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lostinthesasuke · 7 months

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do you think sasuke is religious or upholds his clan's religious practices? i was rereading and in the part where they go to resucitate the hokages orochimaru says "there's nothing left of the uchiha's nakano shrine", to which sasuke answers "the exterior doesn't matter" and it got me wondering

HI YES thank you so much for sending this ask. it's very close to me. elaborated a Lot under the cut but tl;dr - yes.

he is religious in the only way he remembers how to be. preserving Uchiha tradition and culture is deeply important to him. when he said the exterior of Nakano shrine didn't matter, sure he was referring to the fact that there was a hidden underground level... but it meant much more than that.

genocide doesn't just claim lives, it claims languages and religions and every facet of culture. konoha has been known to participate in the censorship and eradication of culture. this assimilation functions as an extension of genocide.

by virtue of being a survivor, i think sasuke feels an obligation to "carry the torch". since he was so young when the massacre occurred, it's likely a lot of practice and customs have been lost altogether. this is distressing to him. even during his character introduction at 12 years old, his clans "restoration" was first and foremost in his mind. to me this statement was never about re-population as many people interpret, but about justice, pride, and culture.

he feels as though the Uchiha name has been "tainted" and it is his responsibility to "purify" it. but what that means to him shifts over time.

the Uchiha clan's religion is obviously based on and deeply tied to the Shinto religion, just like the clan's jutsu and kekkei genkai. many Uchiha jutsu are named after Shinto deities.

this part i am not going to delve into too much yet because one day i will probably write a paper about it, but one of the tenets of Shinto belief is the importance of purity. Shinto practice and customs are regionally variant but the practice of purification is central. death is considered to be extremely impure. this context is deeply relevant to Sasuke's belief system and the way he thinks about himself and his clan.

it is likely that the uchiha religion is closed, evidenced by nakano shrine being kept a secret. sasuke not only has to contend with the fact that the remaining pieces of his culture are guarded and hidden, requiring the use of high-level dojutsu to decipher, but also that any of it may have been altered. the revelation that the stone tablet was altered in order to facilitate madara's manipulation and further subjugation of the uchiha was destabilizing. sasuke has to put the pieces of his religion back together with mostly his memories to rely on.

many parallels can be drawn between sasuke and the sun goddess Amaterasu. when she is betrayed by her brother Susanoo, she withdraws into a cave and plunges the world into darkness. Susanoo conspires to manipulate her into leaving the cave, and then binds her.

this gender reversal is sort of fascinating. Amaterasu and Susanoo contradict the popular notions about the sun and moon and the masculine and feminine. of course this reminds me of sasuke as well, because everything does.

sasuke is typically associated with the waning crescent, the phase just before a new moon, and itachi with a full moon. since sasuke is associated with the moon, the yin, and the feminine, it would logically follow that he would be passive like water; low like a valley. however, he subverts this expectation.

i believe this is a big part of why he makes so many people uncomfortable. he is fire and lightning and he is not a perfect victim.

after speaking to the kage and revealing the secrets of Nakano shrine, he resolves himself to burn the world down and be reborn like a phoenix. like the waning crescent before a new moon.

he is not "pure" the way itachi expects, kishimoto states, or many fans anticipate. he has strong convictions and he is confident. he is not apologetic and he is impossible to ignore.

the first time we ever see sasuke associated with the sun is after he learns the truth about the massacre. he leaves his cave. he sheds hebi and becomes taka, predator instead of prey. he is ready to spill as much blood as it takes.

i have many ideas about what Uchiha religious customs might look like, and many of them concern fire. the uchiwa fan that stokes the flames is their crest. they are seen as fully fledged members of the clan once they can perform katon jutsu. the shrine that houses the Uchiha's patron deity has eternal flames lit.

drawing from my own religion, one of my favorite metas draws a parallel between the Uchiha fire affinity and

אש תמיד (Aish tamid)

which means eternal flame. (sorry for line break, tumblr hates right to left languages). Aish tamid refers to the flame in the temple of Jerusalem that was always kept alight before its desecration by the greeks. just like the torches located in Nakano shrine.

the greeks attempted to hellenize and extinguish Jewish culture. they outlawed observance of Shabbat and circumcision, spat in the face of kashrut by sacrificing pigs in the temple, and even built statues of their gods within. the Jewish people rebelled against them and the flame was rekindled.

rebellion, justice, and pride in culture is in the spirit of fire. unending, always enduring. Sasuke and the Uchiha clan embody this, their crests always emblazoned on their clothes even at the cost of armor. from Madara's rage, to the coup, to Sasuke's revenge, justice is an integral component to the Uchiha ethos.

to me this is a really interesting contrast to the will of fire. the will of fire is the ideal of nationalism-- putting the state before the self. this idea is lauded as heroism. it was originated by the senju, no wonder.

meanwhile, the uchiha clan with their fire affinity and deeply spiritual connection to flame are seen as transgressors. they are seen as disruptive to the ideal of the "will of fire" due to their strong cultural identity. they refuse to assimilate into the dominant culture. they prioritize their love and familial bonds with each other over konoha's interests.

naruto wiki im going to kill you

they are labeled with the opposing "curse of hatred".

it is no surprise then that itachi was praised for his strong "will of fire" for carrying out the massacre-- putting the well-being of the state over the lives of his family. groomed into following the senju doctrine and abandoning his own culture. assimilated and outcast.

in modern culture Aish tamid is kept alight by the continuation of religious practice- praying and studying Torah keep the flame burning. "The exterior doesn't matter". the flame is already burning within Sasuke.

sasuke carries on whatever pieces of his culture he remembers, and he prays in the dark, and he thinks of his mother with her hands clasped at the kamidana, and he visits shrines often on his journey. he lights incense and he burns brightly. and he walks on.

#naruto meta #uchiha sasuke #txt #ok whatever sorry this is 10 million words i couldn't figure out how to trim it down more #thanks for sending me this hope it is interesting #ask

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girlactionfigure · 7 months

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These are Gidi and Noa Chiel, brother and sister who grew up in a tight and large family in the Jezreel Valley, best friends, two beautiful souls.

Gidi, 24, founded Radio Berlin, a party line that brings DJs from all over the world to Israel. Noa, 27, was accepted to a master's degree in neuroscience.

Together they went to dance in a party of peace,

On Saturday, October 7, 2023 at 6:30 in the morning, a message came: We're traveling and dodging from the rockets, and getting shot at. And that's it.

Since that message, the family had not heard from them or heard about them. There are no words of comfort for their parents who have to bury their two children massacred by Hamas Palestinian terrorists on October 7,2023

may their memories forever be a blessing

melissaschapman

#Israel #💔#BDE #Hamas Terror

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tarnishedinquirer · 24 days

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Case: Morne Massacre pt 3 (Castle Morne)

Entering the castle, I was immediately greeted by the corpses of several Godrick soldiers. This looked a lot worse than Irina could have known. It's interesting that the golem outside didn't defend them, but if it was the castle servants rebelling, then it probably didn't see them as a threat.

The only thing on this floor was a small armory. Nothing of use, but I noticed something strange about the weapons. They all seemed to be pockmarked, covered in these strange pits. I couldn't identify the source either. It wasn't acid or normal corrosion. And it applied to metal, wood, and leather equally. It was like the material itself was sick.

Perhaps this wasn't even an armory. Perhaps it was a quarantine instead. Best not to risk it.

The only way to the main courtyard was a single elevator, making the front door all but useless for an invading army. Unless it comes from within, of course.

I had some idea what I was expecting before I even got on the elevator. There was an overwhelming charnel stench of blood and offal and rotten meat and burning flesh that only got stronger as I got closer. I was still unprepared for what I saw.

I couldn't believe so many people had ever lived here, let alone died. It was mostly the long-necked commoners, but there were corpses of nobles and soldiers too, stacked as high as a small hill. Still more were impaled or hung.

It probably should've affected me more, but I'd seen horrors like this before in another life. Worse, even. I've seen mounds of vertebrae merging into human forms. I've seen entire civilizations burned in flame of sin. I've seen a rift valley half filled with corpses, where the unborn clawed at my legs.

Or... have I?

I shook off the false memories. At the very least, the prison that once held me had similar horrors on its execution field. That must be it.

I worked my way across the courtyard, first dealing with the scavenging dogs, then the chimeric servants. They were too lost in their revelry to even notice as I picked them off one by one. They were easily felled. Even their leader went down before he could even swing his axe once, though it took nearly half a flask worth of pebbles to do it.

Inside, I found a Claymore in serviceable condition, but also more of those pocked armaments. At least this means the blight isn't contagious.

I climbed up to the ramparts into the middle of a battle. Soldiers and footmen of Godrick were fighting with chimeras, and they were clearly losing ground. Then one of the soldiers peeled away from the battle to fight me instead.

So that's how it's going to be, then. Fine. I'm sitting this one out.

While waiting for both sides to exhaust themselves, I took note of the many gallows constructed on this rampart. I expected them to be ramshackle affairs, like they had just been built since the rebellion started, but they looked sturdy and well-used. Though, the fact they were situated on top of the bodies made me think that they were brought out and placed after most of the long-necks had been killed. So the chimeras slaughtered the commoners, brought the gallows out of storage to hang the footmen, and then tossed the long-neck corpses over the side to be piled up in the courtyard?

This didn't add up.

I took care of the stragglers and continued to a high tower, where I met the castellan, Edgar. Of course he wasn't very forthcoming. No one is. He claimed that he treated the "menials" well and they gave him good service, but they were just waiting for their chance to betray him. "Foul creatures, inside and out."

Even after showing him Irina's letter, he refused to quit his post until the Sword of Morne was recovered. I agreed to help him, and he said he'd meet me behind the castle.

Why were the weapons all pockmarked?

Why were the long-necks killed first?

Why were they butchered while the soldiers were hung?

What is the treasured sword of Morne?

#elden ring #elden ring lore #in character #in character blog #in character post #let's play

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sodor-spirit · 1 year

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Sodor Spirits: The true story of Shining Time

A long time ago; groups of magic casting Mages and Clear-sights were being hunted and executed by so-called witch hunters and their unsavory, evil and despicable practices of witch trials.

Driven by fear and worry of their friends, family and their children’s lives, the surviving Mages fled their hometowns and Countries to look for refuge and a new place to call home. Some of the surviving Mages made it to the Island of Sodor, a mysterious island located in the Irish Sea, between the Isle of Man and the English mainland and known for its abundance of magical energy and its residents who evolved into powerful users of magic and the said energy called Gold Dust.

At some point the other surviving groups of refugees made their way to the heart of the Indian Valley protected from view by three mountains. As time passed more and more groups of mages and magic casters of differing ethnicities and cultures from other countries had also found their way to the safety of the valley and soon the many surviving groups were enough to call their numbers of tents, shelters, wagons and carts a town.

With the shared goal of living, surviving and starting a new life; prejudices and bigotry were cast aside and the groups started to build their new town, the Valley hidden from any outsiders’ sight with a mystical barrier. They spend their days building to create their new home and spend their nights crying and mourning over their lost friends, family and children who were still missing or killed by what the present day Mages called “The Purge”. Finally years passed and the town was complete, a new Shining Time for the survivors and their coming generations.

However, even after all those years; the people were still driven by fear of the future. They knew they could not hide inside the barrier forever and it was only a matter of time before any hunters found them and massacred the town. And so all the people came together and began to discuss their solution.

After many days, they came to their solution: All knowledge and ability of casting magic must be taken away to be sealed and any memories of such powers and the difficult journey getting to the Valley must be altered for their safety and their new start of a fresh life. But it was also necessary that there was someone to do this task and keep the knowledge of Shining Time’s true past and its residents' own knowledge of their magical abilities and memories still alive, at the cost of saying farewell to their friends and going into hiding to protect the new town of Shining Time until the time comes when the town’s in danger and everything must come back to the light.

A large family, known for their vast knowledge of the mystical powers and having survived being hunted with the use of their unique size changing ability was chosen for this very role and with the heavy burden and undying loyalty, the family went to door to door, saying their goodbyes and changing the memories of their friends and sealing away the town’s knowledge of their magic, memories and all magical abilities into a relic known as the Well of Dust, which was then moved by the family to an underground chamber built by them and they hid for the rest of their lives, as the town woke up the next day with their memories altered and any trace of magic gone along with the Barrier. The start of the survivors’ new life.

This family are the ancestors of the tiny Conductor family, who still carry out this centuries old duty and watch the population of the town with melancholic and lonely eyes, burdened by their family’s role and years of generational trauma regarding the purging of their own magical kind which they hid behind smiles and the stories they share to the kids at the Station which was built on top of the Conductor family’s chamber and home that can only be accessed through the Station house’s red door, painted on the mural.

End…

#shining time station #ttte #thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #mr conductor #misc Conductor #ttte fantasy au #lore #fan lore #development #lore development #ttte fanfiction #ttte fandom #ttte fanfic

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gorskivijenac · 2 years

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Massacre in Prebilovci was carried out by the Croatian Ustashas between August 4 and 11, 1941, on 826 out of a total of 994 Serbs in the village. Most of them were thrown alive into the Golubinka pit, while the others were killed on the spot. No one survived from 51 families. Until 1941, Prebilovci was one of the largest and economically strongest Serbian villages in Herzegovina.

At dawn, on August 4, Ustashe surrounded the vast terrain of the village. The population of the village slept in the hill that night, but at dawn the women and children returned to their homes, not expecting that they too would be the target of an attack. Ustashas gather women with children and lock them in the classroom of the village school. Previously, in front of the school, they killed old women who could not walk. Joka Ekmečić, Mara Bulut and Jela Ekmečić (with two little girls) escaped from the school. In the afternoon of the 4th and the morning of the 5th of August, the Ustasha in Prebilovci captured and brought the remaining women and children to school. This group was exposed to more horrible experiences, especially for the girls, while the captured men, after torture, were killed in the valley below the village. About 500 women, girls and children from Prebilovci alone were thrown into the pit alive. The next day, Ivan Jovanović Crni threw two bombs into the pit, scream were heard from the pit for another 7 days. On the site of Morin Otok near Bregava, 50 residents of Prebilovci were slaughtered who surrendered to the Ustasha, because of the knowledge that their entire families perished in the Šurmanac pit. August 11, they were forced out of their houses at dawn. All adult men from Klepac, Loznica, Gnjilišta, Počitelje, Čapljina, as well as the majority from Tasovčić, are tied to trucks and taken to the Bivolje brdo pit, where they are thrown alive.

Most of the pits were concreted in 1961, and next to them they erected monuments, on which it was written that victims of fascists were killed there in the summer of 1941, without mentioning the nationality of the victims, not even the villages they came from. Because of the false "brotherhood and unity", children were not allowed to be taken out of the pit for their remaining family members to bury them. The residents of Prebilovci, continued to live after the war, thanks to the strength and will of their fathers, who remarried, with widows from neighboring Serbian villages and had children with them, some even in their seventies, they did not give up or forgot victims. Since 1974, the relatives of the victims began to visit the pits in an organized manner, on the dates of their suffering, in convoys of cars. However, from 1947 to 1990, priests were not allowed to serve memorial services at the pits.

In a real, spontaneous and non-violent uprising, with extremely good organization and sacrifice, at the end of 1990 and at the beginning of 1991, all the pits in Herzegovina were opened: Golubinka and the pit in Benina's fence, both pits in Šurmanci, Bivolje brdo, Kukauša donja and gornja, Hadžibeg's well and Gradina, both pits in Hutovo, Jasoč, Poplat, Golubinka and Rudine, both in Prenje, Zvekaluša in Opličići. During that time, the foundations of the Memorial Church dedicated to the Martyrs of Prebilovci were built, with a crypt for the remains. The bones of about 4,000 Herzegovinian Serbs, who died in the Ustasha pogroms of 1941-1945, were exhumed. In addition to the skeletons and objects of the victims, evidence of torture was found: barbed wire, chains with padlocks, nails, etc.

Carrying out the remains from the pit his wife was thrown in, Trifko Ekmečić was told that they found a pregnant woman (his wife in late stages of pregnancy), he recognized the wedding ring and died on stop, his heart was not able to handle it.

In the last war Croatian army immediately after entering the village, burned Prebilovci. Only Draginja Medić, 64 years old, was left to "defend", one of the four girls who survived the massacre in 1941. She refused to leave Prebilovci, where she again mourned her mother and sisters. She was martyred, her grave is still unknown. The church with remains of the Herzegovian Serbs was mined. It carried the crushed remains of the temple 50 meters away. To this day, it is not known what was really done with the relics of the new martyrs. Many graves were opened, and the bones of some of the deceased were taken somewhere, others were thrown out and scattered in front of the grave, and others were burned in the grave. During the burning, parts of the burnt skeleton and the brass handles of the coffin of the deceased were left behind. By this they died once again.

A lot more of this, can be seen in the documentaries- x x

#massacre in prebilovci #serbia #slavic #balkan #eastern europe #herzegovina #bosnia and herzegovina #independent state of croatia #ww2 #prebilovci

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heniareth · 1 year

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The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 5: Flemeth’s Hut

In which Astala discovers she's not dead, but many others are, and now they have to deal with this.

Wordcount: 3653

WARNINGS:

- discussion of death - mention of cannibalism - abuse from parent to child in action

(Read the whole chapter on AO3 or down below)

Somebody screamed.

Astala bolted upright, reaching for her weapons. Only then did she realize that it was she who was screaming.

Where was she?

The interior of the hut was unfamiliar. Astala sat up to try and get a better look at her surroundings but didn't get far before she registered pain. It was dull, a throbbing to the rhythm of her heartbeat accompanied by tightness in her shoulder and belly when she moved. It sat deep. What had-

The tower.

Right.

Tentatively, Astala finished sitting up. She could do that. That was good. Going by everything she remembered—arrows, darkspawn and the Archdemon—she should be dead. She should be very dead. How was she not dead? How had she arrived... here?

She had just enough time to take a proper look around—she saw a pot over the fire, smelled stew coming from it, felt fur below her hands and spotted drying herbs hanging from the wooden beams above her—before the door opened and a young woman entered. Dark hair pulled into a bun, patchwork leather skirt and deep purple tunic... Astala blinked.

"Morrigan?"

Morrigan turned to her with a small but genuine smile. “Ah! You are awake! Mother shall be pleased.”

She crouched down in front of the pot, lifted the lid and stirred the contents. The smell of meat intensified. Astala’s stomach growled loudly.

“What happened?” Astala asked.

“You were injured, and Mother rescued you,” Morrigan answered, throwing her a glance crowned by a small frown. “Do you not remember?”

“I…” Astala strained her memory, trying to recall what exactly had happened at the tower. “There were lots of darkspawn. And a dragon! How did your mother do that?”

“I suggest you ask her,” Morrigan answered. “She may even give you an answer.”

Astala tried swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It worked just fine, apart from the pull and the fact that the throbbing sensation in her abdomen intensified. But she’d be able to make her way back to Ostagar.

A trickle of cold dread ran through her veins. Was there an Ostagar to make her way back to?

“What happened to the king’s army?” she asked.

“Your teyrn Loghain quit the field,” Morrigan said, trying a bit of the stew and adding some herbs. “The darkspawn won your battle.”

“So…” Astala said and got all words stuck in her throat. Defeat. At the hand of darkspawn. “The king’s army?”

“Massacred. There are no more Grey Wardens, other than you, the dwarven girl, and the human boy.” She paused and glanced back at the door. “He… is not taking it well.”

Astala stayed seated. She stared into the slow, licking flames below the pot and tried to wrap her head around what Morrigan had just said.

“All of them?” she finally asked. “Duncan? Our commander?”

“Dead,” Morrigan simply said, not without sympathy.

“Everybody?” Astala asked again. Jerome, Onastas, Martin with his huge pot full of food, Palla with the intimidating grey eyes…

Leonard.

Khêd.

Ilanlas.

“Did… you say your mother only saved us three? Could the others have survived?”

Morrigan closed the lid of the pot with a firm clack of metal against metal. Then she stood up, and only then she turned to Astala.

“I am afraid I do not know,” she said. “You do not want to know what is happening in that valley.”

“Why?” Astala asked. “What's happening?”

“Are you sure you want me to describe it?” Morrigan asked.

Astala pushed herself off the bed. She could stand, fine even. She crossed her arms; she was feeling cold. Blood loss, probably.

“Please, tell me.”

Morrigan exhaled sharply, but she leaned against the hearth and spoke: “I had a good view of the battlefield. ‘Tis a grisly scene. There are bodies everywhere, and darkspawn swarm them… feeding, I think.”

She took a careful look at Astala. Astala swallowed but nodded.

“Continue?”

“The darkspawn are also looking for survivors,” Morrigan said. She wasn't enjoying this conversation. “They drag them down beneath the ground; I cannot say why.”

Sand against her cheek, slipping uselessly through her fingers. Claws wrapped around her ankle, pulling, the screeching darkspawn dragging her into the cave that had swallowed Ilanlas’ friend.

Maker save her, and may his gods watch over Ilanlas. The cold dread in her veins spread.

“Thank you for helping us, Morrigan,” Astala managed to say, dragging herself back to the present.

“I…” Morrigan hesitated. “You are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.”

“Still.” Astala gave her a weak smile. “Can you tell me where Alistair and Sulri are?”

“Outside,” Morrigan said. “Mother wished to talk to you as well once you woke up.”

“Thank you,” Astala said again and started walking. She could walk. Good.

Once she was outside of the hut, she took a deep breath and just stood there for a moment, soaking in the light of the afternoon sun.

She was alive.

She found Alistair at the edge of the lagoon that surrounded the hut, staring out over the murky water. He didn't say anything when she approached and stood next to him. Neither did she. What could words do in a moment like this?

For a while, they stared over the water together.

Finally, Alistair heaved a heavy sigh, shoulders rising and falling like a mountain shrugging.

"Sorry," he sniffled and wiped his nose. Then: "You're alive, Maker's Breath!"

Before Astala could stop him, he enveloped her in a tight hug, the kind that slowly squeezed the air out of you. Astala tensed her back against the pressure and awkwardly patted Alistair on the back.

"You also look… alive," she said when he finally let her go.

Alistair smiled, let out a little huffed laugh. The smile dissolved almost immediately.

"Duncan and… Everybody. They-"

"I know," Astala said, and patted this huge shem on the arm once more. "I know."

Alistait accepted the comfort, poor as it was. He stood there for a while longer with his head bowed. He really wasn't taking it well.

"Well," he finally said. "We are here. And Sulri is here. That has to count for something."

Astala thought of Ilanlas, and Khêd, and nodded for appearance's sake. The inky clouds that had preceded the darkspawn still swirled above them. The sun didn't quite manage to break through.

They went to Sulri, who was sitting at the back of the hut, where the roof jutted out from the wall, throwing pebbles into the lagoon. The rhythmic plitch of the stones hitting the water disturbed the dead silence around them. Astala found herself scanning the horizon for darkspawn, and was relieved when she saw none.

She crouched down next to Sulri and waved hello. Alistair sat down on Sulri's other side. Sulri didn't acknowledge either of them. Instead, she took a larger stone and lobbed it into the lake.

Sploosh.

Cradled by the circular waves from the stone's impact, the cadaver of a fish rose to the surface.

Sulri wrinkled her nose, sat the next stone in her hand down and scooted away from the water.

Astala sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry about Khêd," she said.

Sulri was still staring at the dead fish, expression between mildly disgusted and outraged, as if the poor thing was to blame for all of this. Astala tapped her knee to get her attention.

"I'm sorry about Khêd," she repeated. "Did you know him for long?"

Sulri shook her head and then waved her off. She didn't want to talk? That was okay. Astala had seen worse responses to grief.

Alistair heaved another big sigh. "What do we do now?"

Astala bit the inside of her cheek, waiting to see if any of them would come up with a brilliant solution.

"Well…" she said tentatively when nothing happened. "I would… It might be a good idea to take things slow. We almost died, after all."

"There's no time for taking it slow!" Alistair threw his hands into the air. "We've failed! The darkspawn will overrun Ferelden and all Grey Wardens are dead!"

"Are they?"

Astala scrambled to her feet. Flemeth had stepped around the house, followed by Morrigan. The elderly woman crossed her arms.

"And here I was under the impression I had saved three of the order."

"But we- I'm sorry, ah… madam," Alistair stammered. "What do we call you? You never gave us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless," Morrigan's mother said. "The Chasind call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

"The Flemeth? From the legends?" Although still soft, Alistair's voice was briefly filled with awe instead of sadness before he caught himself. "Daveth was right. You're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth answered flatly. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Astala doubted there had been only a bit of magic involved in getting them out of that tower and dragging them—her?—back from the funeral pyre.

"If I may," she ventured. "I- Thank you for saving us, really. I'm very grateful to still be alive. But… why did you save us?"

"Well," Flemeth said as if it was obvious. "We cannot have all the Grey Wardens die at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn."

"Yes, but…" Astala hesitated.

It didn't do to anger a powerful witch. Certainly not by questioning her motive and reason behind saving them instead of… well, anybody else.

"We aren't the most experienced," she finally said.

"Does that matter?" Flemeth answered, absolutely unperturbed. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the land in the face of a Blight. Or has that changed while I wasn't looking?"

Astala didn't like her tone. Save her or no, she hadn't almost died only for this woman to be needling her. As if Flemeth was her supervisor on a job!

"I don't know if the Grey Wardens are the best candidates to unite the land," she said, carefully but firmly. "They didn't manage to do so at Ostagar, at least."

"No thanks to teyrn Loghain," Flemeth said, nodded and waited expectantly.

"It doesn't make any sense!" Alistair said bitterly. "Why would he do it?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth mused and nodded. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature."

Alistair visibly sat up straighter at the witch's approval.

"Perhaps," Flemeth continued, genuinely serious from what Astala could gather, "Loghain thinks the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see the real threat that lies behind it."

"Is it too much to expect that a tainted Old God will be taken seriously?" Alistair muttered.

Astala cast a glance around. She still didn't see any darkspawn, but that didn't set her at ease. The monsters weren't gone. Or, rather, they were, but in the wrong direction.

She had tk warn her family.

"Maybe we could try to contact the other Grey Wardens," she ventured. "There are more elsewhere, right?"

Alistair shook his head. "The nearest Grey Wardens are in Orlais, and it would take far too long to gather them and an army. Not to mention that nobody wants Orlesians here. We would be kicked out before we could say hello, and not just by Loghain."

Sulri tapped Astala's leg and started signing. She slowed down when Astala asked her to, made her gestures as broad as possible. Still, Astala understood absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I don't think this is going to work right now."

Sulri lowered her hands with an expression that could have frozen flames.

Astala shrugged apologetically and turned back to Flemeth. "So what do we do then?"

"Why do you ask me?" Flemeth answered and blinked owlishly. "I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn."

Morrigan, who had been silently standing behind her mother, turned abruptly and left. Flemeth paid her no mind, not even when the door to the hut shut rather loudly.

"At the very least, we have to warn everybody," Alistair said, answering Astala's question. "Teyrn Loghain may think the darkspawn are just a minor threat, but we can't leave everybody else exposed to danger!"

Flemeth turned her attention to him, head cocked to one side. "And who will believe you? Unless you think to convince this Loghain directly of his mistake?"

"He just betrayed his own king!" Alistair jumped to his feet. "If arl Eamon knew what Loghain did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for an execution!"

Astala frowned. "You know an arl? Personally?"

"I…" Alistair hesitated.

"I suppose," Flemeth quickly intervened, "that this arl Eamon was not at Ostagar."

"That's right!" Alistair looked from Flemeth to Astala, and brightened up for the first time in the whole conversation. "He still has all his troops. And he was Cailan's uncle! He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet, of course!"

In the shadow cast by her hut, Flemeth's eyes gleamed.

"We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" Alistair finished the thought.

"Now, wait a moment-" Astala started, but Flemeth was quicker.

"What happened to the treaties I kept safe? Have you managed to lose them as well?"

"They- I have them!" Alistair pulled them out from under the breastplate of his armor. "How could I forget about them?"

He pressed the treaties into her hands and looked down at her expectantly.

Astala leafed through the old, yellowed pages and looked back up at Alistair. "I don't-"

"Grey Wardens can demand the help from dwarves, elves, mages! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!" Alistair said.

Sulri snatched the treaties out of Astala's hands. Astala let her.

"Alistair…" she said. "There are three of us."

"Exactly!" Alistair said and nodded emphatically. "We need an army, and there we have it!"

Astala must've made the wrong kind of expression, because he went on.

"This is our only chance! There's nothing holding the darkspawn back from marching into Ferelden and burning it to the ground. We have to do this!" He took a deep breath and gestured at the three of them. "We are the only ones who can."

Astala stared at him and then at Flemeth. Flemeth looked back. She didn't blink. Her mouth didn't curve, but in her eyes there was a mad sort of smile.

Astala looked back at Alistair and saw only determination scrawled over a canvas of grief.

Oh Maker.

Oh, fuck.

Flemeth was of the opinion that they better leave if they wanted to keep avoiding the darkspawn. So they went and got their things. What things they still had left. Astala pulled on the gambeson—she'd have to clean the blood out of it, and mend it—and decided to leave the chain mail behind. It was broken, she had no way to fix it, and it would only weigh her down. She kept the breastplate. It had the Grey Warden's griffon on it, and that might be useful.

Everything else was still in that ruin now occupied by darkspawn: her pack, hurriedly assembled and then lovingly stocked up by her father; her blanket, bought with the money Ilanlas had gotten for her; the scrap metal she'd feverishly collected from darkspawn corpses in hopes of selling it and maybe getting something good out of her conscription. She still had her weapons, her coin pouch, and a contract with an order that didn't exist in Ferelden anymore. Save for the three of them, of course. What a grand fucking team. She supposed she should be grateful for the fact that she still had boots and that it was summer, not winter.

Speaking of boots, she had absolutely ruined them. Her mother might even have been proud, covered stains from darkspawn blood as the boots now were. The worst kind of irony.

Morrigan reappeared briefly to provide them with pack rolls and provisions, and then disappeared into the inside of the hut again. Astala tied her pack with her meager belongings to her belt. Alistair carried the bulk of everything. Sulri needed help with her pack and took a long time to ask for it. But, at some point, they were ready to go.

Astala turned to Flemeth. "Thank you again for helping us."

"Thank me once all of this is over," Flemeth answered curtly. "And, before you leave, I do have one more thing to offer you."

The door to the hut opened and shut. Flemeth stopped speaking and her eyes left Astala to fix on Morrigan, who was approaching them, ignoring their group in favor of her mother.

"The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Shall we have three guests for the eve or…" She glanced at their packs. "... none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving, girl," Flemeth said gravely.

"Oh," Morrigan said in a mocking tone, "such a-"

"And you will be joining them."

"What!?"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears," Flemeth said and laughed at her own joke.

Astala couldn't say she found it funny. Not when Morrigan was growing visibly pale.

"Thank you," she said tentatively when neither Alistair nor Sulri said anything. "Really. But if Morrigan doesn't want to join us…"

"Nonsense." Flemeth cut her off. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan protested, her voice raised in alarm.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance," Flemeth simply said. "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"Excuse me?" Astala burst out. She must've misheard.

"Not to… look a gift horse in the mouth but…" Alistair said, absolving Flemeth of the need to answer Astala. "Won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower," Flemeth replied.

"Point taken," Alistair said, none too happy.

"Mother…" Morrigan turned to the old woman. "This is not how I wanted this! I- I am not even ready-"

"You must be ready," Flemeth said forcefully. "Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight." She paused to give her words the appropriate weight. "Even I."

"I… understand…" Morrigan said with a strained sigh.

"And you, Wardens?" Flemeth turned her full attention to them. "I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

Morrigan was staring back at the hut, where the stew was probably still bubbling, and she wouldn't eat it.

"Hey, you'll be okay with us," Astala said quietly to Morrigan.

Morrigan threw her a cold look, as if it was Astala who was dragging her into an adventure she didn't want to go on. Then she turned around.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please."

When she left, Flemeth didn't look after her; she was back to staring at Astala with those unsettling golden eyes. She didn't say anything, either. The one who broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence was Alistair, who leaned closer.

"What a shock, right? 'Three guests or none', and then, poof! She leaves with us."

Astala eyed Flemeth, and was struck by the absolute certainty that Flemeth was hearing every word Alistair said.

"She's a bit… dramatic, don't you think?" Alistair went on. "'Shall we have three guests or… none'. Why that long pause?"

Astala took a deep, steadying breath. "She was looking at our packs and putting two and two together."

Alistair hesitated, then nodded as if considering this, and backed away again.

Flemeth kept looking at Astala. Astala refused to look away.

Finally, Morrigan returned, a pack slung over her shoulder with a bedroll, blanket and fur jacket tied up on top of it. Her mouth, drawn into a thin line, relaxed in a very deliberate way as she approached.

"Farewell, Mother," she said with a casual sigh. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah!" Flemeth barked. "'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed by the Blight."

Morrigan physically recoiled, and her expression crumbled.

"I-" she stammered. "All I meant was-"

"Yes, I know," Flemeth answered gently. "Do try to have fun, dear."

Morrigan turned away abruptly and joined their group, which had waited a few steps away. When she reached them, her expression was impenetrably neutral.

"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there." She crossed her arms. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide."

Astala tore her gaze from Flemeth, who was still staring at her, and waited for Alistair to take the lead and answer.

That didn't happen, and the silence started to become uncomfortable.

Finally, Astala cleared her throat. "I like your idea."

Morrigan looked at the other two. Sulri gave a shrug so exaggerated it swam in sarcasm, and Alistair said nothing.

"Very well then," Morrigan said, a few degrees colder. "Follow me, if you please."

She led them to a new path, neither the one by which they had come to nor the one by which they had left the hut before their- her Joining. Astala fell in behind Morrigan, Alistair and Sulri joined… and, just like that, they were off.

To gather an army.

One uncomfortable conversation about Morrigan's cooking skills later, Astala already had enough. This was the stupidest thing she had ever signed up for in a long time.

#warden tabris #warden aeducan #female tabris #female aeducan #alistair #alistair theirin #morrigan #flemeth #the battle of ostagar #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dragon age origins fanfic #dao #dao fanfic #astala tabris #sulri aeducan #the story of one astala tabris #my writings

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linasofia · 2 years

Text

Starflowers

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x OC Eliise

Fandom: Star Wars

Summary: Obi-Wan travels to Alderaan for a diplomatic meeting but on the way he meets someone he could not have foreseen.

Words: 4,1K

Warnings: 18+

A/N: My first attempt to write for this fandom. This fic is vaguely inspired by the new Obi-Wan Kenobi series and takes place approximately ten years after the massacre that followed Order 66.

Thanks @legolasbadass & @lathalea for your support! 💙💙

The old cargo ship slowly made its way down to the landing dock and Obi-Wan grasped the handle on his seat harder. It had been a very long time since he last set foot on Alderaan, or anywhere except the endless sandy landscape of Tatooine. Hiding from the never-resting evil, in the harsh world of the Outer Rim, had made him a suspicious man. Over time he lost contact with the Force and struggled to accept that the life of the Jedi was no longer his. He was lonely, trusted nobody, and very rarely visited one of the few friends from the past who knew he was still alive. Drawing attention to himself was not something he wanted and he knew he took a risk every time he left the relatively safe hiding place out in the desert. But when Bail Organa unexpectedly pleaded for his help in a complicated and highly sensitive matter, Obi-Wan found it impossible to reject him. Deep down, he knew that he could not hide from his destiny. Dressed in worn clothes, and with the only weapon he owned hidden underneath, he boarded the cargo ship, which would take him to his destination.

Alderaan was just as beautiful as he remembered. Its snowy peaks and green forests, together with the great Cloudshape Falls, could all be seen clearly from the sky. When Obi-Wan finally stood on the ground and breathed the fresh and almost crispy air, so very different from the warm desert air his lungs had grown used to, he felt a small tingle in the skin on his face. He did not remove his large hood—it provided him shelter from curious eyes—before he started the long walk from the dock to the Royal Palace. He didn’t want to be seen more than necessary so he avoided the usual and more formal way of arriving at the Mountain Palace.

The path Obi-Wan chose led him along the outline of the forest and over open fields. Alderaan's sun moved gracefully over the sky as he walked and when the shadows grew longer and the light became more golden, he finally saw the city of Aldera and the Royal Palace. An unwelcome wave of insecurity washed over him. He was not the strong Jedi he used to be. When Bail reached out to him, Obi-Wan had tried to explain that, but his old friend wanted him to come nevertheless. With the sun hanging low over the palace, its towers and spires sparkled like rare stones coming from deep within the snow-capped mountains towering behind the palace.

Obi-Wan looked at the vast expanse of the lake in front of him. The Palace and part of the city overlooked its blue waters and he would have to walk around the lake since no transport could be seen. What he would give for a bath or shower right now. The water was glittering and appeared almost turquoise when it reflected the sky. A memory stirred in him, something about the lake being very deep and not as warm as it was easy to believe. He smiled to himself; Queen Breha had told him that many years ago, when he first came to visit Alderaan. It felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, time had not yet created small valleys around his eyes, and his hairline had not begun to move higher on his forehead. Obi-Wan was not vain, he was still too much of a Jedi for that; it was just an impartial reflection on the passage of time. Lost in old memories, his feet carried him almost to the shore of the lake before he noticed that another person was kneeling by the water. A woman, dark-haired, with her hair braided and wrapped around her head into a crown, was washing her hands in the clear water. Next to her lay a large bouquet of starflowers. She had not seen him yet and for a second he thought about leaving unseen, but as he took another step, a branch broke under his weight. The sound made the woman turn to him. At first, he could read fear in her eyes and she had every right to think the worst of him. He knew he was not very presentable-looking in his worn clothes, with an unkempt beard and dirty hands. He held up his hands in a gesture he hoped signaled that he had no foul intentions, showing the traces of his long journey.

”I’m sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just need to wash my hands and face.”

She gave him a careful smile, held her guard up, but nodded. It made sense.

”It’s ok. I was lost in my own thoughts; it’s not your fault I didn’t hear you coming this way.”

Obi-Wan kneeled beside her, keeping a respectful distance. The water was indeed colder than it looked, but it felt heavenly as he patted his face with his wet palms. He could feel the woman watching him.

”It would be easier to clean your face if you removed your hood,” she said with a small laugh in her voice. Apparently, she had decided that he was no threat to her. He considered her words. She was right of course and he really needed to freshen up a little before he met his hosts. With two hands he grabbed the hood and pulled it back. Then he lowered his hands to the water, formed them into a bowl and splashed the cold water over his face. He gave a pleased sigh. Another splash of water on his neck and it ran in a chilling stream down under his tunic. He continued to clean himself up as much as he could and when done, he stretched his back and stood up. So did she.

The woman met his gaze and when she looked back at him he could swear he felt the ground move under him. Her beautiful almond-shaped eyes were of a rare blue color, the same color as the starflowers she held in her hand. She looked at him with interest, like she was mapping his face in her memory, and for a second she glanced at his lips, before she averted her eyes with a shy smile. For the first time in ages, Obi-Wan struggled to find words. He wanted to compliment her, but had no words for it. So instead he asked for the only thing he could think of: her name.

”Eliise.” When she spoke, she met his gaze again and Obi-Wan felt the overwhelming feeling of helplessness, for the gravity in her eyes was beyond anything he had experienced before. As a Master Jedi, he had never allowed himself to indulge in any activity that could make him lose focus on the path he had taken, but now, as he stared into the depth of Eliise’s starflower-colored eyes, he felt something.

”Eliise,” he repeated and her name felt strangely right when it rolled off his tongue. She smiled innocently at him but Obi-Wan did not miss the way her eyes shifted slightly when he said her name.

”You are not from here, if I'm not mistaken?”

”No, I’m not. I’m only here for a short visit at… a friend’s place.” Obi-Wan stopped himself before he said too much. He just met the woman, there was no need to tell her that he was a personal guest of Bail Organa, highly respected senator of Alderaan and his wife, Queen Breha.

”I see,” she said with a badly hidden disappointed look in her expressive eyes. Then, as though a thought just appeared in her mind, she gave him a faint smile again. ”Aldera is my home, it’s all I have ever known. I have never traveled beyond our borders. I am a free woman, but the right opportunity has never appeared.”

Obi-Wan thought he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes. Maybe it was the thought of missed opportunities, lost moments of adventures or the feeling of being stuck in the same place that clouded her eyes for a second. ”I’m sorry, I talk too much,” she then added and Obi-Wan wondered what she really wanted to say. He thought of walking away, to ignore the unfamiliar feeling that spread in his chest and the increasing drumming of his heart, but he found himself unable to turn his back on her.

”Perhaps you want some company on the way back, may I escort you?” he offered with what he hoped was a comforting smile. ”It is my humble opinion that you don’t talk too much. In fact, I would like to hear more, if the thought doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

She smiled warmly back at him. ”I will gladly accept your company.”

The road gradually changed the closer they came to the palace and nature gave room to the city of Aldera. Eliise talked about her life in the city, about places she liked, where one could find the best meals, for a reasonable payment, and where art and music could be enjoyed. It did not take long before her hand brushed repeatedly against his as they walked closer to each other. It was an innocent touch but he sensed there was something else in the air, something unspoken happened as they continued their unhurried walk. Obi-Wan spoke very little about himself, skillfully steered her away from any personal subjects and answered only questions regarding his thoughts and taste in different things. He liked her soft feminine voice, its melody was charming and he wanted the conversation to last longer when she suddenly stopped outside a small two-floored house. She nodded at the house. ”This is where I live, on the second floor. The old man I rent from is a kind man and for a few extra credits, he asks no questions about my personal life.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she leaned closer to him. ”You have not even told me your name, but here I am, ready to invite you to my home. I have never done this before, please tell me that I’m crazy, but something about you makes me feel so relaxed and yet so… curious.”

Her eyes, this time filled with a longing he was not sure he could live up to, made him hesitate. Speechless, he looked back at her, her directness came as a surprise and once again he was unable to find the right words. She shifted and waited while the inner struggle tore Obi-Wan between wanting to follow her inside and the fear of doing something he, or both of them, would regret later. There was no doubt in her eyes, no room for misunderstanding. He briefly thought about the meeting he was supposed to attend the following day, as an adviser in a very sensitive situation. He knew that Bail would not be at his disposal on this particular evening, for the senator told him so during their last contact. It mattered little if he arrived later that night, as long as he was in place for breakfast. An embarrassed look fell over Eliise’s face. ”I’m sorry, I assumed too much.” She took a step to the side and Obi-Wan could see how she inhaled deeply. ”Thank you for your company. I wish you a pleasant stay in Aldera.” Her voice sounded weirdly neutral and the change in her body language finally caused him to react.

“You can call me Ben,” he said softly, but without making a move to stop her.

She watched him for a moment, like she was weighing his words and the meaning of them on a scale. He could tell that his own insecurity made her hesitate. She probably thought he was only mildly interested in her, but Obi-Wan's problem lay not in his level of interest. The lost connection with the Force had made him doubt himself in all the ways a man possibly can. Intimcity was never something he thought about, but now, as Eliise looked at him with a new hope in her beautiful eyes, he felt both tempted and frightened.

”Ben,” she tried his name. ”Would you like to come inside? I have refreshments, and fruit if you want.” Obi-Wan swallowed hard. What she offered sounded innocent but the afternoon sun made her skin glow and he caught himself thinking of how it would feel to run his fingertips over her cheek. He nodded slowly.

Eliise’s home was small but pretty, just like the woman living there. The feminine touch in tiny details made the place very personal. She liked the color blue, Obi-Wan noticed as he looked around the main room. A tray with cold drinks stood on a small table and she lifted a glass and offered him one. He was thirsty and drank greedily. Before he could put the glass back on the tray, she took the glass from him, her fingers gently caressing his as they met. ”Thank you,” he mumbled, unable to think of anything but her sensual lips as she put her own glass to her mouth and drank. As she swallowed the cold drink in a series of small sips, he watched her throat’s movements. Heat spread in the lower parts of his body at the sight of her drinking and he briefly questioned if what he felt was normal. He was, of course, well aware of the strong attraction two people could build, and he was not inexperienced in the matter. His doubts were only directed to his own abilities, it had been a long time since he touched a woman. Too long, he thought as she took a step closer to him.

Her lips were soft against his, she tasted sweet, like newly collected berries, and when she finally ran her small hands through the hair on his neck, he wrapped his arms around her. It made her moan softly against his lips and she deepened the kiss. Her tongue met his and when her body asked him to dance, he followed her blindly. Lost in his lust for her, he didn’t protest when she unclasped his cloak. It fell to the floor and revealed his tunic, and the belt where his only protection was attached. Too late he realized that she instantly recognized the item. Eliise stared at him in disbelief. ”Have I invited a Jedi, or maybe a Bounty Hunter with a taste for robbing his objects, to my bed?”

Obi-Wan looked back at her, she demanded the truth but there was no judgement in her eyes. He sighed. ”I’m no Bounty Hunter.”

Her eyes widened. ”I can’t believe it. We are always told that the Jedis are almost extinct.”

”Almost,” Obi-Wan echoed.

Eliise pressed herself tightly against him again. ”It makes no difference for me. I still want you to be here.” Her smile was genuine and inviting and Obi-Wan covered her lips with his. It didn’t matter that she knew, he could not turn back now. Her dress joined his cloak on the floor and the sight of her naked body made him groan quietly. Her skin had been kissed by the sun on many occasions and her body looked stronger than he had expected. With trembling hands he started to remove his belt and the tunic. When he came to his trousers, he hesitated. As though Eliise could sense it, she placed her hand over his and squeezed it. The heat from her body transferred to him and with gentle hands she helped him out of his last piece of clothes. Then she took his hand and led him to her bed. When she pulled him down with her on the soft pillows, he marveled at how comfortable she made him feel, but the feeling of self-doubt simultaneously spread rapidly in his body.

”Eliise.” Obi-Wan whispered, like he was afraid to scare her away. He felt so strong and weak at the same time and he needed to speak his mind. ”I…I’m not the man I once was. I’m not sure I can give you what you desire.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. ”Are you trying to tell me it’s been a while?”

”A very long time,” he answered honestly. ”Please, don’t expect too much from me. I am nothing but a simple man.” He avoided her gaze in a sudden feeling of embarrassment.

”Ben,” she said softly and with a hand on his bearded cheek she turned his face so she could look him in the eyes again. ”I wanted you here before I knew you were a Jedi, that has not changed,” she purred. ”I don’t expect more, in any way, because of who you are. Please believe me.” She sealed her words with a series of tender kisses. Then her kisses became more heated and soon she pulled herself on top of him. She straddled him, captured him between her slender thighs and leaned forward to continue kissing him. Obi-Wan ran his hands along her back, caressed the softness of her hips and groaned when she arched her back, causing her to push her lower body closer to his growing hardness. At least that part of his body was not completely broken.

Eliise moved slowly over him and he could feel the feminine heat from the peak between her thighs as she softly grinded against his smooth skin. Obi-Wan moaned at the contact and held her tighter. But she didn’t want to be held still, she was eager in his embrace and knew what she wanted. While her starflower-colored eyes looked like the sun itself shone in them, she adjusted her hips so the top of his shaft pressed against her slick opening. He could feel her need as she moved and for a second Obi-Wan was afraid he would not be able to control the wave of heat welling up in his body. Pure lust sang in his veins and he saw the same need in her eyes, when the burning desire for her exploded under his skin. He trembled, unprepared for the storm of emotions her naked body evoked. Eliise seemed unafraid of the feelings she set free and without a word she opened up to him like one of her starflowers opened its petals to the sun. With a soft moan, she sank down over him and his fingers gripped harshly at the softness of her hips. She hissed his name and a surprised smile graced her beautiful face as he could feel her body’s desperate attempt to adjust to him. Buried deep inside her, he was allowed to feel it all and the sensation made him expectantly caress her thighs. Her slickness coated him and when she tentatively rocked her hips against him, he saw stars.

Her hair fell down from its braided creation and dark locks danced around her face in sync with her body’s movements. Obi-Wan looked up at her and the sight of her visual pleasure together with the steady rocking of her body was almost too much for him. Eliise seemed to know her body well, for she easily found the right angle and rhythm, and then used them to chase what she wanted. Soon her breathing became ragged and she increased the friction between them. Obi-Wan felt her clench hard around his length but fought his first instinct to follow her. He was not done with her yet. When she shattered over him, he pulled her close and held her trembling body to his chest. As her breathing finally slowed down, she looked at him and met his lips in a sweet kiss. Obi-Wan ran his hand through her now loose hair and it felt like exclusive threads of silk against his palm.

With little effort he rolled her over and covered her body with his. His shaft was throbbing and hard as the finest beskar, but he took his time with her and savored the moment. Obi-Wan rested his hands on either side of Eliise’s head and watched her intensively as he slowly entered her again. A lovely whimper fell from her lips when she once again was stretched around his girth. Her starflower-colored eyes appeared to be rounder when he drove himself deep into her tightness and she grabbed his upper arms as he began to thrust against her. Obi-Wan’s initial self-doubt was lost somewhere between her pleading moans and the steady pace he set. His nature’s instinct was stronger than his mind and his body remembered exactly what it was required to do. As he watched Eliise’s fascinating reactions to the movement of his hips, he became aware of all the small details that exposed her pleasure and he wanted to remember them. The noises she made, the way her fingernails scratched his shoulders when he hit her most sensitive spot and how her eyes burned with need as he lowered himself to place heated kisses on her neck.

Eliise was close, he could feel her body tense in anticipation and this time he wanted to follow her all the way. With his blood boiling in his vein, Obi-Wan focused all his efforts on the movement he quickly learned gave her the greatest pleasure. When her moans eventually turned to a cry, and the sound of his name filled the room, he let go. Long years of tension lifted from his chest as he gave her all he had. The feeling of relief was more intense than he remembered. He collapsed over her, heavily panting, and when she finally released him from her tight hug, he rolled down on his back beside her. He pulled her closer to him and came to rest with her head on his arm. With his free hand he caressed her soft skin and she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. She was warm and smelled of flowers, even now after their lusty moment.

They rested in silence. Eliise absently played with the hair on his chest and he liked the feeling of her fingers slowly moving over his skin. No words were needed between them and when the room finally grew darker, Obi-Wan reluctantly broke the silence. ”I really should get going. I was expected to arrive much earlier, but now it’s time for me to continue my walk, alone.”

Eliise looked at him with sadness in her eyes. ”I understand,” she then said. ”You can’t let the senator wait?”

”How did you..?” Obi-Wan went silent, he had said too much.

”I did not. But when a Jedi suddenly shows up on Alderaan, he is not here to visit some old friend. Maybe, if that friend also happens to be of great importance. And you just confirmed it.”

Obi-Wan sighed. He was a fool, like so many other men trapped under the spell of a beautiful woman.

”Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” She smiled at him again and patted his arm. ”Perhaps you should get yourself ready.”

They rose from the bed and got their clothes on faster than Obi-Wan preferred. He wouldn’t have minded staying longer but it was getting late and he was on a mission. And he needed to sleep after the long trip if he was going to be the best he could the following day. Bail deserved nothing but the best. He believed in Obi-Wan, he always had, even now, when not even Obi-Wan believed in himself. But as he looked into Eliise’s eyes for what he assumed was the final time, he realized that he was a changed man. His back was a little straighter, he held his head a little higher. Somehow she managed to give him something he could not have found on his own. Gratitude filled his heart and he leaned in to give her a final kiss. He had nothing else to offer her. No promises nor words of comfort. When he reached for the handle to her door, she suddenly placed one of her small delicate hands on his arm. ”Wait!”

She was gone for only a short moment and when she returned she held a blue flower in her hand. Most of its long stalk was removed, only the flower remained. She placed it in his hand. ”Take this, maybe it will keep you safe. Maybe you will look at it and think of me.” He placed the little starflower in his hidden pocket and it made her smile at him one final time. Then Eliise hugged him and Obi-Wan briefly closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He would forever remember her scent.

When he stepped out on the street, Obi-Wan pulled his hood up and made sure his cloak covered the only evidence of who he really was. To his surprise the lightsaber felt less heavy now. He looked up at the dark sky where thousands of stars created beautiful patterns. For the first time ever, they made him think of flowers on a meadow. He smiled to himself. Eliise smelled like starflowers.

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#obi-wan #obi-wan kenobi #kenobi #obi-wan x oc #obi wan x oc #obi-wan fic #obi wan fic #obi wan fanfic #obi-wan fanfic #star wars #alderaan #star wars fic #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan #kenobi series

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bignaz8 · 1 year

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ARMISTICE DAY

Please take the time today to remember those that have given the ultimate sacrifice to protect and ensure the freedoms you enjoy today. World War I (the 'War to End All Wars') celebrated a cease fire on this day, November 11, 1918 at 11:11am, and yet still today active land mines from that horrific conflict lie in wait, still fighting that conflict.

I have been to the Verdun valley in France, where over 1.2 million died and to Fort Douaumont, which has now become a museum and a memorial to viewable remains of 350,000 unknown soldiers. Think about that for a minute. Once you've seen it, you will never forget it.

I have walked the remains of the trenches in the Argonne Forest where my great uncle Paul fought, and witnessed the eroded craters of artillery explosions and the bleached remains of soldiers that perished there and are still entombed there.

I have visited the American cemeteries in eastern France (which are actually US soil), visited Arizona hero Frank Luke's unassuming grave, and bowed my head in silent prayer.

I reflected on three patriots without whose efforts this nation may not have been forged. Abraham Woodhull (aka Samuel Culper), Anna Smith Strong and Caleb Brewster provided Washington with intelligence (the Culper Spy Ring) on British ship and British/Hessian troop movements that allowed decisive victories at Trenton (Crossing of the Delaware) and others. They did what was necessary and risked their lives to provide support to the concept of a new nation. I drove to Setauket, Long Island not long ago to visit their graves and pay my respects. I was honored in their presence. It made me ask the question: What would you risk to ensure freedom and liberty for yourself and your family?

I have been to the fortifications and ramparts of Fort Griswold in Groton, Connecticut where 88 militia volunteers, among them my children's great-great-great-great-great grandfather and his brothers and cousins, a Pequot Indian, and two free black men fought against British General Benedict Arnold's attack on Connecticut, September 6, 1781. During their surrender after hours of fighting against overwhelming odds, the British commander took American Colonel Ledyard's presentation sword of surrender and ran Ledyard through, then giving orders to execute everyone left alive. Their ancestor was badly wounded during the massacre and was carted off to a British prison ship of horrid condition.

During the decisive Battle of Yorktown and the surrender of the British and Lord Cornwallis on October 19, 1781, the battle cry was 'Remember Fort Griswold!'.

I have traveled to Dachau Concentration Camp, where those whose ideals, race or sexual preferences did not meet a ruling party's guidelines. My father was in the 20th Armored Division, 70th Armored Infantry as a medic, and was one of a handful of medics and soldiers that liberated Dachau. He personally witnessed the dead and dying, the buildings filled with heads, arms and legs. He saved hundreds there through medical attention without so much as a medal. It was the soldiers' duty. I still have the worn 48-star flag that he carried throughout Europe.

I've been to Anne Frank's house in Amsterdam. When your rights and freedoms are taken, it was horrible to witness the lengths taken and necessary to simply remain alive and preserve your humanity.

I have been to the Alamo, and stood at the spot where Davy Crockett fell on March 6, 1836 to help secure independence for Texas; and touched the mock-marked scars of bullets from that day in the limestone blocks of the old mission.

I have felt the sorrow on the battlefields at Gettysburg, grieved in silence at Arlington Cemetery, paid respects at Grant's home and Lee's grave, let the cool breeze wash over me at Little Big Horn, anguished at Wounded Knee, and paid my respects to the end of an era at Skeleton Canyon in Arizona where Geronimo surrendered. I have been to Geronimo's final resting place at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, surrounded by his family; far from their home in Arizona and New Mexico.

My grandfather was drafted for WWII and served in the Army as well on the home front. My uncle fought in Italy with the 10th Mountain and survived Anzio.

I stood at the Berlin Wall and felt the pain and anguish of a nation and people when I placed my hand on its graffiti surface. I wept for joy when I learned the news it was torn down November 9, 1989. There was nothing 'cold' about that war... except that long expanse of grey concrete.

I remember personally seeing the passion Pat Tillman had for the game of football when he was playing for Arizona State University. That passion carried over into a starting position with the Arizona Cardinals, and after September 11, 2001, his country. Even though his death was a tragedy, he decided to leave behind a multi-million dollar contract to defend this country and its ideals. Grit. Honor.

About eight years ago, I was at Costco and struck up a conversation at lunch with 88 and 93-year-old WWII veterans. The younger man served in Luzon, Philippines, and the other in the 20th Armored Division, 14th Artillery. They were both excited to know that I knew the history of the 20th Armored Division intimately from my father. After lunch was over, I made sure to thank them for their service and sacrifice. And in doing so, no less than 10 other strangers suddenly walked up to thank them as well. I ran into the 20th Armored Division gentleman another time the following year and bought him a hot dog and soda and ate with him. And thanked him once again.

Remember the Veterans... not just today, but every day, and say THANK YOU to them for ensuring your freedom to express your voice, your opinions, and your liberty. Freedom is never free, and there will always be those wanting to control and purge your unalienable rights.

#true story #mine

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venominyourcoffee · 2 years

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This Witch Has Me Bewitched

After a month of questing, in the mid of summer Jinx, Cebas and Zetari had said goodbye to Veronica who said they had to deal with problems back home. Cryptic and laced with anger, Veronica’s words were clear this was vampire business. The day Zetari saw Veronica off on her boat voyage, the two girls held hands. Sadness was clearly painted on Zetari’s face, as her cheek was caressed by Veronica’s cold hand. Only love and and care shined in Veronica’s red and yellow eyes as a warm smile was followed by a psychic message assaulted Zetari’s spinning subconscious. “I will find you again. And we will embrace in each other’s arms under the moonlight. Do not give up on me sweetie. I will always hold you in my fondest memories.” Those words, laced with such love and genuine care broke the Teifling, as tears burned her face more then hells fire ever could. The two drifted miles apart, but neither left each other’s mind or hearts.

It was the mid of fall, as the party settled in a tavern of a now ghost town. Their grim work to give the goddess Hella her army had left many towns vacant of life but drowned in death. The party set up in the now abandoned tavern of the dead village. The large Drow warrior Cebas sat down with a huff as he wiped his brow of sweat as he sat his heavy weapons on the floor. His gruff voice rung with the heavy tone of exhaustion. “Alright… that’s another what- five thousand? Isn’t that enough?” Jinx, the confident second in command was busy looting the corpses of the poisoned dead, who’s body stinks of mushrooms, ash and sulfur, and pure sick as their throats melt for, the toxins. Jinx raises their head to stare at Cebas. “What’s our total? Like… 30,000? Let’s see two thousand bought Hella a good month of power… so this would buy her a year right?” Zetari, who was looting her share and shaking her head responded. “You know what they say. Jokes about murder aren’t funny, unless they are executed properly.” Zetari shoots Jinx some finger guns, which follows Jinx fighting then surrendering to her laughter as Cebas rolls his eyes. Zetari smiled and shook her head as she stood up. “Look, until Veronica gets back, I say we keep going. Wipe this country of cunts off the map. When Veronica gets back, she’ll give the final say.” Jinx gave a smug look as they said “oh your just kissing ass so you can kiss something other then her ass.” Zetari chuckled and quickly made a comment. “Hey what can I say, I love that ASSassin.” Followed by more finger guns. Zetari and Jinx were about finishing up their looting when Cebas made a silence motion. “I hear something…” he whispered with narrowing eyes. The party grabbed their gear and tip toed to the windows to see if there was any danger. Though the curtains and listing to the whistling of the wind, the party saw something they’ve never seen. A living soul after their massacre. Walking through the valley of death, was a tall hooded figure in a full robe like attire which covered their entire physique. However through the defining silence of the dead village, a single sound could be heard as the party readied their ambush. The tall hidden figured was singing a song as their cloaked figure almost glided across the dirt path like an Angel of death.

The song was distant but became clearer as it sounded like a female. “*The night… she calls me… she calls me… she sways in her velvet dress… and pulls… me closer to the dark… while… the others rest…*” the song was sung with melancholy, as if a broken record was set to play. The party was confused, except Zetari. In Zetari’s mind a flash of a memory strikes at her. The memory of a moonlit night, silk restraints, wandering and caring hands, a lustful moan and a sweet voice singing this exact song. A song Veronica had written and sung for Zetari on their month anniversary. Zetari could feel her heart stop as she immediately ran out into the road, despite her companions protest. “Veronica? Veronica!? Veronica is that you!?” Was all Zetari could think as she ran to the figure. However as she got closer to the figure, she realized it couldn’t be Veronica. This figure was too short, thin and not as well endowed as her loving Mistress. Cebas drew his weapon, as did Jinx as they took a defensive stance ready to back Zetari up. Zetari knew it wasn’t Veronica but she needed answers. So she ripped the cloak way, and revealed a horrid sight. A human woman in her late 30s, wearing only a bar and panties, her skin pale, her eyes stained with tears and a dead pan face. The most noticeable thing was her tattoos. Hundreds of tattoos laced her skin all written in a demonic old forgotten tongue. “What the fuck!?” Zetari exclaimed loudly as the party ran to her side. Confused, Cebas studied the tattoos. “Abyssal? Maybe infernal? I can’t make heads or tales of it…” the tattooed woman stopped singing and began to speak. “Z-Zetari… please… r-read…” she said in a broken monotone voice as she held out her hands and produced a pure black envelope with a red wax seal. Zetari took the envelope and tore it open and was surprised to see Veronica’s handwriting.

“My darling belovid, I write to you in apologies for being gone for so long. I know not if you can forgive me but I hope I still hold a place in your heart. I have thought of you for every night we spent apart. Your beautiful eyes and how they glow in the moonlight, your gorgeous voice that has sung such sweet and sensual music to my ears, the very scent you have and most of all your tender touch. I have moaned and preyed your name every night as my hands explore my aching desire to be with you again. My moans as prayers to any god that will bring you back to me. I have missed you so much. But this letter comes with good news my love. Follow this girl, a fraction of what I can do now. Follow her, and she will lead you and you alone to me. You will fall into my arms at long last. Sincerely and ever lovingly yours. *Veronica*.”

Zetari’s eyes widened as she shouted “she’s alive I knew it!” Over the course of 10 minutes Zetari got her belongings together and told the party she planned to leave. “When are you getting back?” Cebas asked. “Whenever she feels like bitch! Go get your girl Zet! We’ll kill this whole land so you and Veronica can watch Hella kill some gods.” Jinx gave a warm hug goodbye to wish her well on her travels. “I’ll be back soon. Stay safe Captan.” A sad but warm smile sent Zetari off. Her and the weeping girl traveled to the closest port, a previous victim of the parties quest to make Hella unstoppable. In the dead and silent port village, a single ship was docked, its flag a black background with a bloody dagger on the symbol. The crew all had similar attire of the cloaked girl. All silently crying and covered in tattoos. The crew was silent as they lead Zetari to her sleeping quarters and told her to stay there. Surly they didn’t mean the entire voyage did they? How long was this even going to last? These questions rushed through Zetari’s mind as she started to worry Veronica was in danger. Troubled but determined, she laid her belongs on a bench and sat on the bed. “Please be ok Veronica…” Zetari mumbled to herself as she felt the ship begin to sail. Zetari could feel the waves knock the ship back and forth as it set sail, the sound of ship busywork played above her as she could hear the crew walk around. However something caught Zetari off guard. The crew began singing in unison.

“*All hands… final voyage… dead men… tell of savage… all hands… the waves are cold… all hands… through night we are bold…*”

They sang all in unison, as if some sea shanty from hell. Zetari fekt her anxiety grow, especially when she looked out her cabin window and saw the horizon start to disappear in a cloud of thick fog that slowly turned everything outside in a black shadow. And the crew kept singing. Zetari was no fool, as she pulled her weapon of choice and readied a few combat spells and was prepared to fight. Her heart was pounding as the crew droned on and on with their horrid macabre melody. She was ready for a fight, but something felt off.

Eventually the singing stopped and the world faded back to vision outside, but it was different. Outside was a blood red moon on a horizon of a black sea and the ship seemed docked. The door opened and it was the woman Zetari first met, but something was different. She was smiling, seeming happy and her tattoos gave a slight faint red glow as she bowed. “The mistress is expecting you, miss Zetari.” Zetari instantly seemed confused, asking a question still in a defensive pose. “Mistress? Where are we!? What master do you serve!?” She hissed with anger and building anxiety. The woman nodded and bowed. “You are on the far shore of our masters homeland. And our mistress is addressed as Veronica Snow.”

Hearing that phrase almost calmed her instantly as she lowered her guard. “Good god Veronica… what have you been up to?” She mumbled to herself as the girl lead her off the ship. The sand was pure black and the crew were all smiling as if they were among family. Zetari was confused until she was taken back by a massive castle close to the shore of the beach her ship was docked at. The towering spirals and gothic architecture were stunning and made this feel like somewhere else entirely. Was this hell? That question had darted in and out of Zetari’s mind. She was lead along a carved stone path up to the castles main door. The door was massive with black iron braces and the smell of blood was thick and pungent around the door. The now happy cloaked knocked on the door which rung out like a church bell. Within seconds the door slowly creeped open by an unknown force. The massive doors revealed a massive room with black rose wallpaper, gold accents, a massive central staircase, beautiful dark red strained glass windows, armor sets from seven eras, and the lingering sound of violins being played. As Zetari stepped in, the smell of blood was replaced with elegant wine and the smell of roses and lavender. The doors slowly creeped closed behind her, trapping her in this gothic dream scape. “What the fresh funky hell is this…?” She couldn’t stop herself from saying such a statement while she admired the decor. Her eye went wide when she saw what art was hanged in the wall. They were all oil paintings of Veronica and Zetari, some tasteful and some a bit more lewd but all were beautifully made.

Zetari attempted to try and make some reason of this, until her eyes widened as a familiar silky voice rang in her ears. “Ah~ doth my lust and yearning deceive my poor still heart? Or has my prayers been answered and my darling love has been returned to me?” Zetari quickly spun around to face the long winding staircase where she saw her. A tall woman with pale white skin, long red nails, yellow and red eyes glowing in the shallow light and a long flowing black lace dress with long red and black hair. Veronica Snow, the sight almost made Zetari cry as she ran up to hug her tight. Zetari’s face smashed right into Veronica’s ample chest which was largely exposed by the cleavage of the dress. It was a deep comfort for Zetari as she felt Veronica hold her close and lightly pet her hair. This calming sensation of safety and the coldness of Veronica’s skin was such a familiar but deep feeling for Zetari that almost brought her to tears as Veronica spoke softly. “Oh it’s alright doll. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I’m just glad your safe and I can give my love the life she deserves.” Zetari pulls herself together as she is confused by that statement and slowly looks up at her gothic butterfly of a girlfriend. “What do you mean?” She asks with a slight sniffle as she tries not to cry. Veronica smiles warmly and kisses Zetari’s cheek. “Come with me my love. I will explain.” Veronica takes Zetari’s hand and guides her through the castle hallways, all decorated with more lavish paintings of the couple and blooming rare flowers and plants. Even more cloaked figures line the building as they act as maids and staff as their all wearing similar tattoos and red robes.

Eventually Zetari is taken into a walled in safe garden. The garden is full of beautiful rare flowers which bloom with brilliant bright colors which contrast with the darker gothic world around them. Zetari could see butterflies of bright reds and blues fly around the flowers as thick lush green vibes climb their way up the dark brick walls as it smelled like a beautiful hand crafted perfume. Zetari’s was taken back as many of the flowers being grown were flowers she had told Veronica she liked. Veronica sat Zetari down on a lush and soft patch of grass and placed a flower crown of carnations on Zetari’s head and held her hands close. “My love I should explain why I left. I had learned of a dying vampire lord who held great power and was in debt to my clan. I had learned I could inherit their power and that made me think of one thing… you.” Zetari looked surprised. She knew Veronica was wicked and power hungry, so why was she thinking of her? Veronica continued. “I am aware in our relationship I am in charge. I control when you touch, when you climax, what you are and are not allowed to say around me… but with that level of submission and trust, I must show equal care and respect. I hold you close to my heart and in our short time together I have rediscovered what love feels like. I gained the power of this vampire lord nit to become stronger. But so I could give you the life you deserve. Covered in my love and gold and living in luxury that was not fated in the cards you were dealt.”

Zetari was so taken back that tears started to finally flow. “V-Veronica what are you talking about?” Veronica smiled and caressed Zetari’s face and wiped the tears away. “I’m saying you are my forever. You are the blood I crave. You are the moon I worship. You entice and excite me like the very night itself! You are my moonlight, for without you I cannot live, nor would I wish to.” Zetari was silent as a dumb love struck smile covered her face as she leaned into the caring touch. “Thank you Veronica.”

Veronica smiled and slowly leaned closer to Zetari, and she did the same. Within seconds their lips were inches apart as Veronica could feel the hot breath on her lips. Zetari’s chest started to move up and down as her breathing got faster and heavier. “Please” Zetari begged. “Please kiss me!” Veronica smiled and gave out a wicked chuckle. “So in the moment and you still know the manners i taught you. Such a good girl for me~” the familiar dominant tone to Veronica’s voice had retuned, and it was like sweet refreshing water in a desert for Zetari. Veronica gave in with a chuckle and gave Zetari the kiss she craved. The kiss was slow at first, while Veronica gently caressed Zetari’s cheek as her other hand snaked it’s way to her hip and pulled her closer until Zetari was sitting in Veronica’s lap and held her tight. As Zetari sat in the lab of her love, being held close, having her hair stroked, she couldn’t stop a few moans escaping as the kissing went on and on. After 30 seconds, Zetari allowed her mouth to open so her and Veronica could French kiss. Feeling Veronica kiss her so passionately and with such love and building lust, Zetari began to whine and whimper and moan as her chest heaved with her quickly fading breath. Veronica took this as a sign to further her advances. Veronica on her part missed this so much. Hearing her adorable submissive girlfriend whine and moan was the only music she had wanted to hear all month. Finally hearing it was like a drug, pure ecstasy. Veronica deepened the kiss and slid her hand up Zetari’s thigh and along her pant leg. Zetari felt her being felt up and then it happened.

When Zetari and Veronica first had sex, Zetari was exposed to something new. The feeling of giving over control, the feeling of getting genuine praise and letting go. It all built into this beautiful bliss-like high. Zetari felt as if she was going lightheaded as her body and mind relaxed more and more as Veronica took control. It was lust, primal lust, but it was also love, care, respect and tender. Zetari could hear the words from that night on repeat. The same words Veronica whispered into her ear as Veronica’s long, slender and cold hands explored Zetari’s aching heat. “Good girl~ let it out, don’t hide. Your beautiful so beautiful! Let it all out. It’s ok, your safe with me. Let me see all of you. Let me hear those moans you’ve kept quiet for so long~ let me see your beauty in full shine~ good girl~ that’s it, good girl for me~” Those words would always make Zetari blush and her legs weak. And now, after so long apart, she was feeling it again. The bliss, the high, the rush of blood that went from her brain straight to between her legs. Zetari’s moans and whimpers got louder and Veronica noticed. Veronica grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled her head away from Zetari, a thin string of saliva connecting their tongues and lips. Zetari’s eyes were watery and glossy as the clear look of nonverbal begging was written all over her face. And despite Zetari trying to dive back into her obsession, Veronica’s grip on her hair kept her in place as Veronica ran a thumb over Zetari’s parted lips. Veronica smiled with a wicked grin. “Oh my oh my~” her voice was drunk off the lust and full of sensual tones. “My poor kitten has missed her mistress so much. Have you missed me, doll?” Zetari, slightly drunk off her spinning mind, simply whined and nodded her head. Veronica smiled and gently laid Zetari on her back and muttered an arcane incantation. Veronica pinned Zetari down as two ghostly hands appeared in thin air and slowly undid Zetari’s pants and her buckles. Veronica kissed Zetari deeply as Zetari’s eyes fluttered closed as her pants were loosened and pulled down past her ankles.

Zetari’s lower torso was now bare except for the very tight white panties which had a very large and growing dark wet patch around her crotch. Almost without thinking, Zetari spread her legs and Veronica noticed, as her long fingers caressed and snaked down her lovers bare thigh. Veronica moaned as she pulled away to kiss and lightly bite Zetari’s neck and began to whisper into her ear as her fingers danced around Zetari’s waist. “What do you desire my love? Muster what’s left of your sanity and will and tell me what you want. I will give you whatever you desire. Your wish is my command my darling~” Zetari’s heart was racing, her breath hot and heavy and her focus fading. “P-please!” She begged loudly and without a steady breath and through a loud whimper. “Take me Veronica! Make me remember! Make my body remember your command! Take me!” She moaned and whined, on the verge of tears out of desperation and sexual frustration. Veronica listened as her cold hand snaked it’s way underneath the waist band of Zetari’s panties, which earned a sharp loud moan from her. Veronica used her hand to gently rub between Zetari’s folds, using her thumb and palm to make slow, deep circular motions on her clit. Not enough to give significant pleasure but just enough to build the fire building in Zetari’s core. Zetari’s mouth as agape as moans and whines flowed like water as her back began to arch and her eyes finally producing tears out of pure desperation.

Veronica was drinking in every noise her beloved was making like a fine aged wine. Zetari wanted to cover her mouth, embarrassed how quickly and easily she fell apart for her gothic heart stopper. She wanted to cover her mouth so bad, but then she heard the words from that first night again. “*let it out, don’t hide. Your beautiful so beautiful! Let it all out. It’s ok, your safe with me.*” those words almost soothed Zetari and let her slip into the calmness. Veronica felt Zetari relax as her moans were let free, and thus Veronica finally slid her digits into the hot wet weak spot that Zetari craved more stimulation. Zetari let out a loud scream-like moan as she yelled “goddess yes!” Hearing that triggered something in Veronica as her eyes darkened. “Goddess? Not god? Goddess specifically? Was… was she praying to me? Does she see this pleasure as powerful as a gods power? Do I make her feel that good? Fuck… FUCK I want her to say that again!” These dominant thoughts flooded Veronica’s mind as a darker lust filled her. Like an animal who smelled blood. Blood… she needed blood, she needed Zetari. Very, very bad. Veronica let out a deep grunting moan as she whispered into Zetari’s ear. “Beg.”

Zetari’s eyes shot open as she heard the command. It sent a bolt of pleasure shooting throughout her body as if a switch was triggered. Something came over Zetari, something primal and deep rooted. A fury of pleads and moans flowed from her. “P-please! Please let me cum mistress! Please I’ll do anything! P-please let me c-cum!” These begging pleads fueled Veronica as her fingers moved at a greater speed, hitting Zetari’s most sensitive spots driving her crazy. Veronica was going without mercy and something in Zetari snapped and with a whimper and a loud scream-like moan escaped her mouth as she gripped the grass under her and shouted “PLEASE MY GODDESS MAKE ME CUM!” That one sentence drove the fire in Veronica to burn ever brighter and drove her to more intense action. Veronica removed her hand and stood back, staring at the slick liquid on her fingers with a hungry stare. Zetari laid breathless, her eyes glossy and fluttering open and shut. Veronica licked the sweet juices from her fingers and smiled. Delicious, truly better then blood.” With that, Veronica lifted Zetari’s legs and threw them over her shoulder and immediately latched her mouth over Zetari’s wet blooming flower.

The sudden feeling of one pair of lips meeting another made Zetari jump and jolt as Veronica’s tongue was long and reached every sweet spot inside Zetari. Veronica’s lapped up every drip of Zetari’s dripping honey with a vigorous hunger and quickly gaining satisfaction. Zetari was screaming her moans as her hands instinctively grabbed and gripped her lovers hair and pull her closer as she chased her high. The only things coming out of her mouth was “please”. The screamed moans filled the emptiness of the castle and the garden as Veronica loved every second. The constant new stimulus to Zetari’s aching heat made her legs shake and her toes curl as she reached her limit, and her head getting more and more fuzzy and harder to think. Zetari began screaming in between moans. “Pleas goddess- please- cum! Please goddess cum! Please cum!” As full sentences became impossible. Veronica doubled her effort and slowly but then suddenly, a wave of pleasure washed then crashed against Zetari as she twitched and shook. Zetari’s mind almost shut off as the overwhelming pleasure made her eyes roll back as her back arched. The incredible high was all she could feel. It was earthshaking.

Zetari’s eyesight faded to black slightly as she suddenly felt a lack of pleasure and instead felt close to Veronica. Veronica had started cuddling and holding Zetari very close, petting her hair and calming her down. Veronica breathed with her love and telling her to mimic her breath. “Shhhh it’s ok love. Your safe with me. Sleep, go ahead and nap. You’ve done so good my love.” Hearing her girlfriend be so comforting and calming lured Zetari into a deep sleep as her body relaxed and she fell asleep to a bliss and calmness she had missed.

Zetari’s dreams were pink and soft, a dream of candy clouds and her and Veronica being together. Her mind was still fuzzy with all the pleasure she felt so her dreams were a reflection of that. Eventually Zetari felt herself wake up, and she was not in the garden anymore. She felt soft smooth silk touching her bare skin, she felt her body was bare and under a blanket, her head rested on a soft pillow. Zetari’s eyes fluttered open as she saw she was in a massive bedroom, and laying on a huge bed with lace curtains along the bed posts. The room was dark as sunlight was creeping through the thick velvet curtains that stretch to the ceiling and hide the tall windows and conceal the coming dawn. The room smelled of aged wine, roses and the soothing smell of rain. When Zetari realized she was naked under the blanket a slight blush creeped on her quickly warming face. She jumped slightly as she heard the large dark oak doors to the bedroom open as she clutched the blanket to hide herself. However she relaxed when she saw it was Veronica, dressed in tasteful lingerie and a very see-through lace robe. Her hair was down as she was carrying a trey of food. “Good morning love. You slept like a baby.” Zetari smiled and shook her head. “God I haven’t felt that good since you left… it’s a little embarrassing but… I haven’t had sex since you left. I haven’t even touched myself so… I was pretty pent up.” Veronica smiled and sat the trey on the bedside table and sat on the side of the bed to give Zetari a kiss. “You don’t have to hide you know. I’ve seen everything and no one is allowed in here. The servants here obey me completely.” Zetari smiled and let the blanket fall, revealing her bare breasts as her nipples were hard due to the cold air in the room. Zetari took a breath as she stretched and looked to Veronica. “Thank you. I’ve missed you. But what is this place?” Veronica smiled and placed the trey of French toast and fruit juice on Zetari’s lap as she sat up to explain. “The vampire lord of this castle turned the entire population of the nearby village into his thralls. If their away from these grounds they cry and show no emotion. That’s why they seemed a little creepy when they fetched you. Well I knew the lord, from a very long time ago. He was silver poisoned but a hunter and sent for me in his finals days so I could inherit the estate and the staff. I haven’t even told you, there’s a massive library of spell scrolls. You could be the most powerful wizard in the world!” Veronica spoke like her true self, a power hungry villain with a wicked sense of humor. The true persona Zetari also fell in love with. She listened to her evil genius girlfriend rant as she ate. The French tipsy was delicious.

Zetari stopped eating for a second and looked to Veronica. “Why do all this? I still don’t understand?” Veronica composed herself and smiled as she sat next to Zetari. “Because, we can’t do this forever. Eventually the killing will grow old. The adventuring will get tiring and slowly not worth it. But us? Our love? That will never grow weak. When you tire of adventuring and killing, when you just want to settle down, we have this place. And I will finally get to give this to you properly;” Veronica smiles as she reaches into a drawer of the bed side table and pulls out a ring box and opens it. Revealing a beautiful gold and silver ring with a beautiful dark red Diamond that glows like a rainbow. On the inside of the ring is an elvish engraving that translates to “Our love will out last every empire.” Zetari’s eyes widened as she covered her mouth to cover her shock. “Is- is that-“ Zetari stumbled. Veronica nodded and smiled. “I’ve been thinking of it for a while. Your my everything Zetari. I love you, and I want to call you my wife. The question is, will you say yes?” Zetari started crying slightly out of pure joy as she immediately hugged Veronica tight and squealed with joy. “Yes! Yes a thousand times yes!!” Veronica smiled and cried as well as she held her naked bride to be. It had been a few minutes as the two girls calmed down as Zetari tried in the ring, it fit perfectly. Zetari smiled feeling complete as Veronica held her close in her arms. “I want my honeymoon to be here, I assume that’s why you got the place at all?” Zetari asked through a big smile. Veronica smiled and nodded. “Yes. The vampire lord said he’d give me the ring and the castle. And there’s enough gold in the basement to get a wedding anywhere in the world. Anything for, and I’m so glad I can finally say, my bride to be.” Zetari smiled as she felt her heart warm and beat double time. “Fiancée, I think is the word your looking for.”

The girls spent the morning in beg cuddling, planning their wedding and just feeling each other’s love. It had been a good hour before the two girls found themselves in a position where Zetari found herself being hugged as she sat in Veronica’s lap. “So, when do we head back? We’ve got a country to kill and a god to make unstoppable.” Zetari said with a smilie as she saw Veronica bite her lip as she admired her brides body as her hands rested on her hips. “Perhaps we can stay here a few days? We have a lot of time apart to make up for.” Veronica said with lust lacing her words. Zetari smiled and kissed Veronica deeply and spoke in a breathless voice. “Well my goddess, your servant is waiting~”

#wlw love #wlw smut #gay smut #dnd stories #dungeons and dragons #vampire #gay vampires #gay love #love #wlw story #gay story #wedding proposal

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starry-skies-116 · 2 years

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Woohoo Zanado Lore!!11!1! (My FNAF AU, Ancient Past!)

In ancient, archaic times, a primordial meteor of an invaluable material crashed into the earth of modern day Utah- containing seemingly vastly infinite deposits of an unknown material, born from the cores and hearts of dying stars. They contained concentrated supernatural power incarnate, and over the years, their previously highly unstable and volatile state began to stabilize up until humanity’s discovery of the meteor.

Strangely enough, the impact heavily enriched the soil and plant life- the environment was not too lush, yet resembling that of more natural babylonian hanging gardens- the supernatural powers of the meteor brought a clean water source, copious amounts of wildlife, and most importantly, the deposits within the meteor served to advance technology substantially (it was also the material from which Tesseract Cores were created).

Zanado’s architecture itself was grand and vastly sophisticated, intricate and majestically beautiful- crafted from marble and gold and sandstone, temples with frescoes embedded into them, grand and ornate palaces with elegant miniature hanging gardens everywhere of lush vegetation- hulking towers and skyscrapers nearly as tall as the ones we have today before they all fell to ruin. There were little streams and waterfalls throughout the entire city, and the more gigantic Creations, such as golem-like, dragon-like and titan-like Creations resided in enormous, carved out caves, caverns and gigantic tunnels below the surface.

The deposits inside the meteor were dubbed by the people of Zanado as Aether (NOT REMNANT, REMNANT AND ARCANE CRESTS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN PRESENT INSIDE HUMAN BEINGS AND BIOLOGICAL ORGANISMS OF EARTH), which was a near-indestructible, completely vibration resistant, sonoluminescent, manually malleable metal that could be used for a variety of purposes, also compatible with biological organisms of earth due to the similar supernatural properties being compatible with one another. The Aether ore in its raw form was a luminescent, shimmering and iridescent rock, and could be alloyed into many different forms.

Due to the Aether’s influence, Zanado became one of the most technologically advanced, most beautiful and most prosperous civilizations in the world at the time- they also became self-sufficient and relatively isolationist, hiding themselves away from the rest of the world.

Seriously- in addition to Creations, they had shit like all the modern technology we have today plus holograms, instant communication, aircrafts, etc. The people of Zanado used it for their weapons, their power sources, sewing it into their clothes and crafting it into their jewelry, using it for their aircrafts and vehicles, etc. THEY HAD A PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION SYSTEM MADE OUT OF SONIC-BASED TRAINS. These people were sophisticated and prosperous, and their civilization/city was at the heart of the valley/canyon, where the meteor impacted

That is, of course, until the massacre- both Creations and Humans were essentially slaughtered in the thousands. Surviving Creations were captured, tortured and enslaved up (until the second massacre in the Medieval Times) and the said invading tribes made off with the Aether material in a mad scramble for power, taking what little deposits they could- as a result, Aether was scattered around the world, and up until the Medieval Times, people who knew of its existence began to fight over it, right up until experiments with remnant and Aether were ceased entirely, their existence and all evidence pertaining to it buried wholly so humanity’s later generations would forget about it entirely.

Better to just leave it behind entirely, rather than dig it back up and relive those horrible memories, after all.

#au lore #lore reveal!! woohoo!#my au #my au fnaf #zanado (fnaf my au)#ancient fictional history

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shubhaytoursandtravel · 1 month

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The Truth About Punjab: Land of Plenty, Heart of India

Punjab, situated in the northwestern region of India, is commonly known as the "Land of Five Rivers." This area is rich in history, culture, and tradition. With its lively festivals, delectable cuisine, intriguing past, and welcoming nature, Punjab presents a diverse range of experiences for adventurous travelers. Let us embark on a voyage with Shubhay Tours as we delve into the core of Punjab and discover the true essence of this enchanting land

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Historical Importance

Punjab's history spans back millennia, with evidence of an ancient civilization dating back to the Indus Valley Civilization. Different empires, including the Mauryan, Gupta, and Mughal dynasties, have ruled over Punjab throughout its existence. Nevertheless, it was the rise of the Sikh Empire under the reign of Maharaja Ranjit Singh in the 19th century that significantly shaped the course of Punjab's history.

Guru Nanak Dev Ji initiated the rich heritage of Sikhism in the 15th century, intricately entwining it with the very identity of Punjab. Standing as a testament to the everlasting impact and spiritual significance of this belief system, the Golden Temple in Amritsar holds a revered position as the most sacred shrine for Sikhs.

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Cultural Legacy

The vibrant festivals, music, dance, and art of Punjab beautifully reflect its rich cultural heritage. The Bhangra dance, with its energetic movements and rhythmic beats, is an integral part of Punjabi culture, symbolizing joy and celebration. During festive occasions such as Vaisakhi and Lohri, the streets of Punjab come alive with colorful processions, traditional music, and folk performances, offering visitors a captivating glimpse into the festive spirit that permeates the region.

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Generations of Punjabi women have passed down the Phulkari embroidery, celebrated for its intricate floral patterns and vibrant colors. Each stitch in this traditional art form narrates a unique story, reflecting the beauty and resilience of Punjab's cultural heritage.

Cuisine

To fully experience a visit to Punjab, one must savor its delectable cuisine. Punjabi dishes are famous for their rich flavors, extensive use of spices, and satisfying meals. Whether it's the famous butter chicken and sarson da saag with makki di roti or the flavorful paneer tikka and chole bhature, each dish promises a gastronomic experience.

At the Golden Temple, the langar, which is the community kitchen, generously offers free meals to countless individuals who visit each day, without any consideration of their background or faith. This practice truly embodies the core principle of seva, which is the act of selfless service deeply embedded in Sikhism.

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Tourists Attraction

Golden Temple, Amritsar: Standing as the holiest shrine in Sikhism, the Golden Temple in Amritsar is a remarkable blend of architectural brilliance and spiritual devotion. The shimmering golden exterior of the temple casts a mesmerizing reflection in the sacred pool, captivating all who visit. Nestled amidst the bustling streets of Amritsar, this awe-inspiring sight is truly a testament to the city's rich cultural heritage.

Jallianwala Bagh, Amritsar: This notable landmark honors the tragic massacre of countless unarmed civilians by British forces in 1919. At present, it stands as a memorial to the courageous martyrs and serves as a poignant reminder of India's relentless pursuit of independence.

Wagah Border, Amritsar: Experience the electrifying atmosphere of the Wagah Border ceremony in Amritsar, where Indian and Pakistani border guards engage in a colorful flag-lowering ceremony every evening. The magnificence and excitement of this event are simply mesmerizing. Popular Domestic & International Hotels-By Shubhay Tours

Anandpur Sahib: Anandpur Sahib, also referred to as the "City of Bliss," is an important Sikh pilgrimage site. See the Takht Sri Kesgarh Sahib, one of the five temporary seats of Sikh sovereignty, and the Anandpur Sahib Fort.

Patiala: Discover the majestic city of Patiala, renowned for its splendid palaces such as the Qila Mubarak complex and the Sheesh Mahal. Ensure you do not overlook the opportunity to indulge in the renowned Patiala peg, a whiskey measure named after this very city.

Sultanpur Lodhi: Sultanpur Lodhi, a town of immense sanctity for Sikhs, holds a special place as it was the abode of Guru Nanak Dev Ji for a considerable period. To pay tribute to the esteemed founder of Sikhism, one can embark on a visit to the Gurdwara Ber Sahib and the historic Rori Sahib Gurudwara. These revered sites provide a serene atmosphere to honor Guru Nanak Dev Ji and immerse oneself in the teachings of Sikhism.

Fatehgarh Sahib: Home to several important Sikh shrines, including the Fatehgarh Sahib Gurudwara and the Bhora Sahib Gurudwara, this town holds significance in commemorating the sacrifice of the younger Sahibzadas of Guru Gobind Singh Ji.

Chandigarh: Uncover the first planned city in India, masterfully planned by the acclaimed architect Le Corbusier. Don't miss the chance to visit the Rock Garden, Sukhna Lake, and the Capitol Complex to witness the city's modern architectural marvels and lush green surroundings.

Amritsar Heritage Walk: Explore the rich heritage of Amritsar's old city by joining a guided walking tour. Immerse yourself in the charm of the narrow lanes as you uncover hidden treasures, vibrant traditional markets, and ancient Havelis steeped in history.

Maharaja Ranjit Singh Museum, Ludhiana: Immerse yourself in the extraordinary life and profound legacy of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, the legendary Sikh ruler, as you visit this museum that houses a fascinating array of artifacts, paintings, and weapons from his era. Istanbul Special 4D3N-BOOK NOW!

Conclusion

Punjab, renowned for its lively culture, fascinating past, and delectable cuisine, presents an authentic and captivating journey for travelers. Whether you are wandering through the historic lanes of Amritsar, reveling in the rhythmic beats of the dhol at a Punjabi wedding, or indulging in the tantalizing flavors of traditional dishes, Punjab enthralls the senses and leaves an indelible mark on every visitor. Embrace the warmth and hospitality of Punjab with Shubhay tours and uncover the essence of India in this enchanting land of five rivers.

#punjab #punjab tour package #amritsar #golden temple #jallianwalbagh #punajbtrip

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