

I went down the rabbit hole like Atari’s Tempest and rolled through what else they had to offer. The only rule? No titles over $5.00, otherwise everything else under it is fair game. I started at the top and Contrepoison looked familiar to me. I found them through Hospital Records and were distributed via Heartworm press. The I Keep On Searching 12” sold for $1.31 and was a safe bet. I found Consolidated’s self-titled 12” debut and why not? Any industrialist who respects him- / her- / themselves would have them in their library.

One reason why I nabbed the Boulders release was not only because of the price, but it was released by Wharf Cat Records, another Brooklyn institution. Academy sold two more label titles I had no problem buying: David Vassalotti’s Broken Rope 12” and Water From Your Eyes’ Structure disc, the only disc on the order. Had that been All A Dance, I would’ve hit the jackpot.

Academy also sold hip-hop / rap 12” singles, too. Acquired Masta Killa’s “Silverbacks” as I played it during Omega WUSB’s Wu-Tang Clan tribute, and got my hands on Brand Nubian’s “Word Is Bond”.  Only one jazz / fusion title I took on this order was George Benson’s Good King Bad. It didn’t hurt for $4.49. Brick’s “Dusic” b/w “Fun” is a classic and grabbed that as well.

And this was the kicker that locked me in for good: two Chondritic Sound cassettes in JS Aurelius’ Machines Water The Plants Now and Believer/Law’s Matters Of Life And Death for $2.70. To my delight: both cassettes were colored with paint splatter. Those two tapes are the very type of releases I hunt for: underground synthwave and noise acts from New York City. Fucking great.

Total damage after New York state tax (8.625%) and shipping came out to $46.42. Sent in my payment immediately because I take no chances. There happened to be a delay in shipping as Academy Annex had staffers sick of COVID and closed for a week, but the owner was kind enough to message me about the hold up. Totally fine, I said, as people’s health safety is one and all above the shipment. Today on New Year’s Eve, it finally arrived. What a great way to end the new year.

Before reaching for the Boulders record, I had another title in mind. When I met Uniform’s Michael Berdan after the show, I asked him at the merch- table if he did have York Factory Complaint for sale; the noise outfit him and Ryan Martin of Dais Records were a part of. Sadly, he didn’t have any copies on the table but referred me to his friend’s label for them. Good news: Academy’s other second location on East 12th Street in East Village  was selling Lost In The Spectacle for only $5.00. If anyone remembers listening to it, it’s a cold, mechanical, and at times a horrific record. And so starts a second Discogs order where I grabbed Sleaford Mods’ T.C.R. 12”, Nick Klein’s Rhinestone Cowboy 12”, and Vagra’s 8 Tracks Demonstration 2016 - a band I never even heard of until finding it. It’s now on the way because of its’ black-and-white speed punk and d-beat style I go crazy over. That’s another $31.86 I handed over to Academy.

Last year I promised everyone that there’d be another record-store island tour with Rough Trade kicking it off. It never happened. My 2020 tax return was never processed as its’ facilities are only partially opened due to the pandemic and it’s still sitting on the pile as I speak. Now, Rough Trade moved out of Williamsburg and into 30 Rock. They ditched Hannah, Abby and Ilana to hang out with Seinfeld, Carrie Bradshaw, Ross and Chandler because I guess they didn’t want to be associated with those ‘snowflake activist hipsters’. But I like hipsters. I’m one myself. Looks like my money’s going to Academy should I shop for music in Brooklyn once again.

Contrepoison: I Keep On Searching 12"

Brick: "Dusic" b/w "Fun" 12"

Brand Nubian: "Word Is Bond" 12"

Boulders: Rock N Roll Will Never Die 12:

George Benson: "Good King Bad 12"

David Vassalotti: Broken Rope 12"

Masta Killa: "Old Man" b/w "Silverbacks" 12"

Consolidated: Consolidated! 12"

JS Aurelius: Machines Water The Plants Now CS

Believer/Law: Matters Of Life And Death CS

Water From Your Eyes: Structure CD

York Factory Complaint: Lost In The Spectacle 12″

Sleaford Mods: T.C.R. 12″

Vagra: 8 Tracks Demonstration 2016 12″

Nick Klein Rhinestone Cowboy 12”