#she eludes me

[demobatman]

ive been back on tumblr for a month now and i dont know what 'prev' means and at this point im too afraid to ask

[courtingchaos]

I wanna write smut tonight.

Anyone got any spare ideas floating around?

[emily-e-draws]

Sonia 💛

[spaghettiandart]

old vanessa stuff from a yeaaaar ago, w/ her in the princess quest outfit :)

[tomaturtles]

:3✌️!!!!

[askamnesiamoonjumper]

aau rework version of the overload/boss fight where it actually has consequences and bearing on the character dynamics save me,, save me aau rework,,,,

[microwave-core]

I've been plagued by thoughts about the cooking skills of the champions for some reason and have no choice but to write them down so here you go. Blue strikes me as the type of person who has the potential to be a great cook but rarely ever puts the effort in. He just doesn't care too much for cooking. He has other things to do and he can get food somewhere else. That being said, if he is cooking for another person, than he is going to go all out because he is a try hard. Complimenting his cooking gives him the biggest ego boost.

Red is a microwave cooker, as in at least 90% of his meals are going in the microwave. Average meal consists of a cup of noodles and a mug brownie. It's passable, it works enough for him and that's all he cares about. Dude lived on a mountain for a long ass time, he doesn't need luxury, he just needs to get by. He has a male living space, I'm sorry.

Lance is pretty average. Your not getting anything incredible out of him, but you know it's never going to be terrible. He also seems like the kind of person to eat the equivalent of chicken and rice for every meal almost every day of the week. He's not against making something else or eating out, but he would prefer to just make something quick and move on with his day.

Steven is banned from the kitchen. This man will burn water. Anything he touches will be scorched in an instance. Don't ask him how it happens, he doesn't know, his hands just turn ingredients to dust upon making contact, and no amount of supervision or guidance can save him. The only reason he should be manning a stove is to be making Bismuth crystals.

Wallace is a great cook and also loves cooking. He will make a banger meal, every meal, every day of the week, and he takes pride in that. He loves to cook for other people, both to show off and take care of them. He is also the only reason why Steven hasn't died of malnutrition. If they ever get divorced, Steven is in danger.

Cynthia would be on the better end of average. Still not anything incredible, but, again, you know it's never going to be bad. But she definitely seems like the type who would much prefer to eat out at any and every opportunity, especially with company. She doesn't dislike the act of cooking, she just doesn't like how long it takes.

Alder is a grill dad. At every event-family gatherings, league mandated meetings, Ghetsis' court hearing-he is outside and he is grilling. He's got the kiss the cook apron and sandals and everything. Whatever he makes, it is going to be delicious, and you will almost defiantly be sent home with tons of leftovers. Man is just dad shaped.

Iris feels like she ranges between incredible and terrible. As in, she will either make one of the most delicious things you've ever had in your entire life or the worst thing you've ever put in your mouth, and there is no in between. It's entirely dependent on what she makes, like she has some recipes that are baller and anything outside of that is risky at best. Also seems like the type who would make really good ramen.

Diantha is also a great cook, but she rarely has the time to do any actual cooking. Girl is way too busy juggling the work of being both a champion and movie star to set aside time to cook. She's almost always going to eat out, mainly around Lumious City. She's practically a regular at every major café, as she constantly cycles between them for each meal of the day.

Kukui is pretty good, but is also a group cooker. He needs to be cooking with another person, whether that be his wife, or his pokemon, or one of his many adopted children, or his actual child. It doesn't matter, he just needs to be with someone to talk and mess around with. it's lonely when no else is there.

Hau only eats Malasadas. It is the only thing he has consistently eaten for years. The fact that he is still alive is a mystery. People close to him are constantly offering to eat out because that is the only way he will eat literally anything else. It's not that he doesn't like other foods, or that he's a picky eater, he just really likes Malasadas.

Leon is on the lower end of average. He can usually make a passable meal, but he's gonna miss sometimes. He's also never at home, so he rarely even has time to cook with to begin with. However, as a baker? He's nothing short of immaculate. Easily the best baker on this list. He would win The Great Galarian Bake Off every year without any competition.

Geeta is an enigma. Is she good? Is she bad? Incredible? Terrible? Only she knows. She's also the type who barely ever has time to cook to begin with, being the workaholic that she is. She probably hasn't touched a stove in years, and has very little desire to change that fact. Do not ask her to cook, she will not do it.

[randomnameless]

The phrase “we have been aware of the high levels of competency from KT's writers, especially with their work for 3H” is worrying; i'm not going to shit-talk them just for thinking that 3H has a good story, especially when someone's standards for what makes a story good or not is subjective and could be different from ours, but KT's story-telling skills are never going to improve if people keep only telling them that Three Houses' deeply-flawed story was actually a narrative masterpiece, instead of a self-contradicting mess with plot points it introduces solely as gotchas and has no intention of ever following up on in any meaningful way, characters getting assassinated left and right to try and argue that female Ashnard might actually be right and not so different from them in terms of morality and goals (while they're in the middle of fighting for their lives and watching their friends die in battle because she decided to invade their home unprovoked and solely for a landgrab), and an over-powered villain group that should have ended the story long before it even started because the writers decided to give them a stockpile of magic nukes they can launch at anywhere in the world, which was also introduced solely for shock value and without them realizing how much of the story is ruined by making it so that the villains who want to kill everyone and take over the world can just nuke anyone they want (that isn't inside Garreg Mach when they launch it) with no consequences.

I just don't like what it means for the future of FE stories if the worst story in the series keeps getting praised as one of the best, even by separate developers, is all.

Wait and see anon!

For what it's worth, while Engage's sales are apparently not as stellar as Houses in the same timeframe (like House after month 1 and Engage after month 1?), Nopes totally crashed.

Amazon isn't the only market in the world, but in some places in the world (tfw not for amazon.fr) Nopes is now sold at around 15 bucks, which is ridiculous considering older games released on consoles still being in circulation are more expensive than this thing that is barely 1 year old(even the first FEW?).

Also, Engage was supposed to have been released earlier but Covid and Houses being released later than planned meant it was delayed, but Engage was supposed to be Fodlan's antithesis, at least writing wise - you'd think IS would have tried to retrofit more Fodlan themes (maybe more uwu maybe some villains aren't BaD and earl grey because they luf u) but they didn't.

Imo, fwiw, while KT apparently loved how Fodlan was received, IS is aghast and doesn't want to touch it within a 10 meters radius, only if it means selling units in FEH and even there, they sometimes retcon Fodlan units (hello F!Billy/Sothis) or challenge them in various FB (Brave!Supreme Leader, but also in the most recent one, Sylvain harping on his Crust being BaD...) clearly showing how they don't really want to follow KT's direction regarding those units - at times, it's almost as if the CoS receives more development in Heroes than in both Fodlan games!

So I'd like to see what IS has in store for the next FE games (or the next non remake FE game), even if in my opinion, given how Heroes has to retcon/finish the writing (Mercedes reveals more about her Adrestian family in FEH than in two of her games!) for characters just to sell them in the gacha game ffs, speaks volumes on what they think of Fodlan's writing.

On top of that, FE16 was the first game where people received surveys/mails from Nintendo/IS asking them if they understood the game... - so despite Fodlan selling well (better than expected?), imo it's clear the writing isn't to praise, at least for IS, and they don't want anything to do with it (Nopes' DLC was scrapped, when shiny!Rhea's sprite was datamined, so either they made an useless sprite, either this sprite might have been used in a future DLC?)

They can still butcher a future remake (plz no jugdral) by adding pointless supports between units and trying to uwu more than needed the red emperor - or add an OC waifu du jour who will sell merchs and try to uwu her if she is on the side of the red emperor - but I feel like we will see where they will go with a brand new game (since Heroes's writing is... as consistent as a fog and basically circles around "women sad'n'lonely*, men evyl", female playable OC simps after the avatar and is useless in the resolution of the plot because Alfonse will finally find a mc guffin way to defeat the villain of the year).

*i truly hope Vero isn't any indication to what the writing of the future games will be, like heavy retcons from her first apparition to "i was brainwashed and akshually everyone supports me from my home even if i send them to death against askr because the voice in my head told me to do it" because that'd suck, but vero is a young woman, thus she could be monetised for alts, figurines and even DLC content in a main game!

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Christmas Alone: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

For the Christmas Challenge at @inklings-challenge, I've written a Christmas story that ties to my "Beauty and the Beast" retelling, "A Day Late." This takes place before that story, which makes it technically a prequel, but both are meant to stand alone.

Without further ado, here's:

A Christmas Alone

The dining table held a feast fit for royalty, but Beatrice had no eyes for the food. As she pushed a few limp vegetables around her plate, her gaze wandered to the birds and angels painted on the ceiling and toward the rose gardens outside the vast windows. Her mind wandered even further, past the limits of the gardens to an outside world she hadn’t seen for months, where a little cottage would be covered in snow and filled with the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparations. Her sisters would be baking up a storm today. Her brothers would be hunting for Christmas venison. If she were there, she would be decorating the house in every bit of greenery she could find.

In the distance somewhere, a voice said, “Beatrice.”

What would her father be doing today? Would he be out hunting for the Christmas tree alone? Did he miss her company? Did he mourn her, trapped for so many months in a castle with a beast?

“Beatrice.”

Who would be setting up the stage for the Christmas theatricals? Had she told anyone where she’d stashed the curtains and old clothes they used for costumes? She had hoped to convince everyone to put on a comedy this year, but now that she wasn’t there, Ophelia would probably badger everyone into performing one of her silly sentimental melodramas.

“Beatrice.”

The voice, now raised to almost a shout, snapped her out of her reverie. The dining room—and the massive Beast sitting across the table—came into focus. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

Beast’s striped, dog-like face showed concern. It was strange how well she could read the expressions of a dog-tiger-monkey man. His eyes and brows were very expressive. “You seem distracted,” he said in his deep tones. “Is something troubling you?”

It felt impossible to speak of it. That rundown, cozy little cottage was worlds away from this elegant palace full of gold and mirrors and portraits. The Beast did not belong with her family.

And yet...the Beast she’d come to know these last eight months was nothing like the fearsome monster her father had described when he’d come home with the rose. He was gentle. Kind. Patient. A bit moody and dramatic, but reasonable. It was just possible he’d grant this request.

“I was thinking,” she said, keeping her voice far more casual than she felt. “Christmas is in two days.”

Beast' s brow furrowed. “Christmas?” He looked at the gardens outside the windows. “It can’t be. It’s summer.”

“It’s always summer here,” Beatrice said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not Christmas. I’ve been here 226 days, which makes it December 23rd.”

Beast shook his head as if trying to clear away fog. “I suppose it is,” he said at last. “Time rather runs together here.”

That was another reason she needed a holiday. She blurted, “Could you send me home for Christmas? Just for a day or two?”

Beast’s face grew solemn. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Why not? You let Father come home with the rose.”

“To settle the debt by sending you to take his place. Now that you have come, it is not in my power to release you.”

“It wouldn’t be release. It would be...an outing. For good behavior. I promise I’d come back.”

“I believe you would,” Beast said, “but I have not found a way to safely allow even your temporary release. The rules of this place…”

“Oh, the rules!” Beatrice threw a napkin, but an invisible servant caught it before it could fly very far. “It always comes back to those stupid rules!”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I think you make up half of those rules.”

“I wish I were.” Beast leaned forward, his strangely human eyes full of sincerity. “Believe me, Beatrice. If I could safely send you home, even for a visit, I would, but I won’t risk your life by sending you too soon.”

Beatrice sighed. Her visions of a cozy Christmas faded. “So I have no choice,” she said. “I have to spend Christmas here with you.”

“Is that so terrible?” Beast asked.

Beatrice thought about the cottage--her brothers and sisters gathered around the table, the candles, the meal, the stories, the jokes, the songs, the laughter. It was rustic and chaotic compared to the luxury here, but Christmas in this vast, silent, elegant palace couldn’t compare.

“It really is,” she said.

Beast bowed his head. “I am sorry to cause you distress.”

He rose from his seat and turned toward the far doors, which opened beneath invisible hands.

“Beast? Where are you going?” Beatrice suddenly heard her own last words in her memory and cringed. She half-rose from her seat. “Beast! Come back here! I didn’t mean…”

An eight-foot tall beast could cross a room quickly. Before she could say more, the dining room doors closed behind him.

#

Beatrice peered into the library. The shelves, stuffed to the brim with leather-bound books, towered up to the ceiling, every book still in its proper place. Against the far wall, Beast sat in a wing-backed chair next to a fireplace half the size of the attic she shared with her sisters at home. Even in this warm climate, the evenings could get chilly. Flickering firelight cast light and shadows that tangled with Beast’s tiger stripes.

A book lay in Beast’s lap, untouched while he gazed into the fire. Beatrice approached cautiously and peered over his shoulder. She couldn’t read the language, but the pictures suggested it was a scientific text.

At least he wasn’t reading poetry. If he’d gotten into the melancholy ballads, there would have been no talking to him.

She stepped around the chair to face him. “Beast?” she said softly.

Beast looked up. The tips of his pointed ears drooped, his tangled teeth jutted from his jaw, his long tail hung limply over the arm of the chair, but his eyes were so human.

Her carefully composed apology fled her brain. She babbled, “I want to apologize. About before. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not being with you that’s terrible, it’s...not being with them.”

Beast’s face eased, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “I understand,” he said. “It is natural to wish for your family at Christmas.”

“I just keep thinking about...everything,” she said. “The food and the carols and all of them. I’m missing out on it all.”

Beast nodded, “The first Christmas alone is the most difficult.”

Beatrice sat in in the chair facing him. “You have no idea.” A light sparked in her mind, bringing up a new thought. “Wait. Do you?” She perched at the edge of her seat. “Do you have a family, Beast?”

Beast appeared uncomfortable. He looked down and stroked his tail where it lay over the arm of the chair. “Most people do.”

Beatrice’s mind boggled at the notion of an entire clan of dog-tiger-monkey men. “What are they like? Are there a lot of you? Do you resemble your parents?”

Beast twisted the end of his tail in one hand. “There are...many of us. None of them look like me. I am the only one with such...animal features.”

“Is that why you’re here, then? Locked away like the minotaur?”

Beast grimaced. “My family is not responsible for my current situation.”

Yet he would never say what was. She’d narrow it down eventually, but for now, she had more important questions.

“How do you stand it? Being away from them?”

“I’ve become accustomed to the loneliness.”

And she was trying to leave him. She hadn’t thought of it from his perspective before—Christmas after Christmas alone in this silent palace, with no one except servants that he couldn’t see.

“How long have you been here?” she asked softly.

“Long enough to become accustomed to lonely holidays. I would not subject you to it if I had any other choice.”

Here she was, moping over one Christmas with Beast for company, while he’d suffered who-knew-how-many alone without complaint. Yet she still wished she could leave him. What kind of monster was she?

If only she could have it both ways. “I wish we could both see my family for Christmas. Despite how the two of you met, my father would like you if he could know you. My siblings would torment you, but they’d like you, too.”

Beast’s lip pulled up in his version of a smile. “It’s a lovely picture. I wish I could give it to you.”

How stupid wishes were. Both of them wasting time wanting things they couldn’t have.

Beast suddenly stood up, all eight feet of him stretching toward the ceiling. The book clattered to the floor.

“Be careful!” Beatrice scolded. Just because he had a million books in a huge palace did not mean he could throw them around.

Beast picked up the fallen tome. “My apologies." He strode toward the library doors. "I’ve just remembered.”

As he walked away, Beatrice knelt on her seat, looking over the back of her chair, and called out, “Remembered what?”

Beast turned back with a light in his eyes. “We have much to prepare before Christmas."

#

Christmas morning. Beatrice examined herself in her dressing room mirrors. She wore deep green—a full-skirted silk dress she’d never seen before in her massive wardrobe. With her red curls—delicately arranged by the servants—she looked like a Christmas doll. Like the presents she and her sisters got as children in their days of prosperity in the city.

She smiled at the invisible servants. “You’ve almost made me look pretty.”

She had never been the pretty one back home. She had too much of a mouth for that. Here, she always felt beautiful, without sisters to outshine her. But she would far rather be with them in their attic bedroom this morning. She could almost hear the bustle of their usual morning routine—rustling fabric, creaking floorboards.

Then she realized she could hear something, just outside her door.

She stepped toward the dressing room door. “Is someone in my sitting room?”

She reached for the doorknob, but an invisible hand wrapped around her wrist. Beatrice slapped it and yanked her hand free. “Stop that!”

Another hand grabbed her other wrist. Beatrice tried to step forward, but a strong grip on her shoulders held her back.

“What are you doing?” Beatrice shouted. “Let me go!”

She wriggled out from beneath the hands and managed to grab a hair brush from her vanity, which she smacked against the fingers holding her wrist. A minute later, the hands were back, holding her more securely than ever.

Beatrice struggled against them. “How many of you are in here? Is this a conspiracy? Have you all decided to rebel?” If the invisible servants had started a Christmas morning mutiny, she and Beast didn’t stand a chance.

While she looked for other means of escape, the door to the sitting room swung open, and the servants released her so suddenly that Beatrice fell to the floor. She rose, straightened her crumpled skirts, and scowled at the room, hoping her expression was directed toward at least a few of the servants.

“What was that?” she demanded.

The only response she received was a gentle nudge on the shoulder urging her toward the open door.

She had half a mind to stay right here, just to spite them. But she was curious.

She edged through the doorway and found Beast standing in her sitting room, resplendent in a suit of royal blue that dripped with gold and silver embroidery. He bowed to her. “Merry Christmas, Beatrice.”

“Merry...Christmas,” Beatrice said, bemused. “What are you doing in my sitting room?”

Beast gestured to the wall opposite the windows. “I was overseeing the delivery of your present.” A large, rectangular something was mounted on the wall and draped with a white sheet. In deference to the season, a gold bow had been placed in the center.

She hadn’t even thought of presents. It hadn’t occurred to her, trapped in a palace where Beast already owned everything.

“Did you wrap it yourself?” Beatrice teased, to hide her embarrassment. She stepped toward the wall and picked up one corner of the sheet. “May I?”

Beast’s eyes shone. “Whenever you like.”

Beatrice pulled off the sheet with a flourish. A heavy, carved wooden frame, as thick as her hand, as tall as Beast and nearly as wide, surrounded a painting. An interior Christmas scene, with a family gathered around a table in a room bedecked with ribbons and greenery. Yet something about the scenery looked familiar, something about the people tugged at her memory—

With a gasp, Beatrice saw that the family wasn’t just any family—it was hers. Every face was unmistakable. There was Viola’s dark hair, Rosalind’s freckles, Ophelia’s bright green eyes, Henry’s scar from where Edmund had pushed him out of a tree. And there, at the head of the table, his face mostly turned away, but unmistakable...

“Papa,” Beatrice breathed.

She ran a hand over the painting, the brushstrokes rough beneath her palm, as she touched every face in turn. “How did you do this?” she asked Beast. “You’ve met my father, but all the rest…”

“A gift from my godmother,” Beast said, “long ago. It shows us those who are far from us. It won’t show my family, but with a bit of rule-bending, I convinced it to portray yours.”

Yet another wonder of this place. Beatrice marveled at it. A masterwork of a painting. Every brushstroke precise. The colors vivid. The shadows and light as real as life. She felt as though she could walk inside the frame and be with them all.

She turned away, overwhelmed, with tears pricking her eyelids. “It’s lovely, Beast. I can’t thank you enough.”

A lump in her throat choked her. It was a lovely, thoughtful gift, and yet—it was almost worse to see them like that, memorialized in a single still image, like people long dead.

She was being ridiculous. She turned back to the painting.

Her jaw fell. Papa, who had been turned away, now faced directly toward her with a smile on his face.

“What?” Beatrice stepped toward the painting and scrutinized it. “I’m sure he was facing the other way before.”

“Was he?” Beast asked wryly. “This is a painting that must be watched closely.”

Beatrice examined the painting. It wasn’t just Papa. She was sure Viola’s arm was more outstretched than before. Henry’s eyes had opened wider.

A moment later, there were more changes. Papa’s mouth was open in a smile now. Viola held a pot of tea.

The image changed again, again, again, tiny movements every time, and soon it was changing so fast that Beatrice couldn’t see the changes. Everything in the picture moved in perfect fluid motion, as if the people inside were alive. She watched her family laugh and chatter as they shared a breakfast of tea and Christmas bread. There was no sound, no scent, but her memory filled in the gaps. She could hear the same old Christmas morning jests, hear the birds outside the window, smell the pine of the wreaths, feel the warmth and closeness of being with her family on Christmas morning.

Tears ran down Beatrice’s face, and she didn’t even try to stop them. “Thank you, Beast,” she said. She wiped her face in her silken sleeve—she had hundreds of dresses, but she couldn’t waste a moment of this miracle hunting down a handkerchief. “This is the Christmas I wanted.”

Beast bowed and backed away. “I shall leave you to enjoy it.”

Beatrice leapt toward him and seized his arm. “Don’t you dare!” Though she barely came up to his chest, she dragged him toward a sofa that had been turned to face the wall. “You are staying here. Sit.”

Beast, seeming lost and bewildered, meekly obeyed.

Beatrice spoke to any invisible servants that might be in the room. “Do we have any Christmas bread available? Something like what’s in the painting?”

A single knock on the wall. Yes.

“Bring some to us,” Beatrice says, “and a pot of tea. We’re sharing Christmas morning with my family.”

In moments, the food arrived, and she and Beast shared it in a picnic on the floor while she explained everything that was happening in the painting. Though she talked almost without stopping for breath, Beast listened to everything attentively, as if he was as hungry for company as he was for breakfast.

This was different, but it was good. A Christmas she could never have imagined, but one she would never have wanted to miss, here with her strange, hulking, melancholic, thoughtful Beast.

She had so much she wanted to say, to let Beast know what this meant to her, and no words to express it—she didn’t do well with sentiment, and some things were too deep for speech.

At last, on impulse, she threw her arms around Beast’s neck. “Thank you,” she said.

Beast, stunned, was frozen beneath her, but after a moment, he relaxed and returned the embrace.

Catching herself as she realized what this might look like to a beast who had proposed to her every day she'd lived here, she hurriedly pulled away and said, "I'm still not marrying you!"

For once, the refusal didn't leave Beast looking forlorn. He merely chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "I don't mind. Right now, this is more than enough."

She settled back to her seat, relieved he understood. It was. More than enough.

"Merry Christmas, Beast," she said.

He placed one of his hands over hers. "Merry Christmas, Beatrice."

[kj-munch]

the girl… IS REAL!!!!!

[demobatman]

pulp art cover stobin 😎

(no background vers. below the fold)

;P

[jakes3resin]

I fear I've overhyped Courting fic too much

[avarkriss]

dust to dust iii: same sweet shock

✭・.・✫

Obi-Wan (Ben) Kenobi x Female Reader (no y/n, no she/her)

Rated: E for Explicit, 18+ only

Word Count: 3.996

Summary: The pretty space hermit finally returns; shenanigans follow

Song Inspo: Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars

Warnings: porn with feelings; naked male/naked female; p in v sex; female receiving oral sex; (whispers) come eating; a tiddly bit of angst at the end; hopeful ending; canon-typical injury; brief mention of blood

Author’s Note: I still wanna fuck this old man so bad it makes me look stupid. He deserves this :) Enjoy, share what you can, and be well ~

Part One Here

Part Two Here

It had been quiet since you saw him last.

Your stand was calm and the business was steady, your days filled with barter and trade. Boonta Eve was quickly approaching and you were bringing in sunfruits and air cakes, even some sparkling light toys for the kids. All was as it should be.

Except for that gnawing pit you felt in your stomach every time a few small eddies danced across the sand. They came and went in the wind, granules lost to the dunes when the soft breeze passed. They were beautiful in a sad type of way - captivating, but too short lived.

They reminded you of him.

Fleeting.

Sometimes you weren’t sure if they had even been there at all, a trick of your tired eyes. Just like the moments you thought you saw him deeper in the market, but by the time you raised your hand in greeting, the figure was gone again. You often wondered if those glimpses were of the ghost himself, or if it was just your slightly dehydrated brain giving you hope.

But there wasn’t time to dwell - Boonta Eve was on the horizon. A welcome distraction for now. You were good at keeping busy, tiring yourself enough during the day that you could quickly fall asleep. But at night you had nowhere to hide, and your want had a habit of making itself known.

If someone had known to ask, you might have said that you stopped counting the days since you last saw him. That it had been so long there was no way you could still feel the press of his lips to your thigh, the warmth of his tongue, or the stretch of his fingers. You couldn’t possibly still feel the soft breeze of his exhale, or the dip that his body had made in your bed. You had long forgotten the way he tasted and the sound of his moans filling your room.

But you weren’t a good liar, and your dreams filled the gaps where bliss left your memory blank. He stayed with you, even after forty seven standard days. Even after you convinced yourself that a sarlacc had gone and swallowed him whole, that he was never coming back. He stayed on the fringes of your mind, in the pit of your stomach, and in every neat pile of dishes you left stacked up on the counter, waiting to be put away.

Which was exactly where you found yourself now, placing a cup into your small cupboard before heading to your stand to open early, sure that the customers would stop by for last minute purchases on their way to the races.

The morning passed in a flurry, final purchases quickly packed up and handed off to your patrons with a smile. As the time for the first race neared the crowd disappeared, leaving you to close for the day. You were looking forward to having the afternoon to yourself, glad for a small break from your daily routine and an excuse to watch your favorite holo.

Everyone was gone, so when you turned to collect your cache you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sight of a billowing brown robe, the hood casting a shadow over the most brilliant blue eyes you had ever seen.

-

You blinked a few times, unsure if this was another trick of your mind or if he really was here, right in front of you.

“Ben?”

He lifted his hand in an awkward half wave, taking a step or two forward.

“I apologize for frightening you, I was looking to purchase a few bandages but I see that you’re closed. I can return tomorrow.”

You scoffed and told him you were happy to help however you could, still surprised to see him. He was so close you could reach out and touch him, prove to yourself that he was really here.

“Wouldn’t you prefer a bacta patch?”

He hummed for a moment, something about them being too costly and how the cut was really quite small. Nothing to worry about, you know, just a fall out in the rocks. But you were insistent, and with a long suffering sigh he pulled his hood back, auburn hair bright in the midday suns. There was a gash across his forehead, pooled with crimson and dirty at the edges.

You fixed him with a look and a slight shake of your head, watching the skin of his upper cheeks warm with flush. Cache in hand you stepped out from behind your stand, nodding your head towards the alley he had taken with you so many days before.

“I have bacta at home -”

“Really, there is no need to fuss, it’s just a small -”

You turned and narrowed your eyes at him and he stammered to a stop. Pulling his hood up and folding his arms into the sleeves of his cloak he nodded towards you, accepting the favor.

“Lead the way.”

The two of you made your way to your familiar painted steps and you took them two at a time, getting your door open in record time before ushering Ben inside.

“Have a seat on the couch,” you told him gently, gesturing towards it as if he hadn’t been in your home before. “I’ll be right back.”

You could feel your pulse in your fingertips as you made your way towards your refresher, moving the curtains to the side to access your med kit. It didn’t have much, but you always kept a small pot of bacta gel and bandages for those small kitchen accidents or when you spent too much time in the sun.

When you returned Ben had removed his cloak and had it in his lap, fiddling with a few loose threads along the bottom corner. He gave you an apologetic smile that you returned with warmth while setting your things on the table before fetching some clean water and a cloth, the dirt and sand around his wound more glaring now that you could see him closely.

It didn’t take you long to have him all cleaned up, wiping away the debris and drying blood. You dabbed the gel into his skin and covered it with a small strip of cloth, a porous type that would fall off once the bacta had dried and the skin was healed. It was in your application of the cloth that you noticed a few marks on his shoulders and hands, dressing those wounds as well as he asked you how you had been.

You wanted to tell him that you missed him. That you thought of him every day, dreamed of him every night.

That you were convinced he was dead…

That you wanted to kiss him.

But instead you shrugged and said you had been busy preparing for all the holiday sales, keeping your lips a respectable distance from his hairline. When you returned the question he gave you a noncommittal hum, not providing much insight into his life.

“How’d this happen,” you ventured, placing a small bandage a cut near the crook of his neck, peeking out from under his tunic.

He smiled.

“Well, you know how the Wastes can be.”

You certainly did, as did everyone else on this Maker-forsaken planet, so you didn’t push.

“Stay and rest,” you offered, noticing little nicks on his knuckles and a small scrape behind his ear. Whatever scuffle he had gotten into certainly left him worse for wear.

“I’ve got some food to share, and my roof has a nice view of the fireworks. I heard the Hutts got them off Naboo this year so I’m sure they’ll be beautiful.”

You wondered how hard he must have hit his head because he surprised you with a hum of assent instead of his typical polite-but-infuriating refusal of your hospitality. Part of you craved knowing where he was and what had happened, but he looked so soft, exhausted from whatever it was. Instead you offered him a pillow, which he graciously took. He tucked it under his head as you started up a holo, glancing over to find that he had fallen asleep in two shakes of a lothcat’s tail. You took a thin blanket and spread it across his form before retreating to your room, hidden away from the high suns and the burning desire that threatened to outshine them.

-

You looked over at the sound of quiet rustling, watching as Ben sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. You kept your smile to yourself, quietly observing the way his hair stuck out at a funny angle and how he stretched his back.

It took all you had to not laugh when he saw there was no more sunlight, glancing around your apartment to find you like he had committed some horrible atrocity. He was patting his hair down when he saw you standing in the kitchen, and the look on his face made you think he was about to apologize.

"I am terribly sorry," he started, the words drawn with sleep.

You turned your head to the side, looking him up and down.

"What for?"

He stumbled a little, searching for his words before you held up your hand to stop him.

"Ben, there is nothing to apologize for. You're my guest, and you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

Forever, you privately hoped, but there was a part of your heart that knew he could not leave whatever brought him to this planet.

He swallowed, and you so wished that you could see into his mind. The thanks he whispered was so sincere it made your heart crack, genuinely wondering when he last experienced kindness outside of your walls.

The sands were known to not welcome strangers.

You cleared your throat and refocused your mind, stirring the pot of soup you made.

"The fireworks will start soon, if you want to have dinner on the roof."

He said it sounded lovely and you felt your pulse quicken, ladling the meal into two bowls. He gathered the pillows and blanket from the couch as well as his cloak, following you to a door that looked like it led to nowhere. With a quick button push it opened, revealing a small landing and stairs to the roof.

"Vaporator access," you explained, walking up the half flight and setting the bowls on the small, weather beaten ledge that so often served as your makeshift table.

Ben handed you a pillow before taking a seat next to you, stretching the thin blanket from his shoulders to yours.

"I see why you like it up here," he mused, gazing up at the glistening stars.

"I've always wondered what it's like out there."

He hummed, and you heard him take a sip of the warm broth.

"It's beautiful in some places, cruel in others."

"How many worlds have you traveled?"

He distracted you then, mentioning that the soup was delicious. You sipped your own before repeating your question, genuinely curious about life in the stars.

"Honesty I couldn't say," he started, eyes crinkling at your look of surprise. "My work required frequent travel. My favorite planet had an ocean, along with beautiful forests and mountains. It was unlike anything I had seen before, alive in every way."

"You came here when you could have had that?"

You couldn't help but sound incredulous, unable to imagine how anyone would give up all of that for well, this.

His smile held something sad as he looked out at the horizon.

"I could never find it again after my first visit. Some things just aren't meant to be."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding in agreement before a shiver ran down your back. Ben took his cloak and draped it over your shoulders, sliding closer to you as bright lights began to fill the sky.

You watched the display in silence, letting your fingers slowly entwine with his. The Naboo fireworks were more extravagant than you had ever imagined, but you couldn’t help sneaking glances at the man sitting next to you. The light illuminated the angle of his jaw and the slight breeze ruffled his hair; a part of you thought that maybe the fireworks were the second most beautiful thing you had seen that evening.

They ended far too quickly, and you found yourself slowly standing, Ben’s cloak wrapped around your shoulders. He gathered the bowls and pillows while you folded the thin blanket before making your way down the stairs and back into your flat.

You found him looking down into the sink, appearing to be deep in thought.

“Are you alright?”

You slipped his cloak from your shoulders, placing it over the back of your couch before joining him.

“Yes, very much so, but -”

He trailed off, and you couldn’t quite tell what was hiding in his eyes. Was it sadness, or perhaps regret? You wanted to hug him, to hold him close and kiss the ruddy tip of his nose.

“Whatever you need Ben,” you offered, not insincerely. He could ask you for one of the suns and you would find some way to bottle it.

“I’m afraid I’m not looking forward to leaving.”

His smile was sad.

You moved closer to him, close enough that he could touch you if he wanted.

“So don’t,” you breathed, fingertips brushing his.

And he must have wanted, at least as much as you did, because now he was coming closer, forehead nearly touching yours before pressing his lips to your cheek.

“You’re sure?” you asked, arms wrapping around his waist. You were met with a nod of his head and you kissed him in earnest, swallowing a quiet groan.

-

You were clumsy making your way to your bedroom, bumping into corners that you’ve known for years. His robes were thick and warm and tied far too tightly for your liking, taking considerably more time than you imagined to undo.

You felt him smile when you whined, placing a soft kiss to your temple before covering your hand with his own. He worked around your fingers to breach the offending knot, letting your hands in to explore his soft torso.

It took far less time to remove your clothes, letting them find the floor as the two of you climbed into bed, all tangled limbs and no grace. You could feel him growing hard against your skin and you reached down to stroke him, feeling his hands pause their path up your back.

“Is everything alright Ben?”

You had retracted your hand and he looked almost pained, nodding at you earnestly.

“I want this, I do, it’s just -”

He trailed off as he often did and it didn’t take long for you to put two and two together. Maybe it had been a while, or perhaps it was his first time taking things this far with someone, but you didn’t mind. More than anything you wanted him to be comfortable, to give him even half the pleasure he had given you. You considered him a moment longer and splayed your hand over his chest, gently directing him to lay back. When he did you crawled next to him, holding his cheek in your hand.

“We can do anything you like,” you reminded him, brushing a few loose hairs from his forehead.

“This,” he breathed, grabbing at your soft flesh. “You, now, this -”

You chuckled, but not unkindly, at the way he stumbled on his words. Normally he was so well-spoken even with his habit of speaking in half sentences, and you never imagined he could sound so flustered. You kissed his jaw and then his throat when he stretched his neck back, a whine caught between his teeth.

“Just relax,” you smiled, kissing his collarbone. “I’ve got it from here.”

He caught your hand and kissed your palm, the look in eyes near pleading. You smiled softly at him before arranging yourself over him, straddling his waist and kissing every scar and freckle you could find. He was eager but shy, grabbing at your hips before pulling his hands back, stumbling over his words, somehow trying to ask if you were okay with moving forward, like this hadn’t been the subject of your every spare thought.

“I promise I’m okay Ben, but if you want to stop at any point -”

“No,” he interrupted, settling his hands on your waist. “Never that.”

You kissed him full on then, his sand chapped lips rough on your own. He parted his mouth and you let your tongue dance across his, reveling in every small noise he made against you as you ran your hand through his hair.

When you parted you shifted your knees, working to align him with your entrance. He groaned as you slowly sank down, tightening his fingers against your skin. Part of you hoped they would leave a bruise, something you could feel deep in your skin that kept him around for longer than the night.

You studied his face as you gently rolled against him, testing how far he wanted to go. You committed him to memory - the messy hair, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the way his nose was scrunched up while his lips were parted, rasping your name between heavy breaths.

“Shh,” you soothed, leaning down to kiss his open throat. “I’ve got you.”

You peppered him in kisses and small licks, trying to press as much of your skin against his as you could manage while rolling your hips against his. You could feel every part of him this way, and the friction was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You sighed his name into the corner of his mouth and he finally opened his eyes, looking at you like you had hung the suns in the sky. He turned to kiss you back, letting one of his hands roam across your chest.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you murmured, unable to help the smile spreading across your face at the blush blooming across his. He looked up at you from under his lashes and you decided right then and there that you must be dreaming. You clenched around him and his eyes fluttered closed again, some mumbled curse lost on his tongue.

You began to roll your hips faster, chasing the sweet friction he provided, closer to your release.

“You have to stop,” he breathed and you stilled against him before sitting up, looking panicked.

“I won’t last much longer,” he clarified, looking distraught.

You took his hand and guided him to the implant on the front of your thigh.

“We can stop if you want to, but we also don’t have to.”

“Thank the Maker,” he groaned, reaching his thumb towards your clit while thrusting up against you.

You let your head fall back for just a moment before returning your attention to him, determined to burn this moment into your mind. You met his thrusts and whined high in the back of your throat as your release neared and then overtook you, walls fluttering against him as he spilled into you.

Your chests heaved together when you leaned over him again, letting your foreheads rest together. Ben made a quiet noise and you opened your eyes, pulling away just slightly.

“Would it be alright if I cleaned you up,” he asked gently, finally releasing the flesh of your hip to rub small circles around your lower back.

You nodded and slowly rolled off of him, relaxing into your pillows. You had told him there was a stack of clean cloth on your desk, so it surprised you when you felt his hand on your knee, gently tugging your legs open. You gave him a curious glance and then he came closer, running his hand up your thigh before tracing over your entrance, settling between your legs.

He gave you a cheeky grin before parting your folds with both thumbs, humming with what you could only guess to be delight before running his tongue against you, lapping at your shared spend. He moaned against you as he worked, tongue finding all the places his fingers had mapped so many cycles ago.

Your moans were much quieter now, toes curling while you tangled your hands in his hair. He worked you through another orgasm slowly, pulling every ounce of pleasure from your chest that he could. You were gasping by the time he finished, and you let yourself tangle your limbs against his when he returned to your side with a gentle kiss to your temple.

There wasn’t a need for words, not like this at least. You laid together and you kept yourself up as long as you could, counting every quiet thump of his heart because on a logical level you knew that when you woke, he wouldn’t be there next to you.

But sleep won, as it always does, and you found yourself fading away to Ben’s soft snores against your hair.

-

When you woke your bed was cool, and your curtain was parted to let the sun in. You sighed before wrapping yourself in the sheet, looking out into the sands. When you did you saw a figure clad in brown and thought it must be Ben, heading back to… wherever it was that he was from.

Only, he didn’t seem to be moving away from your position. In fact, it seemed quite the opposite.

With the risk of extreme embarrassment of running towards some other desert hermit you quickly threw on your discarded clothes from the previous evening, grabbed your old comm from the counter, and bounced down your steps as quickly as you could, rounding your building and breaking every rule you had ever known: running directly into the Dune Sea, alone, towards a stranger.

He must have been moving fast, you couldn’t believe how much distance he had crossed to meet you, wrapping you in his arms. The corners of his eyes were wet.

“I can’t… I can’t stay.”

He sounded devastated, but you nodded your understanding.

“But I can’t stay away either.”

Hope bubbled inside you, mind racing as you tried to find something to say.

“So it was you in the market,” you chided, leaning back to look him up and down.

“I guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought.”

“No,” you laughed. “Not at all.”

He smirked a little then. “If only you knew.”

“Ben I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but you deserve to be happy. I know you can’t stay, I know. But I’ll be here. I’ll be here for you.”

He pulled you back against his chest, pressing a kiss against your hairline. It was bizarre, to be embraced like this in the most barren area of a desolate planet on the edge of nowhere, but in that moment it was everything you needed.

You pressed the comm device into his hand, wrapping his fingers around it.

"A direct line. Just in case you… fall again."

He nodded and placed it in his pocket, returning his hand to yours.

“I’ll come to you when I can, to make sure you’re alright. I’m sorry -”

“You don’t need to apologize. What is meant to be will find a way. Stay safe, Ben.”

“I’ll find a way.”

It was so quiet you almost missed it, and you leaned in to kiss him one more time, bathed in the light of the rising suns. Before you were ready, and if you were honest with yourself you don’t think you would ever be, he had to turn away and return to what bound him so tightly. You watched him walk for a short while before turning back as well, your own day needing attention.

Maybe it will be tomorrow, or maybe next week. But as sure as the suns rise and fall, you know you will see him again.

Some day.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[rinhaler]

I act like I'm fine but deep down I don't know when to use past and passed

[short666bread]

Narcissa Malfoy and her son

[skidar]

I downloaded the eBird app on my phone a while ago to participate in Big Day, where teams of birders around the world work together to spot 100 species (or more) in a single day.

I feel like I’ve since become a bit addicted to eBird because its a lot like a real-life Pokemon Go but more zen:

-I gotta go outside to find the birds and correctly ID them

-I get to use binoculars which are fun af

-I take out my headphones to better hear birds and in doing so I get to hear more birdsong and have gotten a little better at IDing birds from their song

-Warblers are SHINIES and now I know where to find three different species now

-I try and beat my personal species count day to day and now have a goal to try and make the top 100 in the county

-I’ve found half a dozen new birds in two weeks that I never knew existed

-I’m spending less time online and more time outside <3

I’m not really saying any of this to brag but as someone who adamantly refused to call themselves a birder (even if I was) cause my experience of birders previously was ‘snobby pedantic old people’ I gave it an honest try and the people I HAVE met doing it since have been truly lovely.

-Three people that saw me and my binoculars on the beach told my about a nesting heron colony nearby and told me to check it out. I never would have known <3

-The couple I met at the marsh yesterday alerted me that there was an unseasonable swan at the lake ahead ‘really far out but I should be able to see it.’ :) What a fun find!

- A fisherman at the lake trail told me of a few good places to see owls if I wanted to add them to my list.

I don’t really know why I’m writing all this. I guess if you have a bad experience with folks when you try to get into a hobby, don’t assume everyone’s like that. And if you want to give birding a try, eBird is a fun app with pre-made checklists of birds in your area and its a fun hobby to pick up.

It’s my new zen and how I unwind from work. It’s been nice to get outside and be reminded that everything isn’t terrible all the time.