#Local Temple Built by

[thatshowthingstarted]

Temple-Theater of Monte San Nicola, Casertano, Italy

Discovered accidentally by Nicolino Lombardi while flying in his ultralight helicopter, the Temple-Theater reveals a compelling story of historical intrigue dating back to the late Ancient Roman Republican period, possibly around the 2nd-1st century BC.

This remarkable archaeological site, hidden for centuries beneath overgrown vegetation, has sparked scholarly debate about whether the complex was built by Roman architects or indigenous Italic tribes like the Samnites.

Situated at an elevation of 410 meters in the scenic Sannio area, the presence of nearby tombs suggests that it fell out of use by the 2nd century AD. If the dating is accurate, the construction of the temple-theater coincided with Rome's victories over rivals such as Carthage and conflicts with local enemies.

Positioned strategically to overlook key northern routes, the complex likely represented Rome's growing power in the region.

Similar to the Samnite theater at Pietrabbondante, this structure symbolizes Rome's control over the Italian landscape, reflecting ancient rivalries and ambitions.

[muzansfangs]

Mojito + Douma & Kokushibo

Devotion.

Starring: Douma x f!reader; Kokushibo x f!reader; Douma x f!reader x Kokushibo; mention to Gyokko and Muzan;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, public sex, dom!Kokushibo, dom!Douma, sub!reader, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, anal penetration, double penetration, bitemarks, hair pulling, reader is a demon, manhandling, blood drinking, violence in battle, consuming humans, dispicable use of blood as a cosmetic, kind of sacrilegious scenary (sex in the shrine area);

Plot: As one of Douma’s most loyal followers, you had some privileges. One of those was being turned into a demon and trained to climb the ranks of the Upper Moons. When Gyokko died, Muzan chose you to take his place. In the middle of a training session with the leader of the Eternal Paradise Cult and the Upper Moon One, you accidentally hit them with your blood demon technique: aphrodisiac blood. Pinned down by your comrades, you were demanded to show them your devotion.

Drink chosen: MOJITO (double!penetration, threesome, anal sex, vaginal sex, marking the partner);

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT | RULES FOR THE EVENT

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The Moon glowed solitary in a starless dark sky. Under the pale light provided by the satellite, you were sitting on the cold stairs of an ancient shrine, forgotten by the neglectful humans who had built it centuries ago to probably appease the divine wrath of their god. Ivy and dirt blanketed the abandoned building, now deemed a pit of demons and curses by the local folklore. Pitiful. It was nothing but pitiful. You grimaced at the thought of the typical human inconsistency and stupidity.

Still, not long ago, you were a human too. Some memories from your past life still flashed in your mind. Who were you before you turned into a blood-thirsted creature? You were a devoted young girl, living in a Temple in which people disappeared mysteriously from their beds in the dead of the night. It was a ritual, or this is what the Leader of the Cult wanted his followers to believe. Those humans were doomed. Their naivety and faith were their downfall. However, while he deliberately manipulated the whining mass of people seeking protection and blessings from him, he had never tried to hide his identity, his nature, to you. Loyal to him, you had always stood by his side, not manifesting horrified expressions, when he devoured people in front of you. Your fingers were usually threading through his silky platinum blond hair, whilst he fed. Humming sweet melodies for him, helping him to bathe, you had gradually become his life companion, or something close to it. Along with the favors and attentions he required, he did not abstain from asking you to indulge into the bed with him.

Satisfying your Lord, though, did not feel unpleasant. There was something enthralling about the way he broke you down and built you up.

To show you his gratitude, Douma had therefore turned you into a demon to preserve your beauty. It was amusing how you had inheridated some of his characteristic. Your nails, pointy and lilac, were among them. Your devotion intensified. By the time you had trained enough to be capable of not shaking in front of Muzan Kibutsuji, Douma had suggested him to make you one of the Twelve Kitsuki. You felt on top of the world, the glory of finally standing at the top ensnared your senses and you gladly complied to the King of demons’s order to show your loyalty to him.

Standing up now, you detected the subtle attack coming from your left. Dodging it was easy, the golden tessen aiming at your neck cut a mere strand of your hair. You smirked, kneeling a few feet away from your opponent. Pearly fangs shining under the moonlight, Douma waved his hand at you casually.

“Ah, you’ve become so agile, Y/N-chan!” Douma stated, as you casually approached him with a soft smile on your red-painted lips. He, only he or another demon could say what it was smeared over your mouth.

His hand gripping your hair and straining your neck made you wince. His tongue darted out of his mouth, lapping at the dried blood you used to decorate your lips. Your clawed hand gripped his cheek, nails digging onto the smooth flesh enough to pierce his flesh and draw blood. You had become so much rougher with each other since you had become the new Upper Rank Five. Your animalistic and savage nature had kicked in, surprising your carefree friend to some extents.

“And you are perpetually needy” you whispered, lips hovering over his, before you ungraciously shoved him off of you and caused him to tumble onto the ground.

Douma was fascinated, watching as you rested your bare foot on top of his broad chest and bit down onto your wrist. Oh, how much he loved feeding from you. The sight of your crimson blood dribbling down your skin and splattering onto his face made his cock throb into his pants. The need to be inside of you was unbearable. The Upper Moon Two diligently opened his mouth, tongue welcoming the drops of blood you were so generously letting drip from your wound. Once again, you were subservient, indulgent.

His hand slided up your naked calf, squeezing it suggestively, rainbow-colored eyes locking with yours as you sighed and decided to cruelly deprive him of your proximity, of your intoxicating blood.

Douma groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows as your skin regenerated quickly “Ah, come on, what did I say to piss you off now?” he asked you, but he did not receive an answer from you, because the air around the shrine suddenly became asphyxiating. Your eyes grew round, your knees almost buckling under the pressure, upon ascertaining the Upper Moon One had joined you two. You were expecting him to come; whenever Muzan gave orders, he was the only one who never failed his expectations.

Bowing your head respectfully at the highest rank of what remained of the Twelve Kizuki, you greeted him “Kokushibo-dono, it’s a joy to welcome you here. We were just waiting for you to begin” you cooed, breaking the eeare silence enveloping the area.

You knew nothing about him, beside his sense of honor and an incommensurable admiration for the progenitor of your specimen. A rational, taciturn man who hardly ever barged into the unimportant squabbles taking place among those below him. What mattered to that man was the impertubable balance of powers.

An high-pitched gasp from behind you, caught your attention and, in a blink of an eye, Douma was standing right next to you “Ah, Kokushibo-dono, it’s been so long! You have declined all of my invitations to visit my residence… It’s a shame, really! Recently, I’ve taken in a couple of lovely girls. I looked forward to share them with you” the Upper Moon Two ranted, that fake overjoyed smile curving the angles of his lips upwards, while he sneakily swung his arm around your waist, yanking you against his side.

You sighed, a pout on your lips, before you searched for Kokushibo’s gaze to begin your training session. While you were more than capable of taking down a Pillar on your own, you still had some troubles in controlling your blood demon technique and, with the incoming war, Muzan wanted you to be extremely proficient, impeccable. Letting you train along the two strongest demons alive was the best way to improve your skills.

The former Demon Slayer sized you up, hand resting onto the hilt of his katana out of habit “Y/N. — he greeted you, his six bloodshot eyes then darting on the tall man at your left — Hard times require total concentration. There is absolutely no time to slack off and indulge into sordid, deplorable activities. Get in position” he sternly said, causing the younger demon to sneer and plant a kiss on your cheek before distancing himself from you leisurely.

You had no idea of the specific schedule he had chosen for you, yet the moment your nose was pierced by the fragrance of human blood, and your ears heard heavy footsteps rapidly consuming the road leading from the woods to the shrine, you put the pieces together. You looked at Kokushibo, not surprised by his lack of an explanation. Slayers. Those humans running straight to their death were Slayers the Upper Moon One had purposefully conducted to you.

“Oh, is that food? Please, tell me pretty girls in black uniforms are coming for us…” Douma chimed, his smile broadening as he tried to take a step towards the dark forest.

Kokushibo’s gesture of the hand, though, was enough to stop him from doing anything more than watching the scene unfold before his dreamy eyes.

Being the center of the attention had never been more difficult than now. Your eyes scrutinized the area, your nails ready to rip to shreds whomever had the audacity to attempt to slice your head off of your shoulders. A few seconds passed by before you spotted the group of young Slayers running towards you. Ready for battle, glaring at you, they unsheathed their blades. Six humans, not exactly weaklings, craved your head. But before you could just charge at them, Kokushibo spoke out again.

“Use your technique. Focus solely on it”.

His deep voice, for some reason, sent shivers down your spine. Probably, you were just enthralled by the massacre about to take place in the holy territory underneath your feet. Or maybe you were already losing control. Nevertheless, you quickly switched your attention back on the youngs group of humans in front of you.

“Good evening” you cooed, smiling faintly at the now shaking people looking at you and your frightening friends in horror.

“Upper ranks… We’re dead. Tell the crows to send a Pillar” a female Slayer blurted out, sweat beading her forehead as she frantically looked at both her sides in search for possible ways out of this situation.

“A Pillar? Are you fucking blind? We need more than a Pillar here!” her comrade said, eyes not leaving your frame as you sighed and shook your head. It was pointless. What could three Pillars do anyway against three upper ranks? Nothing.

Your eyes glinted, your hand caressing the cheek of the female slayer who had suggested to call a Pillar. You heard them gasp, when they realized you were standing practically among them, not fearing their deadly blades at all. You were blatantly challenging them, awaiting for the right moment to devour them. You giggled, before you disappeared from the small circle around you, holding the young fighter in your arms before you speaking again. Back in your original spot, you were running your fingers through the silky black hair of the girl, her body writhing under your touch as you leaned your face down to your let your lips graze her earlobe. It was time to satisfy your whims and you did not hesitate to activate your technique.

“Blood demon art: the human puppet” you whispered, the white sclera of your eyes fading into black.

Before your victim could even register what was happening, blood threds connected to her joints and she naturally dropped to her knees in front of you. Adoration in her eyes, she hugged your legs, the effects of your aphrodisiac blood driving her nuts.

“What’s happening? What did she do to her?” the head of the group snapped, trying to assess your reactions to figure out what your power could do.

Honestly, you were having fun. There was no pressure of ending things quickly for once. You had all the time in world to enjoy your minutes of glory and you did. You smiled at the girl at your feet, clasping your hands together as you listened to her words.

“How can I serve you?” she meekly asked you, cheeks flushing up as you hummed and gestured at her friends at her back, hunger for blood making your mouth salivate, albeit you tried to get a grip of yourself.

“Those people have offended me. Why don’t you kill them for me?” you asked, watching in glee as she hastily picked her sword back up and sprinted towards them. Ready to defend themselves, the slayers cursed your name as the group had apparently decided to split. You watched in interest three of them charging at you, homicidal instinct in their eyes, while the rest of them sparred with their comrade.

All the while, you had felt Douma and Kokushibo’s eyes on you, studying your moves, contemplating your choices and strategies. They had not bothered helping you out and they did not seem interested in it anyway, at least, until a disaster happened. Trusting blindly in your abilities, you had waited too long before activating your technique. The moment you did, you were forced to block the slash of a slayer with your forearm. The impact was powerful enough to cause your blood to spill, accidentally splattering on your two colleagues faces, staining their lips and inhebriating them.

Faltering, you had no time to apologize that a katana sliced through your opponent’s head. The thud of his body colliding onto the ground was followed by the screams of terror and agony of the others. Soon enough, you were surroundered by bunch of dismembered corpses, no more sounds echoing in the calm forest, if not… Heavy breaths, grunts of frustration. Affected by your technique, the upper moon One and Two were staring right into your eyes, their fangs protruding from their gums, ferally hissing to fight the primal urges of dominating the weakest prey in front of them. It was your fault. The second form of your blood demon technique was literally called ‘primal lust of the hunter’.

Taking a few impish steps back, you tried to comfort them “I promise the side effects are going to wear off in a few—”.

“How long?” Kokushibo growled, planting his sword onto the ground. You had never seen him like that.

“Kokushibo-dono, I… I—”.

A sudden grip on your forearm, yanking you towards them, made you gasp in sheer embarrassment. That look in their eyes, that way of staring you down in hunger promised nothing less than a long night of submission ahead of you.

“How long?” the Upper moon One hissed on your face, his grip on your forearm intensifying, until you confessed the truth.

“Until you reach the peak of your ecstasy” you blurted out, earning an hysterical laughter from Douma, who grasped a fistful of your hair and encircled your waist with a hand. His abs glued to your back, he rotated his hips against your rear, the clothed bulge underneath the layers he wore poking at you with unbridled hunger.

You shuddered, closing your eyes “I can help you! I can help you both!” you fretted, body on fire as their hands began to undress you with urgency.

Probably, this was the biggest mistake of your life, but the famous thing that happened once ever in a lifetime too. Lips devoured yours instantly, the guttural groan escaping Kokushibo lips made your disclose your lips automatically to let his tongue invade your mouth. Your hands threaded your the former Slayer’s hair, tugging at his ponytail to squash his body against yours. Fangs sank onto the crook of your neck, your whimper swallowed by Koksuhibo, as Douma hand slipped underneath your ripped kimono and masterly cupped your sex.

How many times had he done that to you? So many nights, so many nights but not a single one of them could compare to what he was making you feel right now. Douma always took his sweet time in tearing you apart, but his thumb did not indulge much on your throbbing clitoris.

You whined in protest, only for him to take a step back and unbuckle the belt of his pants “Sorry, Y/N-chan, but I feel… Oh, my sweet gods, I feel like I could burst into my own pants, if I don’t fuck that pretty hole of yours. Not much prep today, okay?” he rasped out, sweat running down the valley of your breasts along with the blood still dribbling down your collarbone in irregular crimson lines from his harsh bite onto your neck.

When the Upper Moon One pulled away, his hands discarding his robes onto the ground, finally granting you the celestial sight of his chiseled body, you struggled to keep your composure: the body of a warrior, the body of a divinity. The body of a man who had trained for centuries, in the desperate chase to proclaim himself the strongest slayer alive.

“Her womb is mine” he declared firmly, causing your knees to buckle, when he grasped your hips and made you straddle him easily. Douma surprisingly did not retaliate, kneeling right behind you instead as his hand slipped down between your thighs to collect some of your juices.

He growled, the pads of his fingers collecting the result of your wanton before smearing them onto the entrance of your puckered hole. You writhed, glancing at him from above your shoulder, before pulling him into a sloppy kiss “You better worship the ground I walk on after this” you whispered, only for a pathetic whimper to leave your lips as Kokushibo’s calloused band grasped your jaw unceremoniously and turned your head towards him once again.

“He’s your superior, but I personally don’t see the number one etched in his eyes” the man darkly said, pushing his hips against yours and witnessing to the way you came to realize his hakama were now loosely hanging down his hips. His cock, standing as a ramrod, was probbing at your entrance with arrogance, his free hand angling your hips to favor the penetration.

“I apologize, Kokushibo-dono. — you breathed out, arching your back as he lined the bulbous tip on you clenching hole — Douma and I are familiar with this kind of entertainment” you explained, breath hitching in your throat when the blond man at your back began to slide a finger into your backside to stretch you out a little. He was seething in anger, frustration of not having the chance to paint the welcoming walls of your pussy in white, as he always did.

The Upper Moon Two smirked “That’s right! I think Kokushibo-dono will absolutely love to hear how much of a slut you are when you are stuffed so full of cum that you twitch like a fish dying on the shore” he remarked, your eyes screwed shut as you felt your tight walls swallowing his fingers into your most private parts.

Were you going to be able to walk after this? If they actually injured you, was your demonic regeneration going to heal your wounds?

“Enough talk” Kokushibo flatly said, unsympathetically pinching your right nipple to hear you squirm under his ministrations as well.

And, gosh, you did. What made him groan out in pleasure, his stolid mask slipping, was the way your pussy squeezed him up perfectly when he entered you. Hands planted onto your hipbones, Kokushibo guided you up and down onto his length. The girth had almost made you regret your choice of taking care of their impellent needs, but the way he occasionally let the head of his cock kiss your cervix made you cry out loudly, shamelessly, your head lolling back on Douma’s shoulder as he also began to slide into you.

You had no idea how you had managed to, how your body had adapted to that tempo, to the way they were manhandly you, but when Douma had filled you up to the brim, his pelvis slapping against your arses, you knew you had showed your devotion to them.

“Fuck! I— O my God… — you whimpered out, vision blurry as tears ran down your cheeks copiously — K-Koku, Koku, I can’t” you inhaled sharply, only for him to snort at your face, a powerful thrust causing your whole body to collapse against his.

“It’s Lord Kokushibo to you”.

His words, vivid in your mind, were the only thing you remembered hearing from him after they were done with you. Panting, a mass of sweat and fluids, you were sandwitched between them. Kokushibo came deep into you, arms almost possessively keeping you in place, his gestures so cold and methodical. You wondered, you wondered if a long time ago he had been married, if he had fucked her with the only intention of impregnating her because you were damned if he had not given you that impression.

Douma was breathing heavily, tongue lapping at the umpteenth wound he had left onto your neck, as he softened into you. He had not pulled out as well, you could feel his sperm oozing out from your abused hole as you barely had the energy to nuzzle your head into Kokushibo’s chest.

He did not caress you, neither said a word, but he allowed you to rest like that for a little while. Your training had just begun.

AUTHOR NOTE.

A big thank you to the anon who had submitted this request! I said it once and I’ll say it again: writing threesomes is amusing! Also… I might have a thing for Douma, that’s pretty evident by now. Thank you for your support and see you in the next work!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

x o x o

Dt: @doumadono @mrskokushibo my angels✨❤️

TAGS: @axesfordays @flakeygod @tomatoeshater @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01 @crystal-freak24 @the-nex @squ4respace @akazas-left-tatted-butt-cheek @wooyugta @ilubplants @the-faceless-bride

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost is forced to dress up as Santa for the day and talk to kids.

You’re ordered to tag along as his Elf and do some damage control if necessary.

———————————————————————

You lean against his armchair, watching the chaos in front of you. Children are crying, tugging at their parents’ clothes, shouting both in excitement and fear, all while looking at you. A young boy keeps waving at your lieutenant, desperate to get his attention, but Ghost is too preoccupied with coming to terms with his new reality to notice.

You return his wave with a smile.

“Try to stay still, Santa,” you remind Ghost as you nod towards the boy. “Kids are watching.”

He snaps back into focus and redirects his attention to the queue. He stretches one last time, pushing on the armrests, before settling into the chair.

“Try not to tell me what to do,” he murmurs and waves back at the child.

You straighten up and tweak your green hat, triggering the bell at its tip to jiggle in your ear. You feel for him; you really do. He’s not supposed to be here; he’s not built for this. Unfortunately—for him or the kids, you haven’t decided yet—the “real” Santa broke his hip at the last minute, and your military base stepped in to provide a new Santa for the local community.

And what better replacement than Ghost, you may ask? Well, literally anybody else.

Dressed in a red costume with white faux fur trim, the lieutenant looks nothing like the man you experienced on the battlefield. His shoulders threaten to rip through the rented outfit, and the seams at the back hold onto each other for dear life. Since his belly wasn’t big enough to simulate Santa’s, you asked him to stuff a pillow under his uniform. Surprisingly, Ghost complied almost instantly, leaving you to wonder if he was using the pillow as Kevlar, a barrier between him and the kids or if he was secretly enjoying this.

You also convinced him to ditch the balaclava for the time being since he would now have plenty of props to conceal his face—a wig, a long beard, glasses, and a red hat with a white pom-pom, to be exact. Additionally, you attempted to trick him into applying some blush on his cheeks, but he side-eyed you and told you to ‘be careful now’—ironic for a man who paints his face daily.

You rub your temples, trying to keep calm amid the chaos of the mall as you prepare for what’s about to happen during the next few hours. You have no idea why Price chose him to be Santa, but you didn’t question it either. Ghost seems to be the least qualified for the job out of everyone in the base. It feels like a last resort, so to speak—a ‘that’s all we have left in the store’ solution.

On the other hand, you know precisely why the captain chose you to accompany him. “To monitor the situation,” he said—“To make sure we don’t get sued,” you heard. And, under normal circumstances, you’d be happy to tag along with Ghost—be it on patrol, on missions, or even transporting confidential documents. But in this situation? Acting as a troubleshooter rather than a teammate? You’d rather be anywhere else than here, with anybody else than him.

You take another look at him while he sits on the chair. He’s tugging at the uniform, scratching his head, and instinctively pulling the beard to his nose.

“Stop doing that,” you whisper. “It’s a beard, not a balaclava.”

“Price would have been perfect for the job, for fucks sake,” he spits. “He has the fucking moustache for starters.”

“Stop with the ‘fucks’ and the ‘fucking’ Ghost; you’re about to talk to kids! And, as for the captain, he said he couldn’t do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, lifting his hands from the armrests. “And what makes him think that I can?”

“I wish I knew, to be honest, but we don’t have time to go through this again,” you murmur, looking at your watch one last time. You approach the barrier, unclip the rope from the stanchion, and turn over your shoulder.

“Operation ‘Santa’ begins now,” you declare. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He replies, shrugging, and gestures for you to proceed.

And so it begins. Your first ‘customer’ arrives, and many more follow. You guide one family at a time into the enclosure and escort them to Ghost, who handles the rest. Some children are hesitant, peeking out from behind their parents’ legs, while others are much more direct with their intentions as they scream in horror at the sight of him.

On the other hand, Ghost is neither your typical jolly Santa nor the irritated lieutenant you’d expect. He appears to be... understanding. He reassures parents that it’s okay and there’s no need to force their children onto his lap if they feel uncomfortable. He initiates conversations with the kids from a respectful distance. He smiles with his eyes and hunches his shoulders to appear less imposing. Sometimes, he lures the shy ones into a handshake, a fist pump, or a high five by lowering his gloved hand to their level.

And then there are those other types of kids: the curious ones, the social butterflies. The ones who look forward to sitting on Ghost’s lap, diving into full-blown conversations with him. That’s when you stiffen up and switch into damage-control mode to ensure he won’t lash out at them. You begin hovering above them, listening, jumping into their conversations and sometimes interrupting Ghost and replying to the kids instead of him.

You would have thought he’d be grateful to have you managing the situation. Ghost, however, seems more irritated by you than by the little girl who’s currently playing with the pom-pom on his hat.

“Oi, Elf!” he says calmly, yet visibly annoyed. “Emma and I are chatting about how she spilt tomato juice on her Elsa costume and wants a new one for Christmas. Could you please falala off and go wrap some presents?”

“B-but I need to know because I’ll be sewing it for her,” you reply, smiling at the little girl. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

And, although Emma nods her head, more out of necessity than agreement, you get his point. He’s doing surprisingly well with those kids, even without you. Actually, he’s doing remarkably well, especially without you.

More kids come and go, and Ghost slowly adapts to his new persona. He starts making bets with you, predicting which kids in the queue might ask for a PlayStation or an iPad and even speculating who might wipe snot on his costume. You, in response, adopt a more laid-back approach and let him do his thing. After each child’s visit, Ghost turns towards you, whispering in your ear about their Christmas wishes, as if he’s indeed Santa, and keeps logs.

“My man wants a full-sized car wheel,” Ghost murmurs as the young boy leaps off his lap, “can you believe him?”

“What did you say to him?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“I told him I’ll get it for him,” he shrugs. “What else should I do?”

“Alright, but what did you really want to tell him?”

“That his dad already has four of them screwed in his car.”

As the day winds down, and the final announcement for the day echoes through the speakers, parents and children walk past you and towards the exit. They wave at Ghost and occasionally at you. The parking lot empties, the stores shut their doors until tomorrow, and the holiday lights that decorate the inside of the mall switch off one by one.

You stretch your back and tap on his shoulder, signalling that both of you should pack up and return to the base.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, grasping your wrist with one hand and tapping his thigh with the other. “You didn’t tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’re exhausted but still manage to smile as you comply with his request. You sit on his lap, and he leans back to take a better look at you.

“Let’s think about it another way,” you say. “What would you, as Santa, give me for Christmas?”

“Coal,” he replies. “And a muzzle, so you don’t interrupt me while I’m talking. What was that all about?”

“Was afraid you’d say something bad,” you explain. “But you were pretty good with those kids.”

He shakes his head and plays with the fur trim on his sleeve. “Nah,” he murmurs. “I’d never say something bad to a kid.”

“Speaking of bad and coal,” you say, combing his fake beard, “you never asked the typical ‘have you been a good kid’ to any of them.”

“There’s no bad kid in the world, love,” he whispers. “All kids are good, even the naughty ones.”

You smile at him, but he doesn’t look back at you. He’s examining his uniform as if trying to find something else to discuss. He finds some crumbs a kid left on his suit and brushes them off.

“Ready to head back to the base, Lieutenant?” You ask, tapping his thigh before standing up. You extend your hand to him, and he gladly accepts it, helping him rise from the chair he’s been sitting in all day. You begin walking towards the exit, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. You reciprocate by hugging his waist.

You walk up to the parked military vehicle that brought you here earlier, still discussing the day. He opens the door but pauses and turns to look at you.

“Resilience,” he declares. “That’s what I would gift you for Christmas.”

“Why?” You ask, turning to look at him. “You think I need it?”

“We all do,” he replies softly, just like when he used to talk to those kids. “Since I can’t protect you from every obstacle life throws your way, I might as well give you the ability to recover from them.”

“That would make me very happy, Lieutenant.” You say, smiling.

He smiles back at you and reaches for your hat to fix it better on your head. His hand moves to your forehead, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“It’s Santa to you.” He replies.

———————————————————————

A/N: Bruh, I was so tempted to make the reader pull off a Mariah Carey and say, “All I want for Christmas is you,” when Ghost asked what they wanted, but my gag reflexes kicked in every time, and I was cringing galore.

So, there you go: resilience. That’s what I would like to gift you as well. I wish I could shield you from whatever has troubled you in the past or is currently doing so. To protect you from future worries and make everything ‘falala off’. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, neither for you nor for myself.

But this is why comfort characters and stories exist—so we can imagine, when no one is there for us, that someone actually is.

Just like Santa. Just like Ghost.

[dragonpropaganda]

The Architecture of Rain World: Layers of History

A major theme in Rain World's world design that often goes overlooked is the theme of, as James Primate, the level designer, composer and writer calls it, "Layers of History." This is about how the places in the game feel lived-in, and as though they have been built over each other. Here's what he said on the matter as far back as 2014!

The best example of this is Subterranean, the final area of the base game and a climax of the theme. Subterranean is pretty cleanly slpit vertically, there's the modern subway built over the ancient ruins, which are themselves built over the primordial ruins of the depths. Piercing through these layers is Filtration System, a high tech intrusion that cuts through the ground and visibly drills through the ceiling of the depths.

Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets, the friendly local ghost, tells the player of the "bones of forgotten civilisations, heaped like so many sticks," highlighting this theme of layering as one of the first impressions the player gets of Subterranean. Barely minutes later, the player enters the room SB_H02, where the modern train lines crumble away into a cavern filled with older ruins, which themselves are invaded by the head machines seen prior in outskirts and farm arrays, some of which appear to have been installed destructively into the ruins, some breaking through floors.

These layers flow into each other, highlighting each other's decrepit state.

The filtration system, most likely the latest "layer," is always set apart from the spaces around it. At its top, the train tunnels give way to a vast chasm, where filtration system stands as a tower over the trains, while at the bottom in depths, it penetrates the ceiling of the temple, a destructive presence. (it's also a parallel to the way the leg does something similar in memory crypts, subterranean is full of callbacks like that!)

Filtration system is an interesting kind of transition, in that it is much later and more advanced than both of the areas it cuts between. This is a really interesting choice from James! It would be more "natural" to transition smoothly from the caves of upper subterranean to the depths, but by putting filtration system in between, the two are clearly demarcated as separate. The difference in era becomes palpable, the player has truly found something different and strange.

Depths itself is, obviously, the oldest layer not only of subterranean but of the game itself. The architecture of Depths has little to do with the rest of the game around it, it's a clear sign of the forgotten civilisations that our friend Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets showed us, there's not actually that much to say about it itself, it's mostly about how it interacts with the other layers of subterranean.

That said, Subterranean is far from the only case of the theme of layers of history. It's present as soon as the player starts the game!

The very first room of the game, SU_C04, is seemingly a cave. It is below the surface, the shapes of it are distinctly amorphous rather than geometric. (well. kind of, it doesn't do a very good job of hiding the tile grid with its 45 degree angles.)

But let's take a closer look, shall we?

See that ground? it's made of bricks. The entire cave area of outskirts is characterised by this, the "chaotic stone" masonry asset is mixed with brickwork, unlike the surface ruins which are mostly stone. This, seemingly, is an inversion of common sense! The caves are bricks and the buildings are stone. This is not, however, a strange and unique aspect but a recurring motif.

This occurs enough in the game for it to be clearly intentional, but why would materials such as bricks be used in otherwise natural looking terrain?

The answer lies in the "Layers of History" theme. This is in fact, something that happens in real life, and it's called a tell

To be specific, a tell is a kind of mound formed by settlements building over the ruins of previous iterations of themselves. Centuries of rubble and detritus form until a hill grows from the city. Cities such as Troy and Jericho are famous examples. The connections to the layers of history theme are pretty clear here, I think. Cities growing, then dying, then becoming the bedrock of the next city. The ground, then, is made of bricks, because the ground is the rubble of past buildings. The bones of forgotten civilisations, heaped like so many sticks!

[vestaignis]

Вулкан Бромо на о. Ява, расположенный в национальном парке Бромо-Тенгер-Семеру, взмывает на высоту 2392 м и считается самым активным и «ненасытным» на острове. Последние 20 лет он постоянно «дышит», его огромный кратер диаметром 600 м все время наполнен дымом, а все вокруг, включая тропы и дороги вокруг вулкана, усыпаны густым слоем пепла. Однако это абсолютно не мешает Бромо привлекать многочисленных туристов, которые приезжают, чтобы полюбоваться фантастическими «лунными» пейзажами, посмотреть со смотровой площадки на могучий вулкан на рассвете, когда его склоны окрашиваются в розовые и золотые тона, и, наконец, совершить восхождение к кратеру и пройтись по его кромке на высоте птичьего полета.

Название Бромо происходит от яванского имени бога Брахмы, и находится вулкан посреди песчаной равнины, которую местные жители называют Сегара Веди, что значит «Песчаный океан». Здесь же, у северных склонов Бромо стоит индуистский храм Пура Лухур Потен, построенный из темных вулканических камней. Каждый год, начиная с XV в., тенгеры (яванская народность) целый месяц отмечают праздник Ядня Касада, во время которого они поднимаются к кратеру и сбрасывают в жерло вулкана жертвоприношения богам – фрукты, овощи, цветы, рис, кур и даже домашний скот, причем живьем. Именно поэтому Бромо и называют «ненасытным».

Лучшее время для посещения вулкана - с апреля по октябрь. Сезон дождей длится с декабря по март. Днем здесь прохладно, температура не превышает +20°C.

Mount Bromo on Java Island, located in the Bromo Tengger Semeru National Park, rises to a height of 2,392 m and is considered the most active and “insatiable” on the island. For the last 20 years, it has been constantly “breathing”, its huge crater with a diameter of 600 m is constantly filled with smoke, and everything around, including paths and roads around the volcano, is strewn with a thick layer of ash. However, this does not prevent Bromo from attracting numerous tourists who come to admire the fantastic “lunar” landscapes, look at the mighty volcano from the observation deck at dawn, when its slopes are painted in pink and gold tones, and, finally, climb to the crater and walk along its edge at a bird's eye view.

The name Bromo comes from the Javanese name of the god Brahma, and the volcano is located in the middle of a sandy plain, which the locals call Segara Wedi, which means “Sand Ocean”. Here, on the northern slopes of Bromo, there is a Hindu temple, Pura Luhur Poten, built of dark volcanic stones. Every year, since the 15th century, the Tenggerese (Javanese people) celebrate the Yadnya Kasada festival for a whole month, during which they climb to the crater and throw sacrifices to the gods into the volcano's mouth - fruits, vegetables, flowers, rice, chickens and even livestock. That is why Bromo is called "insatiable".

The best time to visit the volcano is from April to October. The rainy season lasts from December to March. It is cool here during the day, the temperature does not exceed +20°C.

Источник://t.me/krasivye_mesta_turizm,/vsegda-pomnim.com / vulkany/6053-vulkan-bromo-76-foto.html,//photopole.ru/krasivye-kartinki/vulkany-krasivye,/geosocks.com/bromo-volcano/, //thinking.ru/trips/indonesia/vulkan-bromo-na-indoneziyskom-ostrove-yava/,www.pac.ru/guide/indonesia/java/landmarks/mount-bromo/,/www.tripadvisor.ru/Attraction_Review-g297710-d2307699-Reviews-Bromo_Tengger_Semeru_Adventure-Malang_East _Java_ Java.html,//www.tourister.ru/world/asia/indonesia/city/malang/volcano/30191.

[uncleclaudius]

The Greco-Roman theatre of Monte San Nicola in Campania is built into the side of the mountain and offers a gorgeous view of the surrounding countryside. It has an adjacent temple and it was probably in use between the 1st century BC and the 2nd century AD after which it was abandoned and forgotten. It was rediscovered in 2001 when a local historian noticed an outline of the ruins from an airplane after a recent bushfire had cleared the vegetation covering them.

[coolancientstuff]

The Temple of Venus in Baalbek (Heliopolis), Lebanon was built in the 200s CE to honor the goddess of love, sex and fertility. Venus was derived by the Romans from the Greek goddess Aphrodite, who herself was inspired by the Near Eastern goddess Astarte. This temple's cult likely incorporated elements of both Roman Venus and the local Astarte.

The temple itself has many novel and unique features found nowhere else in Classical architecture. Five semicircular exedrae run along the outer wall, framing arched niches decorated with carved doves and seashells that probably contained statues in ancient times. Above each niche a festoon of leaves and fruit hangs, symbolizing fertility. The pentagonal column bases are without parallel in antiquity, and no other examples are known. The interior is less well preserved, but it can be safely assumed by the lavishness of the construction that it was once sumptuously decorated with paintings, statues, colored marbles and golden ornaments.

The temple has an eventful history, being also a site of persecutions of early Christians under Julian the Apostate, the last pagan emperor of Rome. Sozomen, a late antique historian, says in his Ecclesiatical Histories:

The inhabitants of Heliopolis, near Mount Libanus, and of Arethusa in Syria, seem to have surpassed them in excess of cruelty. The former were guilty of an act of barbarity which could scarcely be credited, had it not been corroborated by the testimony of those who witnessed it. They stripped the holy virgins, who had never been looked upon by the multitude, of their garments, and exposed them in a state of nudity as a public spectacle and objects of insult. After numerous other inflictions they at last shaved them, ripped them open, and concealed in their viscera the food usually given to pigs; and since the swine could not distinguish, but were impelled by the need of their customary food, they also tore in pieces the human flesh.

I am convinced that the citizens of Heliopolis perpetrated this barbarity against the holy virgins on account of the prohibition of the ancient custom of yielding up virgins to prostitution with any chance comer before being united in marriage to their betrothed. This custom was prohibited by a law enacted by Constantine, after he had destroyed the temple of Venus at Heliopolis, and erected a church upon its ruins."

Whether Sozomen's account is an exaggeration or not, there is archaeological evidence that the temple was indeed converted into a church, dedicated to Saint Barbara. According to the (comparatively late) Christian legend, Barbara was the daughter of a Heliopolitan dignitary, Dioscorus, who still worshipped the old gods. When he learned that she had been baptized, he killed Barbara and was immediately struck by lightning. Up til the present day, Saint Barbara is invoked if people want to be protected against lightning.

Because the monument continued to be in use, the temple of Venus is comparatively well-preserved. Unbroken religious activity has continued on almost the same site since antiquity, and there's still a small mosque next to the temple of Venus. The Greek-Orthodox church of Baalbek, which is close by, is still dedicated to Saint Barbara.

[whencyclopedia]

The Roman Theatre of Orange

The Roman theatre of ancient Arausio (modern day Orange in southern France) is one of the best-preserved examples from antiquity. Built in the 1st century CE, it once had capacity for 9,000 spectators and is dominated by its massive stage wall with an ornate façade decorated with columns, doorways, and niches. The theatre was listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1981 CE.

Regional History

The Celtic site of Arausio, named after a spring deity, first attracted the interest of the Romans during the 2nd century BCE following a call from Massalia (modern Marseilles) for support against local tribes. A series of conflicts ensued which included battles with invading Danish tribes, the Cimbri, and Teutones. Eventually, the area of Provence was brought under Roman control and, between 44 and 27 BCE, Arausio was made available to veterans of the Legion II and given the status of a colony; its full official title being Colonia Iulia Firma Secundanorum Arausio. The city prospered due to its location on trade routes and fertile lands and was given the typical collection of Roman monumental architecture such as temples, a forum, a triumphal arch, Roman baths, and, of course, a theatre.

Continue reading...

[mcyt-hc-writing]

The Artificial Structures of Minecraft: An Attempted Chronology

Artificial structures in Minecraft range from the modern to the ancient. What structures are newer and which are older? It's hard to say. But here are my thoughts:

Modern - These structures are in use and new ones are likely being actively created

Villages: Actively inhabited by villagers

Woodland mansions: Actively inhabited by illagers

Pillager outposts: Actively inhabited by pillagers

Witch huts: Actively inhabited by witches

Igloos: No indication of owners, but the captive villager is still alive

Player-made structures: Self-explanatory

*Abandoned villages: Not actively in use, but new ones are likely being created

Recent - Not known to be in use, but have few signs of decay or geological changes

Abandoned villages: Explained above

Mineshafts: No signs of decay, despite wooden structures decaying easily

Desert wells: Cannot be proved to be in use, but have no signs of decay

Ocean monuments: No signs of decay, built after change in water levels (ref. ocean ruins)

End cities: No signs of decay, though in the end this may be hard to determine

*Shipwrecks: Some shipwrecks have few signs of decay or burial, indicating they are likely recent, especially given how fast wood can decay in water

*Ancient city illager structures: Structures in ancient cities made of dark oak wood and blue wool, appearing to be made by illagers. Illagers are active in the world, so it is likely that the structures are recent

Old - Structure shows signs of overgrowth or being partially buried, but no significant structural decay or changes in local geography

Jungle temples: Overgrown but structure and redstone intact

Desert pyramids: May be buried, and the secret room is entirely buried, but they are still near the surface and show little signs of decay

Dungeons/monster rooms: Cobblestone is overgrown bu structure is otherwise intact

*Shipwrecks: More decayed or buried shipwrecks likely belong in this category

Decayed - Structure has decayed or been damaged, but intact segments maintain integrity. Unclear if these are actually older than the previous category or if they were simply more prone to damage due to being larger

Strongholds: Have some cracked and overgrown bricks, and structures may have gaps. However, other than the gaps, rooms retain their shape and may even contain intact furnishings

Nether fortresses: Some bridges may be broken, but the rest of the structures have no obvious rubble or even cracks

Ancient - Structure is entirely decayed. Massive structural damage. Indications of geographic shifts since construction

Bastion remnants: Despite active habitation, they are in ruins. Some parts of the structures resemble natural caves more than artificial construction

Ruined portals: Wrecked and broken structures, often buried or flooded. Crying obsidian appears to be in an advanced stage of decay

Ancient cities: A majority of structures are in ruins. It is unclear if cities are supposed to be buried deep underground with little to no connection to the surface

Ocean ruins: In ruins. Some contain eggs of extinct animals. Evidently built before a sea level rise

Trail ruins: Likely the oldest artificial structures in the game. Almost entirely buried, with no structural integrity remaining

Conclusions:

Piglin civilization was ancient. Considering how ruined bastion remnants are, in comparison with nether fortresses, it seems unlikely that they competed with the fortress builders at the height of their civilization. It is likely that the fortress builders arrived in the nether only after the piglins had regressed to tribalism. If we assume Minecraft Legends to be canon, this likely means that fortresses (and strongholds, by extension) did not exist in the time period of Minecraft Legends

The advanced decay of ruined portals seems to indicate their extreme antiquity. Combined with their peculiar generation (generating nether terrain in the overworld, but not vice-versa) it seems likely that they are also from the Minecraft Legends time period - this makes a great deal of sense in my opinion, considering how they work in that game

Trail ruins indicate that villager civilization is likely just as old, if not older, than piglin civilization. This is consistent with Minecraft Legends, but the difference in architecture indicates that villagers may have been responsible for a lot of different kinds of structures

Nether fortresses and strongholds have similar levels of decay, indicating they may be from the same time period. This makes sense considering the ender eye crafting recipe

It is likely that the treasure maps in shipwrecks were obtained from ocean ruins

Igloos are likely owned by illagers

Abandoned mineshafts were likely made by villagers - badlands mineshafts may have been made by illagers, as they share their wood type with other illager structures

It is likely that the magic of totems of undying is related to the magic of golden apples. They have similar colours, illagers are the most likely to be responsible for igloos (where they experiment with golden apples and reversing death), they likely have mineshafts in badlands (where they find lots of gold), and they seem to have an interest in ancient cities (the best place in the game to find enchanted golden apples)

[yourneighborhoodporg]

Hello! Could I request an obi wan x reader x anakin fic where the reader is a force sensitive Jedi? They have to go undercover for a mission and ani and obi are awestruck/distracted by reader in flattering clothes (that aren’t Jedi robes) and it makes them both realize their feelings :) feel free to make it a lemon if you want

Little Red Dress

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader x Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Jealousy, Reader in Alluring Clothing, Brothel Setting, Some Life-Threatening Danger, Light Violence, Creepy(ish) Fella, Soft Smut (Minors DNI), all characters are over 18, Anakin Threatening Murder TM (why am I even surprised 😂), light banter, fluff, alcohol is around, boys being worried, HEAVY FLIRTING.

Song Inspo: Red Dress — MAGIC!

A/n: This took me way too long to get to lol 💀 Absolutely love this request idea which made it so fun to write. Wasn’t sure which gender you wanted for the reader so I made them female-identifying. This is my first request and short (lol) fic so please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy :)

Words: 8.1k

She was built like a dream — Joseph Heller

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker were… uncomfortable.

Not because Master Yoda himself had tasked the three of you with this urgent mission to the Outer Rim. Nor was it due to the cloudy, dark, and incessantly rainy atmosphere that was Morlana One’s Leisure Zone— its backstreets dotted by the occasional lifeless streetlight that just barely reflected off the puddles below, paving the two Jedi a glimmering path toward the local brothel.

No. It wasn’t any of that at all.

Instead, they felt a foreign existence within their own bodies, with each nearing step toward the club’s shadowy entrance, on account of the perplexing, and frankly alien, wears that sheened their limbs.

Of course, they never had any styling choice in the matter. Not for an assignment like this, where the elimination of Jedi symbols was expected.

Because this was a mission that required a gentler, more covert hand.

Because this was a mission that had you all undercover.

Nearly 72 hours ago, unknown assailants had broken into one of the Jedi Temple’s artifact rooms. From the emergency cache, they’d stolen seven Kyber crystals, which were always held at the ready in case a Jedi needed a temporary saber after damaging or misplacing their own.

A facility Anakin took advantage of too many times to count.

But, on this occasion, the Order could only count themselves lucky that The Chosen One had again somehow lost his lightsaber during a short mission to the Coruscant Underworld, requiring him to report to that very same artifacts chamber for a replacement before he could continue his search down into the planet’s murky depths. By chance, the chestnut-haired Jedi had arrived just in time to witness that the usually locked, ornate wooden door was notably ajar. And, with further investigation, that the krystals’ storage chest had been ransacked.

With Council Member Master Kenobi assigned to the inquiry, he quickly learned from a few trustworthy sources, including his old friend Dex, that the crystals were flown off-world to be sold at auction. To a seedy establishment in the Morlani System, no less. All with an undetectability and swiftness that duped not only the inter-District and planetary departure security systems, but the Jedi Temple’s once-thought-impregnable apparatus as well.

Evidently, Master Yoda had found that this operation met a sophistication not often seen among the ranks of disparate pirates or common thieves. It was why, after Kenobi came to him with this information, the Grand Master decided that the bearded man and Jedi Knight who discovered the robbery would be assigned to retrieve these precious artifacts. Placing an emphasis on the need to arrive undercover, lest this sordid enterprise catch wind of a group of creeping, saber-wielding Jedi.

They just couldn’t risk it.

Any action like that would certainly force this gang to race underground once again, crystals in tow, before the Jedi had a chance to recover them.

So, the Council supplied Obi-Wan and Anakin with clothes of the region’s elite, aiming to disguise them both as potential buyers.

Kenobi, a black dress uniform with gold, reflective embellishments suffocating his suit jacket while fueling his growing desire to remain hidden within the shadows as it converted his torso into a glinting beacon under the passing lights. And Skywalker, a simpler, but equally sophisticated gray suit atop a pearly white button-down that screamed conformity louder than Anakin could voice his displeasure.

Still, leaving the crystals’ fate up to whether this gang would accept Republic Credits was a game of pure chance. That, and the notion of buying back stolen, sacred property was never the Jedi way.

That’s where you came in.

A Jedi whose Force-sensitivity was so saturated, that you had the ability to viscerally sense Kyber crystals from parsecs away. And a talent that, in Master Yoda’s opinion, made you the perfect addition to the team.

Well, that and the open secret that the three of you had long ago become an unofficial squadron already. Considering the countless missions you’ve traipsed through together for most of your Jedi, and even Padawan, years, it was a wonder that Master Yoda felt the need to specifically mention your name either way. Even on missions in which the rag-tag trio were slingshotted to opposite poles of the galaxy, you’d always found a way back to each other.

That, or the Force itself had a dire motivation to keep those momentary separations brief.

Perhaps that’s why the two men, in addition to their clothing-related distractions, had sparking nerves heightened by another, salient factor.

That you weren’t by their side.

Given your skill set, it was clear from the beginning your cover needed to be quite different from theirs. So, twenty hours before the auction was set to start, while Obi-Wan and Anakin prepared their disguises, you slipped out. Leaving for the brothel on your own since you all agreed that the only way to secure your cover as an establishment employee was by actually applying to become one.

It was the only surefire way to explore the back rooms without tipping the sellers off. The only option the three of you had to find the crystals’ exact location. And to ensure that when chaos did reign, the artifacts wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

Still, neither man particularly enjoyed this arrangement.

“You remembered to bring it, correct?” Obi-Wan voiced, glancing at Anakin’s pensively taught brows beside him as the brothel’s neon purple sign gently flickered into view, encouraging him to once again tug at his neckline’s taught clasp around his throat.

“Of course!” The younger Jedi acknowledged. “I was the one telling her that she should’ve had it in the first place.”

In spite of the underlying weariness still thrumming at his chest, Kenobi couldn’t help but raise an amused brow at his former Padawan.

“You? Lecturing Y/n about leaving her lightsaber behind? I seem to recall that it was your inability to keep track of your own that landed us in this predicament in the first place.”

Anakin scoffed, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I seem to remember Master Nu saying that the raid on the artifacts room wouldn’t have been discovered for weeks if it weren’t for me.”

Still, the chestnut-haired Jedi sighed, yanking down the tails of his gray suit jacket that just barely fit his longer form while he continued.

“Besides, it was no mistake. She didn’t take her lightsaber intentionally.”

Kenobi shook his head knowingly. Partly due to his former Padawan’s somewhat warped perspective of the situation, but mostly because he too was not completely on board with the notion of you being undercover and completely unarmed. Though, no matter how much he desired to do so, Obi-Wan had trouble denying that, like always, your reasoning stood sound.

A reminder that subconsciously made his heart flutter.

“You know, Anakin, that she couldn’t have feasibly hidden it away. It’s safer for her that we hold onto it for now. She will have it when she needs it.”

And that’s why, no matter his outward assurances, Kenobi seemed to have an inability to take his own advice. Perhaps too it was Anakin’s own anxieties that were infecting the Force.

But no leakage from his signature could truly reflect the hate Skywalker felt for this plan. He had shot down its premise the whole journey here, but in the end, it was no use. Anakin understood that once you put your mind to something, especially in the name of protecting the community you held so dear, there was nothing anyone in the Galaxy could do to stand in your way.

And he really did treasure you for that.

“I know,” Skywalker grumbled, pivoting to avoid a stumbling Bith with a curved bottle in hand, brown liquid sloshing out to land just beside his black dress shoe as he walked by. “But I still don’t like it.”

Evidently, no matter their confidence in your ability to take care of yourself, the two men remained deeply troubled by the fact that you were still far enough away as to be immune from their protection.

But that would soon change.

“Alright,” Kenobi slowed just beside the establishment’s greasy, revolving door to address the younger man as they neared their arrival.

“We will need to remain in one place so that Y/n can find us. She needs to know where we are at all times to deliver the signal. The zone’s blueprints suggest that the center bar will have the best vantage point. So that’s where we’ll go. Oh—“

Obi-Wan lifted a warning brow at the younger man.

“And don’t stray.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, lips pursing in an attempt to keep his face neutral.

“I don’t stray, Master.”

—

If you had your portable chronometer on your person, you would’ve checked it by now.

About fifteen minutes, you’d been waiting a handful of meters from the brothel’s storage room, disguised by the far corner tables nestled within the establishment’s shadowy edges. Marking it the perfect locale for distant observers of the night’s entertainment— or idly spying Jedi. Fifteen minutes since Krissa, a now fellow employee, shuffled into that very same room to collect a few crates of Fizzbrew for the opening bar. Nearly twenty hours after you’d secured employment as what the owner lovingly called a “Friendly Dancer.”

Luckily, it was during that same interview that you’d caught the colorful, Force-illuminated trail, leading your attuned senses to this secured back room, like a bloodhound to its prey.

Or a Jedi to her Kyber crystals.

Yet, despite your carefully chosen cover, both assumed identity and dark corner camouflage, you still had a nagging feeling that your specially selected ‘employee uniform’ wasn’t doing you any furtive favors.

Besides the strikingly crimson, skin-gripping short dress that clad your hips, the black, shimmering fishnet stockings and translucent platform heels were sure to draw some unwanted attention during a time in which invisibility was your best friend.

But you had no choice. If you had any hope of maintaining your cover and completing your mission, you had to work with what you were given.

So, for now, one of these rusted-over, ash stools would need to serve their purpose— concealing you from the trickling in throng’s broad perspectives as you kept a peripheral lock on that steel door’s sturdy frame. One by one, hungry bidders with puffy, expensive coats and sparkling wears thickened the atmosphere, all while you hoped Krissa would quicken her exit via the locked door so that you could slip in.

It was moments like these that you’d wished you had your lightsaber. At least then, you could’ve cut through the heavy, metal barrier all on your own.

But, alas, this was a mission of stealth. And you’d be damned to put either Obi-Wan or Anakin in danger because of your impatience.

Causing you to, once more, question their absence.

“Boys, boys. Where are you boys…” you hummed lowly to yourself.

Glancing toward the billowing crowd, you grew remiss at their absence. It was easy to recall how both Jedi were particularly against your decision to immerse yourself into this environment, alone and unarmed. So much so, that you assumed they would’ve arrived by now. An observation that forced you to consider how this mission was sure to sour quick were you required to act without backup.

You shook that thought out of your mind almost as immediately as it arrived.

Obi-Wan and Anakin would always appear when you needed them most.

And you adored them for that.

That, among the litany of elements that drew you into their lives in the first place.

Your first mission together was but a sapling in the times you were to share. Memories, little moments, and fleeting glances recently coalesced into the singular realization that you’d fallen in love with two of the most powerful Jedi the Galaxy has to offer.

But they were just that. Jedi.

And so were you.

So no matter your unquestionable feelings for the men, there was nothing you could do. Putting aside that you doubted any emotional reciprocation, you were sure too that they’d never break the Jedi code for you.

And that left you to again drag yourself back from those innermost thoughts to focus on the situation at hand. Specifically, your conclusion that any dearth left in Obi-Wan and Anakin’s wake would mean nothing of consequence if you couldn’t get into that storage room.

Luckily, there was no need to wait much longer.

Krissa shoved open the door, using her back to thrust it the rest of the way with a crate of clinking, dark green bottles swirling in her arms. Fluttering lilac dress flowing by her legs as her eyes landed on your surveilling form.

Kriff.

“Hey!” She scream whispered, brows stitched in reprimand while she leaned toward you. “You’re gonna get fired before you’ve even had a chance to work if you keep hiding from paying customers.”

You smiled sheepishly, playing into her assumption as you ‘stumbled’ to your feet.

“I’m so sorry,” you mouthed, ambling toward the older woman while lifting a hand to ripple through the force floating by her eyes.

You spoke lowly.

“You want me to help you bring out those crates.”

“I want you to help me bring out these crates,” she parroted in a glazed-over daze, arm catching the steel door just before it shut to allow you entry.

You nodded to her thankfully, even though she had no choice in the matter, before pushing your way past the chilly aperture, entering the stuffy storage room while the door slammed shut behind you.

Speedily, you surveyed the cramped compartment, stacked and spread to the ceiling with a strange concoction of alcohol-filled crates, charcoal cargo containers, and draped artifacts that evinced the basement of a museum far more than a brothel’s back room.

But you didn’t really give it a second thought. If you didn’t want to get caught, then there was no time to ponder aesthetics.

Quickly, as your eyes fluttered closed, you allowed the Force to thicken your blood, treating your body and mind like a living, breathing compass in its guide to connect you with your True North—

The seven missing Kyber crystals.

With vision consumed by blackness, you dodged each precariously placed box and every outstretched figurine that threatened to obstruct your path as your senses drew you a detailed map toward the back wall. Almost like a pulsing beacon, you felt the heat of your connection to the sacred artifacts deepen, warming your more-than-usually exposed skin. Intensifying with each, deliberate step. Until it reached a fiery blaze so extravagant that one stride further would’ve certainly lit you alight.

You opened your eyes.

“Hey!” A deep voice called from behind you, triggering your heels to spin around toward the sudden sound, and away from the loosely sealed cargo container whose subtle, yet familiar, blue shine confirmed your senses.

Swiftly, you absorbed the older man’s ruffly peppered beard and chilled brown eyes as his head poked past the slightly ajar steel door, barely masked snarl contorting his lips.

“I don’t pay you to ogle the merchandise! Get out there and mingle,” he continued, jutting a thumb to the club’s main room to his rear.

You leapt to your feet, making a mental note of the crystals’ location while scurrying toward the owner who seemed to have somehow grown at least one more gray hair since your interview with him.

“Sorry, sir,” you mumbled, twisting to get by his form against the door and entering onto the main floor before turning back toward him. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” he huffed, swiveling to catch the shutting door with his foot before leaning down to retrieve something from behind it.

Still, his muffled voice echoed beyond the subsequent shuffling.

“You’re assisting tonight, and I want high bids. So get out there and make them like you.”

You nodded complacently, already prepared to whip around and follow his orders until the older gentleman reemerged with another case of green bottles cradled under his arm.

“And here,” he shoved the crate, obliging you to catch it somewhat unexpectedly with opened palms.

“Take this to the bar.”

—

“I don’t like this…” Anakin droned during his casual stroll toward Obi-Wan’s side, a glass of orange fizzy liquid held inconspicuously before his lips.

Kenobi was leaning against the bar, his cup of whatever was on tap cradled between his fingers yet clearly untouched. Instead, the subtly troubled Jedi’s attentive eyes continued their periodic scan of the barely lit brothel. Flitting past the pockets of gold-illuminated tabled alcoves and dark blue paneling, his eyes weaved through the voluminous throng. One that featured intimately quiet mumblings among extravagantly suited clientele and gorgeously draped employees.

It wasn’t hard for him to surmise the highest paying customers from the number of brothel workers who’d hang from their arms, clearly on the job.

Smiling at each of their glances. Laughing at every joke…

Kenobi wasn’t daft.

He clearly understood the expectations a club like this had for its staff. At the least, for those who mingled with the bidders before the show. He’d only hoped that with whatever position you’d acquired for your cover at this establishment, it wasn’t pressing you to do much of the same.

And no matter how illogical it sounded in his mind, he still didn’t want to see that.

Moreover, it seemed to be a thought that equally disturbed Anakin, as his gentle thrums of anxious musing stained the Force, gradually amplifying since both Jedi had yet to locate you.

The younger Jedi had always been protective of you, Obi-Wan excused, unbeknownst that Skywalker was making much of the same defense. Though for the chestnut-haired Jedi, it was more the self-justification that he was a protective person in general. And that this was nothing more than only that.

Just Anakin being Anakin.

“I’m confident she’ll turn up soon, Anakin.”

The younger man expressly sighed, permitting a brief beat to pass as a spring of laughter ricocheted by his ears from a nearby dancer. Waiting for it to die down with bated breath before angling to respond.

“What if she didn’t get the job? She might be trying to find a different way in right now.”

Obi-Wan had no need for reaching out to the Force in order to confidently answer that inquiry.

“She succeeded. Trust me, I’d know otherwise.” He hummed, raising his glass to just barely grace his lips, but never daring to take a sip and weaken his awareness. “However, should they not show soon, I am considering they may have been apprehended.”

Similarly, Anakin vehemently shook his head. He even permitted a wry chuckle to escape past those formerly parched lips before confidently responding to the Jedi Master’s statement.

“No way. If Y/n got caught, she’d send us a signal the second she felt us near.”

Skywalker’s confident air faltered.

“Well,” he shrugged nervously. “Assuming she’s not injured.”

Obi-Wan shot his former Padawan a disapproving glare.

Until his attention was suddenly grasped by a warm, comforting hand sliding across his shoulder.

“Is this what you boys do when I’m not around? Theorize about my potential failings?”

The two men spun toward you, catching the playful smirk consuming your features before their eyes were tugged down like an anchor to trail your stunningly sheathed body, almost as if it was the first time they’d ever laid eyes upon you.

It would be an understatement to state that absorbing this captivating sight had coerced their jaws into forgetting their primary function.

The low-cut style of your short, curving red dress. The fishnet stockings that stretched down your thighs and softly clasped your high-heeled feet. The sparkling, green gemmed earrings that perfectly brought out your plump, red lipstick and long lashes. And, most noticeably, your loose, flowing hair that they’d only ever seen tied back for battle, now resting lushly across your bare shoulders like a still-life statue.

It wasn’t a side of you either men had the pleasure of observing before. And, if given the chance, they’d challenge whichever entity had so long sealed this wonderful sight from their burning eyes to a duel.

One that such an unjust creature was sure to regret.

It was a kind of fairy tale notion that both men pondered instantly once they felt a bubbling heat swarm their countenance when faced by your visual power.

So much so, that Anakin couldn’t help but break the brief lull as his suddenly dried mouth reached down his throat for an audible, and undoubtedly embarrassing, cough as he scratched his nose to try to hide himself.

Obi-Wan wasn’t coping much better. The Master Negotiator had lost all concept of Basic, its vocabulary, grammar, and everything in between as his mind was only filled with your enticing image, your pleasantly exposed skin, and the touch of your fingers to his body.

Until it was too soon gone.

Your hand fell thoughtlessly to your side, head cocking with lifted brows before speaking.

“You can close your mouths. It was just a joke.”

But it was Kenobi who first gathered the confidence to respond.

“Um, you look—“

“Lemme guess. Ravishing? The night’s main treat?” You relayed sarcastically while heaving down a large crate of clinking bottles atop the bar, one that both men only just now noticed before you whipped back toward the still stunned Jedi, drawing their gaze center.

“I’ll have it known that the distance between the storage room and the bar is a mere fifteen-second walk and I’ve already heard it all—“

“…like an angel,” Anakin muttered, not even himself realizing that he’d said that aloud.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you felt your heart skip a beat, sending an unexpected tingle to the root of your gut before sheepishly smiling at the deepening flush of the chestnut-haired man.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, tensely eyed his former Padawan.

“Okay, that one’s new,” you admitted, gaze trailing away to conceal your unpreparedness for such an unexpectedly sweet comment.

Ironically, it was at that moment that your wandering stare settling beyond Anakin’s shoulder abruptly caught a familiar, peppered beard. Accompanied by terse, beady eyes that scowled at you from a far wall with the intensity of a lodestar.

You had a decision to make.

But, really, was there a choice at all?

Obi-Wan would catch on, you thought.

Though, no matter how well Kenobi did understand the requirements of your cover, he still certainly wasn’t expecting you to, in a millisecond, swiftly stride toward his bewildered form to wrap your warm arms around his neck.

Immediately, despite the quickening of his thrumming heart latching onto his Adam’s apple, Obi-Wan raised his usually firm hands to gently clasp at your forearms, being sure to send you a questioning glance as he smoothly played along.

But under all that, and although he was still unsure why, deep down Kenobi secretly hoped that such a quizzical gesture hadn’t encouraged you to subsequently pull away. For some reason, he despised the thought of influencing you to forgo remaining this close to him.

So close, that he could feel the tickle of your breath across his chin.

Thankfully, though, his innermost prayer seemed to have been answered.

“Sorry,” you whispered, conveying an outwardly flirting expression of perked lips and a tilted head.

There were very few people in the Galaxy capable of reading the subtle apologetic shine of your eyes that deeply stared into his. An invisible utterance that remained firm while you briefly freed one hand to beckon over a confounded, and secretly peeved, Anakin who stood just behind his former Master, before you grasped his loose hand and tugged him forward with a terribly fake laugh.

Soon, you rested the younger Jedi’s arm on your lower back, securing its nervously flaccid form around your waist while Skywalker’s face transformed into a brand new shade of crimson once he discovered the dress’s open back.

A clearly readable reaction that deepened Kenobi’s hesitation with his former Padawan’s proximity to you. And while his mind struggled to connect the dots on why he continued to experience these strange bouts of discomfort, too distracted to truly pin down these sensations, Kenobi still felt fueled by Anakin’s expression to nudge you a little closer into his own chest.

If that was even possible.

Paying no mind to the sudden action, you addressed both men, giving a particular glance to Anakin who seemed to be the most caught off-guard of the two of them.

“The brothel’s owner made it very clear that if I don’t ’mingle’ with the customers, trouble will come my way.”

And that made the former slave’s blood boil.

“I’ll kill him.”

“No, you won’t,” you punctuated, temporarily removing your other arm from Obi-Wan to privately rest on Anakin’s balmy cheeks, caressing them down to draw his eyes to your level as he too struggled to fight off the festering heart attack that threatened to crack his rib, and deepened the sudden feeling of emptiness in Kenobi’s chest. “Because we have one mission here, and it’s to retrieve those stolen crystals. And I’m not losing my chance to snatch them away due to your needless protectiveness. I’m quite capable on my own.”

“What do you mean?” Kenobi inquired, taking this opportunity to regain some realm of confidence before snaking his arms around your waist and tugging you toward him with a roughness that would easily read as greedy to anyone who happened to be looking that way.

Still, the unexpected suddenness of his movement set the nerves in your face on fire. No matter, you played into the act, falling into his chest with fingers gripping onto the lapels of his oddly sparkly jacket.

“Um,” you swallowed, regathering your thoughts with a blink. “I’m assisting tonight. Meaning that I’ll be showcasing each item while they’re bid upon.”

You hummed to yourself while considering this new stroke of luck. A sudden vibration against Obi-Wan’s chest that you hadn’t realized sent a fresh, nervous chill down his arms as he held your mystifying figure, encouraging subtly wandering eyes to drink in the sight once more while his unsteady heart began to churn his innermost thoughts.

It was in that same moment that Anakin first caught onto his former Master’s charade, having finally glimpsed an equal measure of voraciousness within his distracted, blue orbs. Something that stoked Anakin’s frustration that began anew with each moment Kenobi drew you closer to himself.

“I say we don’t waste the credits,” you commented, refocusing both Jedi’s attention. “The minute I have the crystals in hand, I’ll send you a signal, and we’ll dash out of here.”

Obi-Wan leaned into you, forehead mere centimeters from yours as a spoke lowly. And for some reason, you thought, with noticeably erratic breath.

“That’s extremely risky.”

“Well, you have my lightsaber. Don’t you?” You challenged with a lift of your lips.

Suddenly, a trail of warm fingers raked up into your hair, sending quite an unexpected chill down your back once they clutched around a bunch and somewhat needily rotated your head toward Anakin’s expectant face. Yanking your body more forcefully before soon feeling his strong arm catch your side.

“I have it,” he spoke lowly.

And in spite of how desperately he tried to keep his eyes connected with yours, he couldn’t help that split second in which they sparsely flitted toward your perfectly tinted lips.

An action you apparently missed for your focus on the mission at hand.

But a gesture that contorted Obi-Wan’s lips into a perpetual frown as his mind caught up with his frothing feelings.

“Good,” you expressed. “Then I’ll have it when it’s needed.”

While your eyes remained focused and thoughtful, half a mind on playing up your cover with the other half on those crystals, Anakin had trouble keeping his eyes from once more wandering downwards.

The feel of your red-draped body against his, the closeness of your bared upper chest and noticeable cleavage, the sparkle of your eyes that comparably made your bright earrings look like clumps of coal.

Though not fully, Anakin was beginning to understand what was going on in his chest to draw his signature into such a volatile temper. Mostly because he couldn’t help himself when one hand released from your soft hair to trail down your exposed back, the other palm brushing upwards from your flank to meet the other side as he briefly traced the outline of your shoulder blades.

All of which sent a lightning bolt of cold heat right up to your head and down toward your sensitively tingling toes before he inched you toward him with the press of his fingertips while he whispered.

“Obi-Wan is right. I don’t think we should take the risk. But just in case you need it…”

Slowly, he retrieved a hand, raking it over your shoulder and feeling every inch of your arm while his mind cleared. The chestnut-haired man’s swelling eyes traced the enticing experience until he reached your hand. And with feigned gravitas clouding his features, he carefully guided your hand beneath his suit jacket, dragging it just along his warm back until you felt a cold metal resting beside his tailbone.

“…you know where it is.”

What was happening?

That was the main question you were asking yourself.

Were both Obi-Wan and Anakin just really amazing actors when the moment required it? You’d certainly never seen such a talent from either of them before. Yet the sudden naturalness, the near familiarity with which each Jedi pulled and held you close? The intimate touches and long glances while this secret meeting proceeded?

You weren’t sure what changed between twenty hours ago and now. Yet, in your core, you knew a part of your brain didn’t want it to stop.

No.

You were a Jedi. You were all Jedi. Committed to a code.

You must’ve been reading this wrong. Feelings that you knew you’d long held for the men had once again clouded your judgment.

Meanwhile, the growing tension between the two Jedi had heightened to a noticeable degree. But with your mind focused seemingly on other matters, it was only just to each other.

“You? Not wanting to be reckless?” You stated, attempting to suffocate your rushing nerves with a confident smirk. “Are you sure I’m speaking with Anakin Skywalker or do we have an imposter in our midsts?” You chuckled. “Oh, and agreeing with Obi-Wan?” You added, raising a brow.

This time, it was Master Kenobi who felt a fire erupt through his veins while his thoughts solidified.

It was you.

You who were making him feel such a way.

Ever and always.

On every mission and in each universal moment, it was you who made the Jedi Master take pause as his heart skipped a beat in your presence.

Master Kenobi was even more firm in this belief: that he was quite finished with watching Anakin cradle you in his arms for any longer. That, and the growing desire fueled by this new angle permitting Obi-Wan to graze over your open back’s supple skin with his eyes, drained him of all his decades-long self-control in an instant.

He needed to do something about that

Reaching a warm hand to the closest corner of your waistline, and with a little nudge from the Force on the other side, Obi-Wan tugged you right into his arms.

You felt the imperceptible, tiny scratches of his sequined suit jacket and the heat barely underneath sprawl across your back while his palms meandered up your sides and down each arm, soon folding them across you as he enveloped you against himself.

This time, you truly couldn’t help the light, crimson blush that bloomed across your cheeks. Especially when Kenobi chose this opportune time to gradually lean into your shoulder, chin dipping so that his lips hung mere centimeters from your attentive ear before whispering a warning with a tone warmer than you were used to hearing from the Master Negotiator.

Especially in the middle of a mission.

“You should listen to him.”

Still, despite feeling the ravenous desire to take a calming breath and smooth your hammering heartbeat, you held firm, responding to his inquiry with an overpowering confidence that usually settled any score when the three of you were having a disagreement.

At the same time, having just noticed the brothel owner’s decision to push off his far wall perch to approach, you decided to also strike a grin, raising a flirtatious brow over your shoulder at Obi-Wan’s unreadably dark eyes while you spoke, maintaining your cover.

“No. The plan stands. Trust me, there’s no need to worry.”

But, unexpectedly for you, witnessing your visually claimed figure in Obi-Wan’s arms barking out orders all while clad in that tiny red dress ignited a fierce burning passion in Anakin to challenge you back as he too decided to make his thoughts known.

Through his words and with his hands.

Taking one powerful stride to stand directly before your toes, the younger man just barely graced your bottom lip to seize your chin, lifting it upwards and twisting you to meet his wanting, blue gaze. Compelling your bright, widening eyes to wonder once more whether the lines between fiction and reality were beginning to blur.

Your breath hitched.

“Gentlemen!” The owner exclaimed, sliding next to Obi-Wan and Anakin to place a performative pat on both their shoulders. “I’m glad you’re enjoying one of our new hires, but I’m afraid that I’ll need to borrow her for the rest of the auction. We are about to begin.”

Wordlessly, both Jedi released their respective grips on you, sharing between themselves an unamused glance above your head while you ambled toward the owner. Never breaking your own, painfully forged smile.

But that seemed to be enough to convince the quite older owner that all was set to begin, as he swiftly turned on his heel toward the brothel’s far podium, motioning for you to follow his trail.

You promptly obliged, yet not before sending one quick, yet quiet, last word with a twist of your head toward the Jedi who begrudgingly stayed behind with crossed arms or a clenched beard.

“Wait for my signal.”

—

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Anakin commented idling by Kenobi’s side.

The two men continued their observations of the auction since it began half an hour ago, their eyes rarely drifting away from the rather cramped, rickety stage while you traveled from side to side, displaying each item with deliciously attractive poise. Presently, you were exhibiting an old, handheld marble statue modeled after a female Twi’lek. And although other patrons regarded the item with interest, the two Jedi meant to be watching your back for any danger had their minds on other matters.

Anakin couldn’t keep his eyes off your sensually pacing legs, while Obi-Wan could barely remain still with your elegant, tightly wrapped hips moving to and fro.

“I hear 2,000 credits! 2,000 credits. Do I hear 2,100?”

Master Kenobi readjusted his shoulders somewhat uncomfortably. “I know. I don’t believe I’ve said otherwise.”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you want Y/n.”

The bearded Jedi whipped his head from the stage as he addressed the seemingly jealous, younger man. And for the first time in a very long time, Obi-Wan began to feel those same, envious emotions with equal strength, like he’d caught some psychic disease from the blue-eyed Jedi’s glance alone.

“2,100! Do I hear 2,200? 2,200 folks, for this ancient artifact of an unknown Ryloth civilization!”

“And?” He acknowledged nonchalantly, taking an assertive stance while he found comfort in the memory of you in his arms. “And what if I do?”

Anakin’s lips formed a thin line, the image of your parted, shocked lips when he caught your dressed figure perfuming his thoughts. “Then you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I’ve noticed,” Kenobi stated sarcastically before raising a rather annoyed brow.

“Going once! Going twice!”

“What are you gonna do?” Anakin mumbled.

Skywalker had to ask the question. Even though he’d already confirmed in his mind that no matter what, no matter if Master Kenobi felt the same, that he’d give you the chance of knowing that there was more than one.

Obi-Wan answered simply. “I’m planning on telling her.”

“Sold! To the fellow in the orange top hat on the right!”

Because through the older Jedi’s musings, Kenobi was arriving at a similar conclusion. That if you in any way felt the same, he’d at least give you a choice.

“I assume you’ll be doing the same?” He continued.

“Yes.” Anakin sighed, eyes returning to the stage just as you remerged with an old, raggedy yet sealed box held tightly in your hands. “And what if she can’t decide?”

Obi-Wan followed the young Jedi’s line of sight, subconsciously licking his lips as the fabric of your tight, red dress pulsed his blood and slackened his jaw.

“Then we do what we must…”

The bearded Jedi swallowed.

Hard.

“…we help her.”

A rallying spark flung through the Force, filling both Jedi’s senses as they were wrenched from the momentary, visual distraction that was your ravishingly dressed person.

There was no way to deny it. Your pointed expression? Your readied stance?

The signal had just been fired.

Reaching for their respective lightsabers hung inconspicuously at the belt, both Jedi swiftly whipped their weapons out into the open, igniting a collective blue glow that provided enough of a shockingly, eye-catching distraction for you to leap from the stage, box in hand, without much recourse.

Then came the blasters.

As if emerging like shadows from the establishment’s dark corners, a sporadic group of armed men dressed like well-to-do pirates began their determined assault. Coloring the air with orange beams while the crowd scattered, hurried screams and the groans of abruptly shuffling furniture echoing off the walls.

You bolted for the Jedi, triggering both to somersault toward you while they attempted to block any bolt that you nearly failed to dodge before landing at either flank. Thankfully, that provided the chance to fling a searching arm beneath Anakin’s suit jacket, grasping your saber from its warm habitat before yanking it out into the open to launch its green luminescence.

“Go!” Obi-Wan cried, deflecting another round of bolts from your rear while the two men encircled you like a living, breathing barrier.

“We’ll hold them off!” Anakin agreed, flinging a badly aimed bolt toward a now broken and sparking light fixture above before facing you. “Get back to the ship!”

You glanced at both men, making clear your uncertainty and reluctance through the Force as, even with your aid, the gentle perspires of their efforts became noticeable.

But it was their turn to stay firm.

“Now! We’ll be right behind you!” Obi-Wan strictly assured.

So, with the box of crystals secured tightly beneath one arm and your saber effectively defending against the coming onslaught with the other, you decided to, for once, follow the boys’ instructions as you bolted for the exit, and out the brothel’s door.

And, with their hearts already racing, both Jedi had to do their best not to focus on your distracting wears as they paved a path to race after you.

—

Leaping through the red and white Nu-class shuttle’s rear hatch the instant it opened wide enough to do so was enough to coerce out an instant sigh of relief as your feet landed on the metal floor, drawing you deeper into the bird’s belly. Naturally, after regaining some bearings in the familiarity of the ship, you felt secure enough to set the relatively sturdy box of Kyber crystals atop a nearby ledge before turning to assess the situation behind you.

You already sensed that Anakin and Obi-Wan had stuck close to your heels during the entire escape, sabers twirling with elegant control against any threatening phaser until you strayed far enough beyond the brothel’s preview to lose any potential tails. So you weren’t surprised to find both men maintaining a similarly brisk pace while speeding up the ramp seconds after your arrival. Sabers long ago clipped back at their sides with Obi-Wan leading the way, leaving Skywalker in charge of closing the now slowly rising hatch.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was that the overpowering determination emanating from the bearded Jedi’s face had not in the least bit lessened since he entered the craft. Quickly, yet smoothly, he shed his gaudy suit jacket, tossing it unceremoniously to the side as he subsisted his approach.

In fact, the slight narrowing of those blue eyes, an expression you’d only seen in the occasional sparring session, remained forwardly focused. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was charging right for you, an action itself that compelled you to perplexedly speak while his brown boots closed that ever-shrinking distance.

“What are you—“

Warm lips smashed against yours, moving hungrily yet delicately while Obi-Wan’s sturdy arms snaked around your waist to gently tug you into himself.

Your heart nearly stopped, and from the tingling, tiny explosions erupting at each and every nerve ending alone, you felt yourself fall into the momentum, arms raising with the certainty of a choreographed dance to cradle Obi-Wan’s head and run your fingers through his soft, auburn locks.

Whether consciously or not, his grip on you tightened, straining your breath before you had the unavoidable need to be even closer to him. You intensified the kiss, drawing his plump, reddened lips into slow and steady locks, only for them to release with the duration of a clap before you both deeply met each other again with needy swiftness.

It felt like hours, but it had been mere seconds since the instant his body met yours. Still, the two of you reluctantly pulled away from each other. Mostly to catch much-needed breaths from the pure, unadulterated shock of it all.

Master Kenobi held you still as your gaze graced over his flushed features, including that slightly tussled hair and darkened eyes that diverted from their usual bright sparkle. Especially when they flitted from your surprised orbs, to your plump lips, and back again.

But no matter this pleasing diversion, still, out of the corner of your eye, you were forced to notice Anakin— standing in the far corner in quiet observation, and chillingly reminding you of where you were and what important rules both you and his former Master had certainly just broken in his presence.

What made it all worse, though, was that for the life of you, you could not read the younger man’s expression. Apparently, he had just stood there, arms crossed once the shuttle door was secured and simply… watched? Impassively?

No, that couldn’t be right.

Then, he pushed off the wall.

Anakin’s arms fell to the side as he gradually approached you both, brows tightening into what looked like a slightly angrier cross that ran your brain into overdrive. You were still having trouble discerning his emotions through the Force, but could only make an educated guess that he was beyond frustrated that the two beings closest to him had just broken the Jedi Code.

And, also because, he didn’t seem to have any particular reaction to what Obi-Wan did, making you sadly doubt that he’d ever feel the same way you’d always felt for the chestnut-haired man and his former Master.

So, no matter how right it felt, how much you wanted it, you knew that it was time for some damage control.

“Obi-Wan…” you took a deep, shaky breath, nerves still firing at every end while your stare stood firmly on Obi-Wan’s wanting expression, Anakin nearing your side.

You loosely exhaled.

“Where did that—“

Hot moisture met your neck, Anakin’s wet lips attacking its side and extracting a startled gasp from your lungs as your eyes fluttered closed. Greedily, he cupped your throat to softy tug you toward him, draining your arms into a state of perpetual pliability from the pleasant heat filling your chest.

They slid, soon falling from Obi-Wan’s body entirely before you angled toward the younger Jedi and shakily twisted them around his shoulders for support. Another weak sigh escaped past your lips once you felt Anakin’s teeth graze across a sensitive spot as the weakening kisses continued, an action which only seemed to encourage the younger Jedi considering he returned to that spot with more fervor, sucking it dry until your jaw slackened.

Still, no matter how dazed your mind had become in this last minute of chaos, you just couldn’t believe this was happening.

It had to be a mistake, right? Was something else wrong?

Something must have happened.

Regathering your senses, you quickly pulled away from Anakin, feeling the resistance of your initial jerk snap Anakin from his equally influenced status as he quickly tried to give you space.

“Are you ok??” He asked rapidly, eyes seeping wide-eyed worry and flickers of guilt while Obi-Wan, who was initially calmly analyzing the show, too shifted to share a similarly concerned expression.

“Yes, of course,” you aired, still slightly out of breath as you stared confoundedly at the two men. “I’m fine Anakin, but what is going on? This is coming out of nowhere.” You shook your head. “Were the two of you drugged or something?”

“In a sense, I suppose we were,” Obi-Wan answered nonchalantly.

You raised a brow.

“Y/n,” Anakin uttered, drawing your eyes toward his. “Obi-Wan and I realized something back there during the mission. Something it looks like we both kinda knew for a while but didn’t really understand until now.”

Master Kenobi’s eyes raked across your figure once more while he spoke. “I saw you there, we saw you, truly, for the first time. And I lost my breath.”

You melted at his words.

“All I saw was pure beauty and you, and I couldn’t tell the difference,” Anakin spoke disjointedly, nearly making you giggle. “And I knew that seeing you like this, in this way, I couldn’t wait any longer. We couldn’t wait. We needed to tell you.”

“Tell me?” You asked breathily, preparing yourself for whatever was to come next.

“That we desire you,” Obi-Wan barely whispered, fluttering your stomach. “That you are more important to us than ancient statutes. And we determined that you must know so that you may decide if you wish it.”

You shuttered, worries of the Code fading into nothingness while the two men before you consumed your senses. “Decide?”

Anakin stared at you, a pleading glint in his eyes as he spoke gently.

“Which one of us you want back.”

Your still heavy breaths punctuated the otherwise quiet air. Characteristic of the thoughts rattling against your buzzed skull before a throaty mutter made its way past your teeth.

“I can’t…”

You watched while their faces deflated at your words.

“We understand, Y/n,” Obi-Wan spoke, a subtle sadness drooping his tone. “It’s quite alright—“

“No,” you corrected quickly. “No, I can’t decide.”

Anakin’s brows quirked at this, head tilting as curiosity subdued his brief listlessness.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

You sighed heavily, eyes drifting to the floor with an unaccustomed quiver. “I mean, I can’t decide because… because…”

You bit your lip.

“I want you both.”

Raising your head, you carefully observed the two men, bodies as still as statues while their swollen eyes held firmly on your figure. Anakin nurturing a steadily expanding, devious grin while he quietly flexed a fist, and Obi-Wan, faintly flicking his tongue across his top lip in an effort to carefully drink in your figure.

A pleasant chill ran down your spine.

“Is that alright?” You whispered.

Anakin chuckled incredulously, cueing Obi-Wan to respond to that inquiry.

“Darling,” he murmured, insatiable eyes sucking you barren as the nickname sent a new round of tingles down your legs. “That stretches far beyond ‘alright.’”

“How do you want us?” Anakin posed, tone nearing a growl.

Unfiltered, you spoke your mind.

“As close as possible.”

And the Jedi obliged.

________________________________________________________________

Should I do a part 2 at some point? Let me know :)

[nerdygaymormon]

Sometimes you mention that you've lived long enough to see changes in the church on LGBTQ topics. What are some of the major changes you've experienced in church?

I feel like I've lived in 3 eras of the LDS Church.

When I was a child, it was an era that now seems very far away. Black people weren't allowed to go to the temple or have the priesthood (which also limited which callings they could have in church). Church met twice on Sundays, once for Sunday School (children attended Jr Sunday School) and I think priesthood quorums met prior to Sunday School, and then we came again later that day for Sacrament meeting. This part is fuzzy to me, but I think youth activities were on Tuesday, and Primary was on Wednesday (and I think Relief Society was also on Wednesday). In addition to paying tithing, my parents were asked to contribute to the local ward budget, and we raised money to build the local church building. I remember my family working on the local church farm (I'm not sure if it was part of the welfare system or was a fundraiser for the local stake/ward budgets, perhaps both). There was a BIG emphasis on food storage. Social life revolved around church as there were many activities such as the annual Gold & Green Ball (dinner and a dance for the married folks, it was a big deal, they'd dress fancy for it). The church members were socially and politically conservative.

My teens and young adult years were spent in a different era. The church had undone the restrictions on Black members. Church was now consolidated to a 3-hour block on Sundays (except for youth activities on Wednesdays). Temples started getting built in big cities outside of Utah but still were a far drive for many members, instead of going on a temple trip once a year, as a youth we could go twice a year when a temple was built a few hours away. There were still a lot of activities, especially for the teenagers, such as big stake/regional dances, sports competitions, road shows, and a big youth trip in the summer. The ward budgets came from the church (from the tithing) and not from individual members of the ward giving more, and we no longer had to contribute (either money or labor) for local church buildings to get constructed. We didn't work on farms anymore, but worked in the cannery (I remember hearing adults talk about operating machines that bottled ketchup). While the membership was still very conservative, a more moderate approach was being taken by top leadership, and President Hinckley made big steps towards being more open with the world.

I'd say that President Nelson has ushered in another era. Two-hour church on Sundays. Wednesday youth programs being less rigorous or programmed. Temples within a relatively short drive of members and encouragement to go often. Teenagers can have their own temple recommends. No home or visiting teachers and instead a conversation and informal friendship counts as ministering. Few church activities outside of those for youth and our regular church meetings. More accommodation for differences in beliefs of what were considered core doctrines & principles (this started before the Nelson era). The internet has caused the church to be more open about its past, including some issues which are hard like racism and polygamy (again, this predates the Nelson era). There's also been steps to undo some of the patriarchy in the church structure (like women can serve as witnesses and changes to the temple ceremony).

I definitely would not want to go back to the era of the 1970's when I was a child. While there are things I miss from the era of Hinckley & Monson, I don't think I'd like to revert back. The one effect I worry about from the recent changes is people have weaker social ties to their church community. I've heard leaders say that church isn't a social club, but for a long time it was and I think the church underestimates the importance of social connections.

—————————————————

As for LGBTQ history in the LDS Church, Nathan Kitchen, the former president of Affirmation, did an excellent job in describing the changes in the church on these topics. I have lived through 5 eras of the church on LGBTQ issues.

The era from when I was a child was brutal. Even saying you're gay was seen as sinful. You were expected to fight with everything you had to completely erase these feelings. Attempts to remove these “tendencies” included electro-shock therapy at BYU. Most families would reject the queer family member.

The death of President Spencer W. Kimball in 1985 led to the next era for LGBTQ members. Rather than insist on complete erasure of homosexual feelings, gay members were to behave like straight people--get married and have kids and DON'T TELL ANYONE. This is the invisible generation who felt isolated and alone, hidden from other members and each other. Every so often we still hear about a former mission president or stake president who finally comes out after decades of living as a straight person. Most of the mixed-orientation marriages failed, the queer person eventually spoke their truth, picked up the pieces of their shattered dreams, and moved on and out of the church.

In 1998, President Gordon B. Hinckley did a widely-viewed interview with Larry King in which he said said we love "so-called gays and lesbians" and put forward the idea that gay thoughts aren’t a problem, but gay actions are. The church's view was that some of us are struggling with unwanted same-sex attractions, much like people who have other addictions. Even as the church led a major effort to defeat marriage equality, queer members no longer had to remain hidden, so they found each other and attended conferences together and encouraged each other. Members would admire queer members for their wrestle against their attractions. Because they were trying to make this path work and were admired for it, these queer members mostly didn’t share their struggles & mental health challenges with their family, friends, or other members. They were visible, but largely were silent. A generation seen but not heard.

Beginning in the early 2010's, a growing number of gay members receive media attention, and groups like Mama Dragons and North Star are formed. By the mid-2010's the church shifts its approach and starts highlighting and celebrating gay and bisexual members who are single & celibate, and also a few who are in mixed-orientation marriages. The church starts softening its former positions as it officially rejects conversion therapy, advocates for no violence and doesn't require members to deny their queer identities. As long as you are single & celibate, you are welcome. This is also when trans members start entering the consciousness of the church as in 2015 Emmett Claren (now Emmett Presciado) starts a YouTube channel where he documents his transition and in 2017 Kris Irvin makes national news for having a bishop threaten to withhold a BYU ecclesiastical endorsement if Kris receives top surgery. LDS families no longer automatically reject their queer children, but tend to leave the church together if their queer child doesn't feel welcome or safe at church. One last effort to pull membership back occurred in 2015 with a policy against gay couples and their children, and it received a LOT of pushback and generated a wave of members leaving the LDS church.

I think we entered a new era in 2019 as the Handbook policy of 2015 is reversed. In 2020 the now-publicly available Church Handbook softens the approach to gay and bi members but puts in more rules and restrictions of trans members. It's the beginning of a dichotomy where we see progress for people who aren't heterosexual and regression for people who aren't cisgender. In 2024, there are now married gay couples quietly attending church and not being excommunicated (which wasn't a thing even just 2 or 3 years ago), and trans members are facing severe restrictions due to more changes in the Handbook. It's hard not to believe more positive changes for gay and bi members will be coming, even as the church ratchets up its fight against trans members.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Hadrian's Wall

Hadrian's Wall is an impressive masterpiece of military engineering built along steep ups and downs that cross space and history between England and Scotland.

The old wall, sculpted for almost 2000 years by wind and rain, climbs over hills, immerses itself in a moor to suddenly resurface among the blades of light of a wood, a karst presence that seems to absorb the energy of landscape to challenge its gravity and logic in a rollercoaster of harsh ups and downs that cross space and history.

Hadrian's Wall is no longer England but it is not yet Scotland, even if the land to the north seems wilder.

But perhaps it is just a state of mind of those who look at it, subtly altered by the emotion of treading the same stones on which the Roman legionaries walked.

In reality, unlike what many believe, the Wall is within English territory, even if it has helped define the borders of the two countries since the emperor from whom it takes its name ordered its construction in 122 AD to "separate the Romans from the barbarians," the hostile tribes of the Picts who populated today's Scotland, a tough nut to crack even for the Roman legions.

To build it in just six years, about fifteen thousand men were employed, three legions that faced the challenges of a terrain carefully chosen to exploit its advantages.

The result is an impressive masterpiece of military engineering, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987, stretching from one coast of England to the other for eighty Roman miles, about one hundred and seventeen kilometers from Solway Firth to the west and Wallsend to the east.

It is one of the many place names linked to its existence and then extending southwards with ports and coastal fortifications.

For nearly three centuries, Hadrian's Wall was northernmost and most fortified boundary of the Roman limes, a gigantic defensive system that stretched for over five thousand kilometres — from the Atlantic coast of Great Britain to the Black Sea across Europe — then continuing through present-day Middle East to Red Sea and from there cutting across North Africa to the Atlantic.

The 117km long (80 Roman miles) Hadrian's Wall was punctuated by 14 main forts, 80 minor ones and 2 watchtowers every third of a mile.

In addition to the actual wall, mainly made of stone, about 5m high and up to 3m thick, becoming six metres thick in the earthen sections, the Wall was reinforced by a ditch bristling with pointed stakes, a military road that connected the forts and allowed any point to be reached quickly and by a deep embankment, the Vallum.

The forts, rectangular in plan, varied in size according to the importance of the garrison, a pattern repeated with slight differences along the entire limes that protected the borders of the empire.

A moat and a wall punctuated by towers protected the perimeter and each side had a gate protected by two massive towers.

Inside were the headquarters — the praetorium where the praefectus castrorum reside; barracks; a hospital; warehouses and latrines, generally under the walls, while the bathrooms were outside the fortifications.

In granary, food supplies were stored to face the harsh winters or possible sieges.

In the Vicus, the civilian settlement, lived the families of the soldiers, often auxiliaries who officially could not marry.

In these villages that grew spontaneously around the forts, merchants, artisans and prostitutes also lived, attracted by the soldiers' wages.

There were also temples dedicated to Roman, local and even oriental deities that reflected the different religions of soldiers from all over the empire because Romans were very tolerant as long as the social order and the emperor were not questioned.

🎥: © pindropandhop via IG

[sixteenseveredhands]

Medieval Hermitage atop Katskhi Pillar, in Georgia (South Caucasus), c. 800-900 CE: this church was built during the Middle Ages; it sits atop a limestone column that has been venerated as a "Pillar of Life" for thousands of years

Known as Katskhi Pillar (or Katskhis Sveti), this enormous block of limestone is located in western Georgia, about 10km from the town of Chiatura.

The church that stands atop Katskhi Pillar was originally constructed during the 9th-10th century CE. It was long used as a hermitage for Stylites, who are sometimes referred to as "Pillar Saints" -- Christian ascetics who lived, prayed, and fasted atop pillars, often in total isolation, in an effort to bring themselves closer to God. This tradition originated in Syria during the 5th century CE, when a hermit known as Simeon the Elder purportedly climbed up onto a pillar and then stayed there for nearly 40 years, giving rise (no pun intended) to the Stylites. Stylitism managed to survive for about 1,000 years after its inception, but it gradually began to die out during the late Middle Ages, and by the end of the 16th century, it had essentially gone extinct.

Researchers don't really know how the monks originally gained access to the top of Katskhi Pillar, or how they were able to transport their building materials up to the top of the column. There's evidence that the Stylites were still living at Katskhi Pillar up until the 15th century, but the site was then abandoned shortly thereafter. This was the same period in which Georgia came under Ottoman rule, though it's unclear whether or not that may have played a role in the abandonment of the site.

The hermitage continued to lay abandoned for nearly 500 years after that. No one had been able to gain access to the top of the pillar, and very little was even known about the ruins that lay scattered at the top, as knowledge about the site's origin/history was gradually lost. There are many local legends that emerged as a way to fill in those blanks.

The site was not visited again until July 29th, 1944, when a mountaineer finally ascended to the top of the column with a small team of researchers, and the group performed the first archaeological survey of the ruins. They found that the structure included three hermit cells, a chapel, a wine cellar, and a small crypt; within the crypt lay a single set of human remains, likely belonging to one of the monks who had inhabited the site during the Middle Ages.

A metal ladder (the "stairway to Heaven") was ultimately installed into the side of the pillar, making it much easier for both researchers and tourists to gain access to these ruins.

The hermitage at the top of Katskhi Pillar actually became active again in the early 1990's, when a small group of monks attempted to revive the Stylite tradition. A Georgian Orthodox monk named Maxime Qavtaradze then lived alone at the top of Katskhi Pillar for almost 20 years, beginning in 1995 and ending with his death in 2014. He is now buried at the base of the pillar.

While the hermitage is no longer accessible to the public, and it is currently uninhabited, it's still visited by local monks, who regularly climb up to the church in order to pray. There is also an active monastery complex at the base of the pillar, where a temple known as the Church of the Simeon Stylites is located.

The Church of the Simeon Stylites: this church is located within an active monastery complex that has been built at the base of the pillar; several frescoes and religious icons decorate the walls of the church, and a small shrine containing a 6th century cross is located in the center

There are many lingering questions about the history of Katskhi Pillar, particularly during the pre-Christian era. There is at least some evidence suggesting that it was once the site of votive offerings to pagan deities, as a series of pre-Christian idols have been found buried in the areas that surround the pillar; according to local tradition, the pillar itself was once venerated by the pagan societies that inhabited the area, but it's difficult to determine the extent to which these claims may simply be part of the mythos that surrounds Katskhi Pillar, particularly given its mysterious reputation.

Sources & More Info:

BBC: Georgia's Daring, Death-Defying Pilgrimage

CNN: Katskhi Pillar, the Extraordinary Church where Daring Monks Climb Closer to God

Radio Free Europe: Georgian Monk Renews Tradition, Lives Atop Pillar

Architecture and Asceticism (Ch. 4): Stylitism as a Cultural Trend Between Syria and Georgia

Research Publication from the Georgian National Museum: Katskhi Pillar

Journal of Nomads: Katskhi Pillar, the Most Incredible Cliff Church in the World

Georgian Journal: Georgia's Katskhi Pillar Among World's 20 Wonderfully Serene and Secluded Places

[dailyadventureprompts]

I want a low level adventure for investigating an old abandoned (why) temple/jail? Why they have been asked to go in is the adventure but as a plot hook for a future adventure they will find a locked up vampire (how) who they can leave, attempt to kill or let go. The key thing is he will offer something if they do the latter pertainent to a later adventure.

Dungeon: The Bargain At Barrowfort

A grim history and rumours of haunting keep people away from the old fortress, Once the domain of a wicked count who was all too fond of brutality and torture as a means of keeping his power. Though it has been many years since a heroic rebellion ousted the count and his patrons from power, time has yet to banish the shadow that has come to dwell behind it's battlements.

Adventure Hooks:

Using the area's foreboding reputation to avoid detection, a band of outlaws has claimed the Barrowfort as their base, striking out at caravans and small settlements with weapons salvaged from it's old armouries. When the party eventually raids the crumbling fortress, the scent of ensuing death will awaken a long slumbering hunger; the Barrowfort's ghoulish final garrison, starved out by besieging rebels and driven to unspeakable acts that cursed them with undeath.

Local lore has it that the fortress was built on the burial mound of an ancient queen, who's tomb-curse doomed the original builders and all those who laid claim to the fort in subsequent generations. Due to a quirk of inheritance, an ailing relative of one of the PCs has left them a deed in their will, and the party best get to the root of the curse (and claim their sick new base) before it brings doom upon them.

In the dungeon's deepest vault resides the last victim of the Count's cruelty: Before his capture Ser Karagol was a ruby knight of Wee Jas, goddess of death, passion, and magic. Ser Karagol was a vampire, but he was also a dutiful and pious man, living his life according to a code that restrained his appetites and directed his long centuries of unlife to the goddess's service. The count hoped to force the vampire into sharing the "gift" of immortality, binding him with holy chains and starving him for months at a time in an attempt to break him down. Decades after being forgotten in the dungeons, Karagol is in a sorry state, slipping between lucidity and feral hunger as he struggles against his bindings. Deliberation and mercy in rehabbing the vamp can earn the party a powerful ally in both the knight and his church, but a slip of awareness might result in one of them becoming gravely hurt.

Repeated acts of cruelty and deprivation have stained the Barrowfort to it's very foundations, marking it for Yeenoghu: demon lord of insatiable hunger. Some time in the future, whether the party is holding a feast in their new hall, or when an ambitious occultist claims the ruins for their own, a portal will open and allow minions of the gnawing god to steal through.

Art

[leroibobo]

the old synagogue of peki'in, palestine. the current building dates to 1873, a reconstruction of the original which was destroyed in an earthquake 30 years earlier. local tradition holds that the synagogue was built on the site of the bet midrash where 1st-century tannaim joshua ben hananiah and shimon bar yochai taught.

the synagogue isn't usually active today - peki'in is currently designated as a "druze village" - but is cared for by native margalit zinati. the zinati family has lived in peki'in for centuries - according to their tradition, since the time of the second temple.