#(so far at least always with the caveat)

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I never asked you to, you bumbling oaf.❞

[ Between advices and jealous-fraught fights, nestles your heart in red satin and ivory touch. Or, your marriage so far with the firstborn son of the King. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,901 ] | Aegon Targaryen II x Wife!Reader

contains— fluff & smutty - nsfw: oral (f receiving), p & v sex, creampie, breeding kink(?), - soft shit if aegon got to at least have a bit more agency lmao - jealousy - sorta angsty in the beginning but eh - your house is unnamed but you're a bad bitch - no use of y/n - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— it wasn't going to be a full smut, but aegon happened so here we are. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa!

Fraught might be a marriage arranged— cost and effect, weighed by titles and expectations of such matches made, emotion of either future spouse the least they weigh when they make their decisions — but you had grown to adore your husband.

You had been warned, of course. Gossip and small-minded chatter followed the firstborn son of the King. That despite the regality of Targaryen roots and colouring, he was a whoremonger, an addled-drunk, a monstrous caveat shrouded in dark green silk and iron.

You were called a victim, a damsel in distress meant to be saved before you had even met him. And yet not a single one of them batted an eye, much less offered a hand to rescue you from such turmoil. More than prepared to send you off. Others, of course, wishing for a prince to be married to their house, spit their scorn and irony.

The day you met him was a hot day. The sun basked the Crownlands with an almost venomous hatred, and it did not help your anticipation. Nor the long and arduous travel that turned the carriage into a hotbox meant to cook.

Your rear had ached in pain, almost as painful as your pinched cheeks that your grandmother had twisted unto your skin before you got out to meet the Queen, the Hand, and your betrothed, reminding you that a Princess Consort must always look her best, must appeal to her husband at all times "but must not be whorish! And sit straight, by the Seven, girl! Remember to exit gracefully! Like a swan, not a duck! Yes, there is a difference! Scamper your sarcasm!"— your gown was heavy, cinched tight and thick in beautiful fabric and small pearls and sapphires.

You had smiled prettily, bowed perfectly, and when you finally faced your betrothed, he was barely able to stand, pale as a sheet, and suffering from his cups the night before, sweat weeping on his brow.

It had sent a strike down your spine, irritation and anger spinning beneath pearly teeth. You bite down any word before they escape, forcing you to a perfect posture and a sharpened edge to your smile.

Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, had taken a step back, almost subconsciously, as fear flashed in his darling blue eyes.

Your good brother, having found out of this first interaction, had not stopped teasing your husband for the next few moons. Your good sister, you were told much later, had hummed wistfully, fingers dancing between rings as if she knew much more than anyone else, a small smile playing on the corners of her lips.

The memory makes you laugh now, warming your cold fingers against your first winter storm in Kings Landing. Snow torrents in whirlwinds and spikes, filling the Godswood in flurries and icicles.

Your Lady In Waiting, Emma Redwyne with her pretty Tully red hair and curled lashes that you had always found envy in, bows in greeting. You don't acknowledge her, which you recognise as nothing but pettiness, but you can't bring yourself to stop. You continue to stare forward, hand outstretched in the flurry of snow, when she awkwardly speaks.

"The prince is in your bedchambers, my princess."

You hum in acknowledgement, but no more. She shifts.

"He says he will not leave lest it is you who tells him so."

You turn to her, churlish in your expression of irritation and she winces, tucking her chin once more in false reverence before you sigh. The Lady Redwyne had been a friend once, an acquaintance really. Your grandmother had warned you that though you should have a good relationship with your ladies, it was best to keep them at an arm's length.

"Vipers and greed make stock in the centrefold of power, my dearest," she murmured, gnarled hands twinning your hair, a colour close to her own when she had been your age. You had been told you looked just like her, a gem in her era, her hand sought after by lords and princes alike before your grandsire made a weighty proposal to her house. "No matter what friendship you can build, all of it is but fat clouds and sandcastles. Pretty as they are, easily destructible by the next gust of wind."

"But they would be my ladies." The idea that the women closest to you should be kept with a good eye brought a weight to your chest. Trust is a hard thing to grasp in this place, you were fast learning.

You grandmother tutted, her hands cupping your chin, tilting upward until the same eyes met. One aged and knowing, another young and soon will understand the weight of life. Of the coat she bore with her husband's house in front of the Sept.

"Just watch and see, my sweet. Your future husband is a prince. They will try their damnedest. But you should not lose, for you are his wedded consort."

Now, your eyes linger on the cut of Lady Redwyne's gown. Far too revealing for the coldest touch of the year. The rogue in her cheeks, in her lips. There is a new necklace nestled on her bosom, no doubt an insistent gift from her father.

You wonder if your husband had stirred at the sight of her full visage. That if you had not been upset with him as it it, and have not abandoned your marriage quarters for three moons now, his fingers would have danced across her pale collarbones, fingering the dropped ruby at the centre of her throat. Pressing a light kiss on the gem.

The fornicated memory brings nausea and anger, but you are not new to your role, much less the greed of others, even those closest to you, so you strangled it with will.

If Aegon had dared to mock you anew while you were both in cold waters, he has been too aware now of your anger and what it means for him.

You look back at the peek of red leaves still attached to the tree, almost a stubborn refusal to move with the order of the gods, and you smile despite yourself.

"... My princess?"

Your annoyance spikes.

"And if I tell you to tell him that I will sleep in another chamber, mayhaps upturn a chamber meant for guests, will he then rot forever in my bedchamber?" You turn to her, eyebrow arched. "Will he not be accosted for leaving his duties undone? Must I treat him as a babe throwing a tantrum? Soothe him?" You step toward her. She flinches, a bird wanting to take flight but knows better than to move without her mistress' orders. "Or have you already tried so, to soothe the prince, and have been told to scram, to fetch me, for you are not his wife?"

Her eyes flutter, chest heaving. "My Princess, please—"

"Enough," you say primly, gathering your skirts. "Come to my chambers before dinner but no earlier. The only reason I haven't sent you back to the Reach is by grace and no more."

"My princess." She bows again and you don't miss the clenched jaw as you leave in a flutter of your bloodred gown and arched chin.

You have only just turned a corner when you hear a voice, soft and silky, familiar for many moons now.

"That was harsh of you, good sister."

You pause and spin, letting out a small laugh at the appearance of your good brother. Tall and princely in visage, he inclines his head in greeting while you bow.

"You are mistaken, my prince."

"Hm?"

You smirk. "That was kindness on my part."

He hums, fighting off a smile. Or what you think is a smile. Prince Aemond is still a mystery to you, but he is polite and you find yourself in good ease with your good brother. Unlike your husband, he wears his duty like armour and wield it like a sword. More than once, you are made to imagine what it would be like to have been married to him instead of your husband, and you blanche at the thought.

Though there is complications and evergreen misunderstanding with your husband at most turns, you cannot find yourself happy to the idea of being married to the One-Eyed Prince. There is nothing to say of his scarred appearance— as it does nothing but exemplify his gifted wielding of the sword, but being so honour and duty bound as you, it would be a cool, crisp marriage wheeled on routine and silent understandings.

A monotonous life might be a mercy to most, a dream to some even, but it brings hives to your skin at the mere idea.

Silent dinners and polite conversations are one thing. A marriage built on everything but... it would unsettle and madden your soul.

He offers his arm. "May I escort you to your chambers and my sad sack of a brother?"

You temper your giggle, taking his elbow. "I would be delighted."

Quiet pinches both of your measured footsteps, but you revel in its serenity. Maegor's Holdfast is stone and steel in the winters, fewer bodies lingering in corridors and corners to stave off into rooms with heat, but the rest that do are about, bow at your persons.

"I see you are adjusting well," he finally says. You turn, eyebrow arched. "As a princess consort of the realm."

"Was I so unprepared in my earlier moons?"

"In a way. Helaena says you are still comely and kind, despite being married to my brother."

"I am satisfied in my marriage, Prince Aemond," you say, unable to stop your raised hackles and need to defend your husband. "My duty to the realm is not strained in the least, and I... care for him."

He gives you a long look but you refuse his stare. He hums again, and whatever topic is breached is dropped. The quiet follows up until the doors of your chambers where he stops.

"Thank you for escorting me, my prince. I know your duties occupy your time."

"A duty of mine is to ensure my good sister is in safe hands." He gives a beckoning bow, notching an eyebrow at the door. "And I wish you ever happiness with your marriage to my brother, the Seven knows your duty is harder than mine."

Before you can retort, he is gone, and you are left with a sigh before you push through.

Though a prince, there is nothing princely of Aegon's sprawl on your bed. His gold, silver spun hair like a halo akimbo his face. Warmth emanates from the fire while he plays with his fingers atop his stomach.

"I thought you will ignore me once more, my wife," he speaks to the air, face still straight to the ceiling.

As you close the doors, a nod to your sworn shield, your straightened shoulders hunch as you relax. An unladylike snort breaking through the quiet. You don't see it, but Aegon smiles at the sound, a pang hitting his chest at the sound of comfort that he misses so.

"These are my chambers, husband," you say. "Unless you are meaning to kick me out of the Keep in total, I think my appearance in my own is not a totally shocking thought."

You sit beside him but do not lay down, giving him a good look as he stares up at you with a vacant expression. He is sober, in a way that there is a glassy sheen to his mullish blue eyes the colour of lightning and thunderstorms. His pallour is pale and his clothes are rumpled, but there is no near stench of wine or woman.

In fact he smells like Aegon on his good days; dragon and grime at the edges, soot and wind.

"I have not been to the Silk Street since we have been married," he says as if reading your thoughts. "I have not, and will refuse, to stray from our marital chambers." He gives you a poke. Like a child. "Unlike you."

You know he is telling the truth. He made the vow to you on your marriage bed, hands intertwined, fresh purple blooms appearing on your throat as he bore crescent shaped moons on his back.

You had to wear high-necked collars for two weeks. In the summers. It was impossibly awful, but the memory of your first night is one you cherish. What you go back to when tempers flare and sadness beckons in corners.

He had spent that first night worshipping you, ensuring you are more than sated before he had taken his own pleasure.

"But women who want you need not be whores to tempt you to their beds," you finish softly, unable to stop yourself as you take one of his hands to your lap, spinning the silver ring he keeps on his last finger.

"My wife, dearest to my heart." Your eyes flutter close at the endearments. It was a running joke to both of you, a joke that evolved with sincerity and... well, you hoped was love.

"I had tea with your grandmother, wife."

You looked up from your lunch, lips thinning at the joke and excitement nestled in giggles he was holding back. "Oh no. I knew I should have sent her back home the minute our vows were over."

He laughed then, taking the unoccupied seat across from you as he pressed his lips to your head. It made your heart flutter, even more so as he plucked a berry from your tart and offered it to your lips. He looked with insistence so you ate it. He pressed a thumb to your bottom lip before pressing a soft kiss to his own lips. You tried not to furiously blush.

"What has she told you?"

"Many a topic." He laughed again at your groan. Aegon had found himself enamoured with you as days past. Learning how you act less primly and more comfortable in his presence had brought him a good sense of happiness. Something he thought he lost forever. And he found, the happier he made you, the stronger the happiness in himself grew. It was an addicting feeling.

"But the prime idea were endearments."

"Endearments?"

"That a husband and wife with a pretty marriage such as ours, as we are royals, must show hope and perpetual peace for the people."

You frowned. "And... endearments give perpetual peace to the people how?"

"A show of the stability of our marriage. Of fondness. So now, I shall call you my dearly beloved heart."

You made a strange, strangling sound that had your husband giggling in surprise. "Pardon me, my prince. I—"

"Your precious honey bee."

"... Excuse me?"

"Babycakes?"

"Are you ill?"

"The darling of your eye, then."

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"What you call me," he teased.

"I refuse."

"You refuse?"

"Yes." You fought your own smile. "You are not the darling of my eye, and calling you thus, will make me a liar."

The pinched expression of jealousy made you bite your lip. "And who is, pray tell, the darling of your eye?"

"My grandmother."

You pressed your lips together. Aegon blinked in shocked. Then the both of you burst out in hard laughters, holding your chests and stomachs.

"We shall find an endearment for your beloved husband then," he announced after he had gasped for breath, dabbing the tears collected from his eyes. His smile enchanted you, wide and beautiful, upturned with a gaze as if he was beheld by the most darling of creatures. The urge to skip over him, drape yourself on his lap, and kiss him silly was an urge you pushed down.

"The... babe to my wondrous bosom?"

"Aegon!"

"So in counsel? That is not a definite no."

"My love?" he calls now, bringing your shared hands to his lips. "Lay down with me."

Before you can retort, he pulls you down to him until your warmth is shared, burning in a single flame. A sigh leaves your mouth, and the sound urges him to pull you impossibly closer.

"Women may find themselves in our bed, but unless they are you, they are nothing," he says after a minute. You tense up and he rubs your back. "I have made a vow."

"I will not hate you if you do. Anger is sordid, but I know my role. I know that is common practice for husbands, and as Princess Consort—"

He pulls you to him, your chest pressed against his as he held your face in his hands. His eyes are sad but his gaze is firm. "Your role as my wife does not mean you stay silent in your anger. Fight me. Make as much ruckus as you want. Tell Sunfyre to burn me to a crisp. You know as much High Valyiran as I at this point."

You laugh, forehead falling on his chest as you feel the burn in your eyes as tears escaped you. "I am no dragonrider."

A laughter rumbles his chest. "Could have fooled me," he teased.

"What?"

When you look up, he is smirking. "You've ridden me before."

"Aegon!"

He noses your jaw, kissing the edge of your chin. "The lemon of your tart, you mean."

"No, I do not." A sigh leaves you as his kisses turn into suckles, his hands holding you steady, rubbing circles against your skin.

"I think... I am fully forgiven now? For you have slept far away from me—" You yelp as he bites your ear, "— for too long a time. And for spending more time with my brother than you have of me in a while. Truly unfair punishment."

"He has only escorted me."

He flips you both, unlacing the front of your bodice with adept fingers while he leaves a trail of bites at every exposed skin. "While I wait by your chambers like a lovesick fool?"

"I never asked you too, you bumbling oaf."

He huffs a laugh, ripping down the front of your dress as you shriek, eyes meeting your own with a dark glint, before his hot mouth envelops your pert nipple. You keen.

"I am still a-angry with you," you sigh, running your fingers through his silver locks. When your body adjusts, seeking to pleasure the warmth between your thighs, he moves lower as if he can read your mind, read your wants, and when you make a roll of your hips right against his tenting manhood, his groan vibrates against your breast to your ribcages.

"I understand." He leans back on his hunches, smile sweet, before he shuffles around and underneath your dress, past your small clothes, and takes a slow swipe of his finger against your warm, wet folds. Your hips buck, a gasp leaving your throat, and he breathlessly laughs.

"Your beloved honey bee would like to taste the nectar between your thighs that you have so graciously held against me for so long."

You groan, suppressing a shiver as he holds your thighs steady with his own laughter. "The urge to kick you is strong, my husband. Enough to risk the Lord Hand's ire. And your mother's."

He groans, stilling in the midst of pushing your skirts up, he pops his head back toward you. "Please, owner my beating heart. The fire to my dragon. The lemon cake to my tea—

"— that one is your least creative one so far —"

"— Let us not speak of my mother, gods forbid, my grandsire, while I am between your legs. For the good of the realm."

"The good of the realm?" You scoff. Then yelp as he bites your thigh, soothing it with a lap of his tongue.

"Yes, my sweet, the good of the realm." He pops back to you, hair askew, eyes devilish, as he grins. "It is common knowledge that heirs are for the good of the realm. And I cannot bring you pleasure if you keep mentioning people I'd rather not imagine while doing so. And your pleasure, from what your grandmother had told me from our many afternoon teas, my sweetest, golden love, is important for my heirs."

Your giggles turn breathless when he disappears beneath your skirts once more. "I surrender then... apple of my tarts."

The sound of his giggles underneath your skirts soon grow muted against the sound of your pleasure. The thing about Aegon, is that pleasure is meant to be savoured. So as he slowly tears through your own clothes while he makes you reach your peak once, twice, thrice— your skin drenched in sweat, rose blush bloomed your face and neck, arms weakened and thighs unable to hold steady — you turn to your husband, the haze of your orgasm clouding any rational thought as you beheld him, still fully clothed with your juices on his face, a proud smirk twisted on his lips.

"Are you okay, beloved?" He rests a hand on your face and you nuzzle against him. "Shall I call for a bath now?"

"Later," you pronounce breathlessly. "If you do not find yourself inside me in the next second, I shall curse you for evermore."

He laughs, giving you a languid kiss before he steps back and strips.

He does not make a show of it, as harried and hard for you (no catching of his pleasure against the bed could ever compare to thrusting inside of you), and you watch his weeping cock with an unbashed hunger of your own, as he pumps it a few times, eyes staring at your visage as you widen your legs, holding your thighs to give him a sweet view.

He groans. "What Silken Street whore could be compared to my wife so willing? What lady would be enough?"

"I swear to the Seven, if you do not end your blasted soliloquy—"

His laughter rings, body covering your own before he slides in your warm, wet cunny. Blasphemy spills his tongue as a softened sigh leaves you. Though he is not lengthy, his girth stretches, thrilling the nerves up to your throat. The ease is given by your wetness, but he is slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein until you cry softly at your abused pearl rubbing against his body.

"I will not last," he half spits, jaw clenched. "I will have to- I'm sorry but—"

"Do it," you whisper, locking your ankles on his ass as much strength as your legs can allow. "Pound me into the matress."

"Fuck," is the last thing he says before he follows your orders, each hit against your cervix building your own peak. "Pretty wife, darling pearl, the sexiest— fucking—" spills and spits between groans and cries, chasing his high brings your own.

"A-aeg, I—"

He kisses your mouth, effectively shutting you up as he slides a hand between your sweaty bodies, finding your pearl and circling hard. As soon as you're cumming to the high heavens, tightening and twitching, a garbled scream out of your throat— he slams once, twice, as his own high entangles your own, a punctuated moan breaking out of his throat.

His seed spurts, floods, before his cock turns flaccid inside you, and you feel warm and full underneath him.

He presses his forehead against your collarbone. "Maybe we should fight more oft, nectar of my obsession."

"Sure," you say. "I will spend more time with Aemond then."

He punctures a groan as you giggle.

#aegon ii fanfiction #aegon ii fluff #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #hotd fluff #hotd fanfiction #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #aegon targaryen ii fluff #aegon targaryen ii

[whateveriwant]

Beside

Simon was the perfect boyfriend, until he wasn't.

~1.2k words. Angst, mention of alcohol, mention of sex/18+. This is just a little something that was plunking around my mind.

Simon Riley, who met his younger, civilian girlfriend at a rundown pub one night. 

You noticed him the moment you entered your local dive, not just because he was a new, handsome face in the crowd, but because of an inherent magnetism that seemed to pull your gaze to him. Though he was a bit older than you were used to chatting with, that didn't stop you from accepting his offer of drinks when he approached you at the bar. And after sharing a few friendly pints and a few more-than-friendly touches, he ended up heading back with you to yours for the evening, and the rest, well, was history.

Now, it's been over eight months since you first got together, and you couldn't be happier. Simon is probably the best guy you've ever been with. He's kind, smart, funny as hell, and fucks you like no man ever has before. He really is the perfect guy for you, just with one small caveat: how rarely you get to see him.

Because of his job in the military, he's gone more often than he's in town. When he's not jetting off to God knows where, on average, you spend about a week with him each month; maybe a week and a half if you're lucky, though you rarely are. Hell, he's away so much that he doesn't even bother holding a permanent residence anywhere. His home is his little corner bunk on the base across town – the one you've still yet to visit, despite your asking. 

Naturally, you've tried floating the idea of having him move in with you permanently, but he's always assured you that he's content as is, that it'd be more stress than sense to relocate so far away from his work. 

And you understand, or at least, you try to see it from his point of view. Simon's always been a private guy – a man with no family or friends to speak of, apart from a few colleagues he's forced to interact with semi-regularly. His choice to not want to cohabitate is not an indicator of his feelings towards you. He simply likes having a little space purely to himself, that's all it is.

But even knowing that doesn't make it any easier of a pill for you to swallow. There's only so much that late night calls from private numbers can do or so many pretty gifts in the post that can fill the void Simon leaves whenever he's not around. He's there for you as much as he can be, you know that he is, but you just can't help that you still want more.

It's one night, about five weeks since you've last seen your boyfriend, that you decide to treat yourself to a little pick-me-up. You're at a store that's a bit out of the way compared to where you normally shop, but they have that cheese spread you really like, so it's worth the drive.

As you're mindlessly perusing the shelves, looking at everything and nothing in particular, a noise coming from the aisle over has your ears instantly perking up. That sound. You know that sound. The deep, rumbling timbre that almost has your knees buckling in the middle of the shop.

You follow the noise, sure your ears are mistaking you, but pause mid-step the moment you round the corner. There he is. Your boyfriend. In all his tall, strapping glory. You'd thought that was his voice seeping through the cracks between the shelves, but couldn't quite believe it since you didn't think he'd returned home yet.

You grin, overjoyed to see him, and take a step forward to approach. But just as soon as you move, you stop dead in your tracks, suddenly confused as you take in the scene ahead.

Simon's standing directly beside an overflowing trolley. But not just any trolley. One that holds two little boys, both looking not even old enough to attend school yet.

The sight has you stunned, the smile on your face faltering. Who are these children? And why is your boyfriend watching so closely over them? 

You're trying to decipher the situation from afar when another figure quickly grabs your attention. A woman, a few years older than yourself, walks up beside the trolley your boyfriend guards. Simon turns to look at the woman as she places something in the cart, a warm smile curving her mouth when he notices her. The children seem happy to see her return, and upon inspection, they appear to be her sons – the same hair, same eyes, same smile as they gaze up at her.

But the boys’ reaction is not what concerns you, what has your stomach twisting itself in tight knots. It's the way Simon reacts that leaves you stunned, that has you dumbstruck beyond all hope for redemption.

Simon, your boyfriend, smiles just as happily back at this woman. Simon, your boyfriend, gives her that look you’d only ever seen reserved for you. Simon, your boyfriend, reaches out to softly caress her cheek. And Simon, your boyfriend, leans forward, closing his eyes, until he's connecting his lips with hers.

A second passes, maybe five or six, where you just stand there, watching, unable to comprehend what you're seeing. Your mind feels like it’s firing at a million miles an hour, but it has nothing on how fast your heart is beating, threatening to bruise against your ribcage. 

After a moment, the two of them pull back, looking like a picture ripped right out of a catalog. The woman reaches up to brush some hair off Simon's forehead, a ring glinting on her fourth finger catching your eye with the movement. The oval cut diamond is especially blinding as she then drops her hand down to her middle. Your pupils pinpoint as she rubs her swollen belly, which can't be more than four months along, you'd wager.

As you look between them – the woman, the children, the man you've been with for months – slowly, so slowly you think your brain is made of wet cement, the pieces of the puzzle finally click together in your mind.

The realization makes you feel instantly lightheaded, thinking you're seconds away from emptying your stomach all over the shop’s freshly swept floor. Your throat slowly constricts, your hands beginning to shake, and before you can register what's happening, your basket of groceries falls to the ground with a clatter. 

The resounding noise draws the attention of all the nearby shoppers, including a pair of familiar brown eyes that immediately snap to yours. You lock eyes with Simon for just a second, before you're turning on your heel, abandoning your supplies in a scattered mess. 

Tears flood your vision as you flee the store, your body on autopilot as all you can think about is getting out of there. You're trembling as you fumble with your keys, dropping them twice as you bolt through the car park. When you finally reverse out of the lot, you don't even notice how a car or two honks their horn in warning. You hear nothing but the blood rushing through your ears, the static buzzing loudly around your skull. The voice in your head is shouting, absolutely screaming at the top of its lungs.

My God. My God. What have you done?

__________

A/N: Just so we’re clear, Simon Riley would never ever cheat. But for angsty fanfiction purposes, let’s pretend like he would, okay? Okay, cool. Anyway, I’d love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley angst #simon riley fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #cod x reader #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #female reader

[in-sufficientdata]

Why the Konmari method is pretty useless for people with genuine problems with hoarding and OCD, or OCD tendencies, at least without some caveats and definitions:

Hoarding is defined by a persistent emotional attachment to inanimate objects. Clutterers and hoarders often have an unconscious need to save items, whether for an imagined future ideal use, or just because otherwise they would end up in the landfill.

People with these issues often have difficulty discerning the difference between a truly useful item and something that should be given or thrown away because of their emotional attachment to the item.

They see themselves as the best curator of the items, which may range from useful items like craft supplies, display items, sentimental items, and stuff that is truly just junk.

"Sunk costs" is a term from economics that means that a cost that has already been incurred and cannot be recovered. Although the original term refers to finances, the sunk costs of the time and effort someone has put into an item can influence their decision to keep the item.

Therefore, another factor in this attachment is the sunk costs of money, effort, and time that a person has put into an item. A person may no longer be personally attached to an item, but will keep it because they have always meant to use it or simply because it's not yet ruined.

This is also a reason those with fewer economic advantage tend to be hoarders more than those with a comfortable financial situation. Someone like this realizing they've obtained two of an item will take on the responsibility of curating both instead of getting rid of one.

Because of all these factors, the expression that was translated as "sparks joy" in the English version is too easy for a clutterer to confuse or redefine in their own mind as they work to sort through their items.

In my case, for example, I had a situation where the basement, which was full of our excess saved items, needed to be cleared so the cracked foundation could be repaired. I had to decide what to save in the limited storage space we still had, and what to throw out or donate.

If Konmari had been in vogue at the time (this was in 2004) I'm certain I would have kept far more items than I should have. This language is too easy for a clutterer to massage and redefine in their own mind based on what the item is.

First, clutterers need to be clear-eyed about the fact that they suffer from excess emotional attachment to objects. Flylady's declutter method was in vogue at the time I engaged in this declutter session, and she has a whole checklist of questions to ask oneself about an object:

Do I love this item?

Have I used it in the past year?

Is it really garbage?

Do I have another one that is better?

Should I really keep two?

Does it have sentimental value that causes me to love it?

Or does it give me guilt and make me sad when I see the item?

This may seem needlessly complex to someone who is not a hoarder or clutterer but this addresses many of the reasons that a sufferer would keep an item that they shouldn't.

Another factor is that they are perfectionists. This seems at odds with the idea that they may have a huge mess in their home, but what happens is they often can't deal with their persistent need to have a perfectly clean home that matches their vision.

Because of this they put off starting on the project until it can be done perfectly.

This is why methods like Flylady and Unfuck Your Habitat (which is really just Flylady without the cutesy rhetoric) help these people so much, because people with differences such as ADHD become clutterers because they don't know how to regulate their own time or how to organize.

The emotional attachment to their possessions is, incidentally, why decluttering on behalf of your hoarder friend is a very bad idea. The person will need to work through this process on their own, in order for it to stick.

Getting rid of these items can be intensely emotional and difficult for someone with these tendencies.

Time limits, routines, consistency, and persistence are the best tools for someone who needs to declutter. Don't try to do this all in an afternoon. Not only is it a difficult process, it should become a consistent habit.

For resources and further reading please check out Squalor Survivors (archive.org link).

#mine #please feel free to ask me questions about this i am an old hand #squalor survivors #hoarding #ocd #obsessive compulsive disorder #ocd tendencies #konmari #konmari method #marie kondo #reposting everything from my twitter feed #i'm about to delete everything so get it while it's hot #tweet: 2019

[inaconstantstateofchange]

I come to you on my hands and knees (relevant to the topic right lol) begging for any and all info on Bane, Banites and how it all ties in with Gortash. I love you in advance. <3

Bane and His Cult

Alright, so after twelve and a half hours of research I still don’t fully feel like I have enough, but at a certain point I just need to get this out there, and if there is anything you – or anyone else – would like to see explored in more detail, please feel free to ask! 

Note: I love getting asks like this! There is such a vast quantity of Realmslore that having some sort of specific focus for my deep-dives is a huge help, and knowing the topic is of interest to others is a huge motivator. I also greatly enjoy getting to put my training as a historian to work, as there is so much to interpret and archive alike. 

As ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

We’ll begin with one of the most recent conclusive descriptions of Bane, from the 5e Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide, an overview of the current world-state of, well, the Sword Coast: 

Bane has a simple ethos: the strong have not just the right but the duty to to rule over the weak. A tyrant who is able to seize power must do so, for not only does the tyrant benefit, but so do those under the tyrant’s rule. When a ruler succumbs to decadence, corruption, or decrepitude, a stronger and more suitable ruler will rise.  Bane is vilified in many legends. Throughout history, those who favor him have committed dark deeds in his name, but most people don’t worship Bane out of malice. Bane represents ambition and control, and those who have the former but lack the latter pray to him to give them strength. It is said that Bane favors those who exhibit drive and courage, and that he aids those who seek to become conquerors, carving kingdoms from the wilderness, and bringing order to the lawless.¹

This gives us the briefest summation of what draws people to the Cult of Bane: the desire for power and control, often deriving from a sense that they lack exactly those two things. Bane is the quintessential deity of lawful evil, which – if you’ve read any of my previous posts on the sociology of the Nine Hells – bears a striking similarity to Baator itself, the realm of lawful evil, and the place where Enver Gortash spent at least a portion of his formative years. 

The majority of the following excerpts derive from 3e, which went into far more detail on the specificities of the Faerûnian gods, including their dogmas, holy days, et cetera. One important point to note, however: any discussions of Bane’s scope of power are no longer accurate, as the time period in reference is about one hundred and twenty years before Baldur’s Gate 3 is set, at a time when Bane had just returned to life – and godhood – as nothing less than a greater god. By comparison, during Baldur’s Gate 3, he is a quasi-deity, having abandoned most of his previous godly power in exchange for the ability to directly meddle with Faerûn – forbidden to the gods by the overgod Ao – and gambling that he would be able to regain his lost power and prestige in so doing.²

The dogma of Bane – that is, the core tenets and philosophies that his followers seek to emulate – is as follows: 

Serve no one but Bane. Fear him always and make others fear him even more than you do. The Black Hand always strikes down those that stand against it in the end. Defy Bane and die — or in death find loyalty to him, for he shall compel it. Submit to the word of Bane as uttered by his ranking clergy, since true power can only be gained through service to him. Spread the dark fear of Bane. It is the doom of those who do not follow him to let power slip through their hands. Those who cross the Black Hand meet their dooms earlier and more harshly than those who worship other deities.³

Even were there nothing else to go off of, this would tell us a great deal about the group dynamics of any followers of Bane, whether established church or fragmented cult. Just as in the Hells, hierarchy is everything to proponents of lawful evil. Any cult of Bane would have a strict order to its power structure, and there would be limited – practically nonexistent – tolerance for any questioning or insubordination of that order. To the minds of Banites, such is simply the natural and superior ordering of the world. These interactions are detailed below: 

Within the church, the church hierarchy resolves internal disputes through cold and decisive thoughts, not rash and uncontrolled behavior. Bane’s clerics and worshipers try to assume positions of power in every realm so that they can turn the world over to Bane. They work subtly and patiently to divide the forces of their enemies and elevate themselves and the church’s allies over all others, although they do not fear swift and decisive violent action to help achieve their aims.³ 

The manner of tyranny that Bane holds to is similarly calculated – he is not interested in mere shows of force, but rather in insidious plots that twist and make use of existing rule of law to legitimize tyranny wherever possible. A social tide operated ostensibly within the laws of the land is far more troublesome to fight back against than a simple army.⁴ 

As far as specific ritual and day-to-day workings of the cult, some can be evidenced here, in broad strokes: 

Bane’s clerics pray for spells at midnight. They have no calendar-based holidays, and rituals are held whenever a senior cleric declares it time. Rites of Bane consist of drumming, chanting, doomful singing, and the sacrifice of intelligent beings, who are humiliated, tortured, and made to show fear before their death by flogging, slashing, or crushing.³ 

In this sense, rituals seem most likely to be used as a display of power and a test of subservience, leaving lower-ranked members of the cult at the whims of their superiors, expected – as noted previously – to attend to their commands with the same alacrity they would use were Bane himself to speak. The rites themselves are designed to reinforce and glorify the primary aspects of their god’s domain: the tyranny of forcing submission and pain from the weak. 

Faiths & Pantheons, published a year after the Campaign Setting supplement, provides a similar description of the rituals of the cult of Bane, along with some intriguing and flavorful additions (noted in bold for ease of comparison): 

Their religion recognizes no official holidays, though servants give thanks to the Black Hand before and after major battles or before a particularly important act of subterfuge. Senior clerics often declare holy days at a moment's notice, usually claiming to act upon divine inspiration granted to them in dreams. Rites include drumming, chanting, and the sacrifice of intelligent beings, usually upon an altar of black basalt or obsidian.”⁴

As, in the “present day” of Baldur’s Gate 3, Bane has lost much of his foothold on power and his Faith’s old domains, the specifics of architecture of Banite keeps are no longer quite so relevant. However, in times past, when his Faith worked far more openly and held much greater power, the philosophy of Bane was expressed through the architecture of his churches and strongholds: 

Tall, sharp-cornered stone structures featuring towers adorned with large spikes and thin windows, most Banite churches suggest the architecture of fortified keeps or small castles. Thin interior passageways lead from an austere foyer to barrackslike common chambers for the lay clergy, each sparsely decorated with tapestries depicting the symbols of Bane or inscribed with embroidered passages from important religious texts.⁴

The social capital of a Faith – a broad term used to encapsulate all followers of a single deity – is often heavily intertwined with the power of its god, a mutualistic relationship that runs in both directions. More social weight behind the Faith means its god’s name and will is conveyed to more people, some or many of whom might apportion some worship or act in alignment with that god and empower them by so doing. More power for the god means more divine actions that can bolster their own image and the reach of their clergy. At its height in the late 1300s, the Faith of Bane was one of the most prominent and powerful, with comparable might to that of a small kingdom.⁵

Something that is important to bear in mind in a setting such as the Forgotten Realms, not only polytheistic, but an environment where the gods being worshiped are demonstrably existent, is that the followers of evil gods are not likely to be obtrusive with the less savory aspects of their dogma. Not only would that, in the majority of cases, do more harm than good to their deity’s long term goals, in the words of Elminster: 

A dead foe is just that: dead, and soon to be replaced by another. An influenced foe, on the other hand, is well on the way to becoming an ally, increasing the sway of the deity.⁶

All of this aligns with what we see of the Cult of Bane and its operation in Baldur’s Gate 3. While it does not have the same sway and might behind it as it did a hundred years before, through manipulation of law and carefully applied pressure – of whatever form most likely to yield the desired results, be it threats, bribery, blackmail, or use of hostages – Gortash has enacted a steel web of delicate, ensnaring tyranny across the entire city. 

We can even find present-day expressions of the interactions of the cult members, and find that they hold true to what their forebears experienced, further proof of the consistency of lawful evil. A personal note found on the body of a dead Banite guard at the Steel Watch Foundry calls the Black Gauntlet in charge of the Foundry Lab, Hahns Rives, a “disgrace to the Tyrant Lord”, and notes the writer’s intent to “compile a list of Rives’ shortcomings for the Overseers.”⁷ These shortcomings include: 

1. Rives failed to reprimand Polandulus for making jokes about Lord Gortash! 2. Rives missed the morning mass to Bane - twice! 3. Rives didn't punish Gondian Ofran when she missed her gyronetics quota merely because she'd lost a finger that day in the punch press.⁷

We can see evidenced here the constant scheming for position and recognition consistent with this manner of lawful evil hierarchy. Both devils and Banites orient their day-to-day lives around how to prove themselves to their superiors, while also undercutting them at any chance they have to prove their own superiority, with hopes of being raised above them. 

This is only reinforced further by another text found within the Steel Watch Foundry, Bane’s Book of Admonitions. Its text is not written out for us, but described as such:

A book of adages and precepts for Banites, providing the basic tenets of worship of the Lord of Tyranny, with suggested prayers for common situations. The heart of the book is Bane's Twelve Admonitions, a dozen rules for proper Banite conduct, with punishments specified for failure to comply. The book opens easily to a page with two of Bane's most popular admonitions, number six, the Reprimand for Leniency, and number seven, the Rebuke for False Compassion.⁸

The most likely scenario is that this book was used by the “Overseers” referenced by the anonymous Banite writing of Rives above. The exact position of the Overseers is not made clear, but from context and knowledge of Banite hierarchy, we can infer that they inhabit a place in the hierarchy above both the guard and Rives himself, and that their role is to ensure all those below them uphold the tenets of Bane at all times, never losing sight of his will. 

In that context, it makes sense that they would both have a book of specific punishments for specific infractions – rule of law, after all – and that, given the attempted report on Rives, punishments (“admonitions”) for the crimes of leniency and false compassion – and all compassion is false when your conception of the world does not allow for its existence – would be those most referenced. It would be incredibly important to the unity of the cult, as well as to Gortash’s plans, to harshly punish any observed leniency or break from Bane’s law among members of the cult.

Not only would failure to control the situation at the Foundry potentially spell failure for the schemes of Bane’s Chosen, any unpunished step out of line by members of the cult would be seen as tempting others to do the same, a trickle of dissent quickly becoming a flood. Better to ensure that all adherents live in merited fear of the consequence of failure. 

After all, it is said of Bane himself: “He has no tolerance of failure and seldom thinks twice about submitting even a loyal servant to rigorous tortures to ensure complete obedience to his demanding, regimented doctrine.”⁴

And, in an appropriately lawful hierarchy, the same rule must apply from the bottom, to the top.

¹ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2014. p. 26.

² Descent into Avernus. 2019. p. 231

³ Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3E. 2001. pp. 237-8

⁴ Faiths & Pantheons. 2002. pp. 15-16.

⁵ Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3E. 2001. p. 93

⁶ Ed Greenwood Presents: Elminster’s Guide to the Forgotten Realms. 2012. pp. 135-6.

⁷ Rives’ Failures as a Banite. Baldur’s Gate 3. In-Game Text.

⁸ Bane’s Book of Admonitions. Baldur’s Gate 3. In-Game Text.

#voidling speaks #asked and answered #realmslore #meta #my meta #bg3 meta #bg3 #bg3 gortash #bg3 bane #enver gortash #bane #baldur's gate 3 #forgotten realms #cult of bane #d&d 5e #d&d 3.5

[multifandomthoughts]

Mercs with a reader who’s like Mitsuri

Heavy

Heavy really appreciates you. He likes to cook, and when he does, he makes huge portions. So seeing that you eat a lot, it makes him happy. The last thing he would want is for you to go hungry.

He was curious one day, and wanted to see if you could lift Sasha. So he gave you permission to pick his gun up, with the caveat that you had to be extremely careful with her. Was pleasantly surprised and pleased to see that you could lift her with ease.

Compared to his serious and stoic demeanor, he loves how bubbly and happy you are! It really makes his heart flutter, even if he doesn’t outwardly show it.

He also loves how absolutely authentic you are to yourself. If anyone says anything negative about you, they’re going to find the end of his fists. Nobody hurts you and gets away with it, not on his watch.

Engineer

“Heavy load, coming through!” Is something you’re going to hear much more from him now that you’re around. With your permission and assistance, he can build bigger and heavier contraptions! He’s incredibly grateful, because even though he himself is strong, you’re much stronger than him.

Just like Heavy, it’s normal in his family to have big meals, so at first he wasn’t sure how you would react to him giving you so much food. But he’s incredibly joyful once he sees that you’ve finished your plate and asked for more! You’ll definitely fit in at the family barbecues.

When he’s having a bad day, it always makes him at least the little bit happier when you’re around. You’re so bubbly and sweet that he can’t possibly be upset much longer.

Has tried to arm wrestle you with his gunslinger before, just out of curiosity. He wanted to see how far your physical strength actually went. You lost obviously as you can’t out force a robot arm.

Medic

Is absolutely fascinated by how strong you are despite you not looking it. Definitely wants to do experiments on you to determine why this is the case. Is there something that makes you different than the others? Or is it just pure natural strength?

Observes you from a distance, just watching you interact with the others. Is probably the one least likely to call you a monster, he thinks you’re a perfect specimen.

Doesn’t say anything, but he thinks it’s very attractive when you lift very heavy things. It sends a shiver down his spine that he has to shake off. He might ask you to help him declutter his office sometime as it has some very large medical instruments that need removing.

Is also impressed about how much you can eat, and wonders if how much you eat correlates to how you were able to retain all that muscle mass. Not so discretely takes notes on you while eating.

Demoman

When he hears about how strong you are, he wants to see if you can wield the eyelander. When you can, he shows you the power of wielding both the eyelander and the chargin’ targe. He teaches you how to use them, because he figures that you have enough muscle mass to keep you safe.

When he gets a new barrel or box full of materials he asks if you can help him move it so he can get to work on making more of them. When you do, you happily talk to him all the way, helping to motivate him to work harder.

Because you can eat so much, he wonders if you can drink a lot as well. Challenges you to a drinking contest, and when you inevitably lose, he apologizes profusely. Is still incredibly impressed about how far you got though.

Though, he does tell you how cute you were while drunk. You thought you were bubbly sober? Take it to another level whole nother level. You were giggling, cracking jokes and cuddling up to him.

Pyro

They knew you were a fun person the first time they laid their eyes on you. This is another person who will relate to being called a monster and will not hesitate to torch whoever did it.

When they bake, they ask you to be their taste tester! They want to make sure everything is right, and if it takes a batch or two, that’s okay! Your voracious appetite won’t be ruined if you have a few cupcakes!

When they want to make a big bonfire outside (much to the chagrin of others.) They also ask you to help them find some large kindling so that they can have a big party!

Pyro also loves hugs, and you can often be seen either picking them up in a hug, or carrying them across your shoulder. They’re surprisingly light, even with the suit and it makes them incredibly happy that you pick them up.

Scout

Like Demoman, he is incredibly interested to see how much food you can eat. Challenges you to a food eating contest, but this time, he loses. He’s absolutely miserable after the fact, but thinks you’re so cool for eating that much food.

Scout loves running with you, and loves that you can actually keep up with him. You’re nimble and quick like him, and it causes him to want to keep doing his best.

Despite him being a bit ruder, and a bit more brash, you two are constantly chattering like birds, talking about basically everything, no matter how stupid the things coming out of his mouth may be.

You stand up for him when he gets attacked, because as much as he can be annoying he doesn’t deserve to be beaten up like a bully in high school

Soldier

Is suspicious of you at first. Your arms and legs are tiny, how could you possibly be as strong as you say they are? The rest of the mercs must have been just been nice to you. That is, until he sees you clock an enemy with just your strength during a battle.

From then on, considers you to be a real American soldier, perfect for the battlefield of life. Helps you find what weapons would be the best suited for you, since weight isn’t a problem.

Applauds you on your abilities in the battlefield, and sticks close to you. Nobody is better than him, and he just wants to make sure that you’re taking his war tips to heart.

When dinner time comes, he’s incredibly shocked at how much you eat, and is lowkey concerned that you’re overdoing it. You’re tiny, you don’t want to make yourself sick on the mission tomorrow!

Sniper

You work with him as somewhat of a bodyguard when he’s on high ground. He can view the area in front of him, while you make sure that nobody is sneaking up on him from behind. You’re strong enough to make sure nobody gets to his perch.

In the off time though, he likes having barbecues in the front of his vans. You’re incredibly fond of them, and the first time you have a barbecue with him, he realizes that he won’t have to worry about leftovers.

Whenever he needs help with his van, he requests your help. Whether it’s the inside or the outside, he knows that he can count on you. Usually it’s that the van needs a new tire or some new wiring, and you’re always willing to help.

Being someone who is tall and lanky but moderately strong, he relates to you. There’s one big difference between the two of you though, and that’s that he’s really quiet. Your chattering actually helps him feel more comfortable because it lets you control the conversation and allows him to say what he needs to say without having to speak up too much.

Spy

Just like Sniper, Spy enjoys listening to you talk. However, because Spy is a more realistic person, your positivity helps balance out the tone of your conversation. When he’s having a particularly bad day, just listening to you talk is helpful to ease your mind.

He definitely wants you to try some of his home cooked food, because while he noticed you eat a lot of food, you love everything that you eat. He just hopes that you aren’t put off by French portion sizes.

Quite likes how you are nimble and quick. Had you not be so talkative, he thinks you’d make quite a good spy. He does teach you how to be a bit more silent so you can sneak up on scout though.

Is confused why people would call you a monster, had they never seen someone so strong before? He likes it that way, so you don’t have to rely on him as much, and that makes him much more likely to help you on the rare occasion you do need it.

#tf2 #tf2 x reader #demoman x reader #sniper x reader #spy x reader #medic x reader #engineer x reader #soldier x reader #scout x reader #pyro x reader #heavy x reader #team fortress 2 #team fortress 2 x reader

[tenshinokorin]

TnK's Trigun Fic Listing

Ok now that I've got 15 fics out for Trigun (so far) and at least a couple of those are upwards of 20K and some of them are sequels and followups and ongoing, I thought maybe I should do a proper list of things, to make it easier for people who want to read in some kind of order. I'm terrible about talking up my own work but this is also for my own reference so that's fine, right? ^^; All fics are Vashwood-centric (I will get to Nai in a minute I have a backlog) and ratings vary from Gen to Explicit, though all are intended for an adult audience. This list is complete as of September '23, I will update it periodically as needed! 

NB: I'm lucky enough to have gotten fanart for some of these and sometime when my head is not full of mud I'll go in and add links to those where I can. (Or please drop a link in the replies if you are one of the wonderful artists in question!) 

THE BIG THREE STORYLINES: 

Someday Out of the Blue & I Believe in the Kingdom Come

Trigun '98 canon. Reincarnation fic. The first one is a story I started writing over 20 years ago and quit after a chapter because I was just too heartbroken (and did not know it, but was also too young). Picked it up and finished it this April (2023) after Stampede clobbered me and I fell off the "we don't talk about wolfwood" wagon. The second story is a direct sequel to tie up some loose ends from the first one, and also to indulge my need for a proper happy ending. (I think a lot of folks don't realize Someday has a sequel but it does!!) 

Black is the Color and Mysterious Ways

Trimax Canon. Resurrection/Fix-it/Angstmance with a much shorter, sillier, smuttier epilogue. Three years after the end of Trigun Maximum, Vash is having some trouble laying his ghosts to rest. (You may have seen this incredible artwork which has gotten around a bit and boosts the story better than any summary of mine possibly could.) Weird things happened when I was writing this, I don't mind telling you. Mysterious Ways was mostly an excuse to explore some of the more interesting concepts brought up by the first one, but saying anything more would be spoilery. 

Eyes of the Storm

(Mostly) Trimax canon. Cryptid Vash AU, slowburn romance, ongoing. When Nicholas D. Wolfwood gets roped into being the new caretaker for the now-abandoned orphanage where he spent his childhood, he soon finds out that his own hidden memories are not the only thing haunting him. (What the fuck is a Typhoon?) Wolfwood, Vash, Livio, Elendira, et al. This is the one currently in progress at six chapters out of ??. Pretty SFW so far BUT NOT FOR MUCH LONGER CAVEAT LECTOR. 

List continues with standalone and shorter fics below the cut!

Honeymoon

Generic Trimax/98 setting. Plant Heat, Wingfic, Tentacle Fic, What the fuck is Hay Fever. Wolfwood offers to help Vash out with a personal problem and gets a little more than he bargained for. 

Strange Powers

Generic Trimax/98 setting, comedy/smut/potato jokes/fisting with a loaded prosthetic. What if Vash and Wolfwood (accidentally) got really, really hella high? 

Hurricane

Trigun '98 Canon. 

Vash: Make money? As a priest?

WW: Well. *mysteriously* Not only that. 

Vash: (oh my gosh he's a prostitute)

Shortfic. Wolfwood tries to figure out how to offer his services to someone he doesn't really want to be a paying customer. Short and smutty while also demolishing Wolfwood's professional boundaries.

Skin Tight

Generic Trimax/98 setting. The Infamous Red Dress. PWP, Wolfwood needs to be in the Vash Sensory Deprivation Tank, Vash in high heels, the dress gave its life for this fic you should read it and honor its sacrifice. Look. This is just porn, guys. You want the porny fic? This is the porny fic. (just kidding most of them are porny fics but this one is especially so.) 

Secondhand Secrets

Generic Trimax/98 setting. Introspective/Vignette/Wolfwood POV. Vash's artificial arm always moves in his sleep, and Wolfwood wonders what he's looking for.

Personal Jesus

Badlands Rumble canon (post-film), Wolfwood has poor emotional coping strategies, hurt/comfort (Wolfwood provides both), first-time. That red hotel minifridge never stood a chance. 

A Fool From Any Direction

Trigun '98 Vash's weird horny schtick is a front, and self-respect doesn't save lives. Which is too bad because when Wolfwood finds out what Vash is planning next he's gonna kill him. 

Benediction

Trimax but could also be '98; Sometimes being a hero is not all it's cracked up to be. Or maybe Vash is the one cracking up. Hurt/Comfort, Wound Care & Bible Quotes, Noman's Land is a bitch of a planet. Shortfic, feels, non-explicit/no sex. 

A Bit of a Tight Spot

Generic Trimax/98 setting. Costume Porn, PWP, No corsets were harmed in the making of this fic. I feel like this one gets missed a lot which is MADDENING because you guys. WOLFWOOD'S DOUBLE Ds IN A CORSET. And like, in a gender euphoria way, not in a comedy drag kind of way (though comedy drag does make a small appearance). I don't know how the good minister tightlaced in cuban stockings while giving Vash a blowjob in front of a mirror in the attic of a whorehouse can get so often overlooked, maybe my title or summary is lacking, but it's one of the hottest things I've ever written and its engagement is just in the basement? When (emphatic baffled hand motions to Nicholas D. Wolfwood wearing a garter like a thigh-holster). Anyway. 

The Quick and the Bed

Trigun '98 Comedy, Romance, First Time. The single bed trope. Drunk Idiocy. Wolfwood's vows are in serious danger. (Wolfwood does not have vows.) Readers have let me know that they find this one amusing. Roommates of readers have sent me threats of bodily harm due to badly-stifled hysterical laughter at 3am. 

THAT'S ALL FOR NOW MORE STORIES WILL BE ADDED AS THEY OCCUR!

SMALL DISCLAIMER: I'm a full-time working writer and my fanfic is something I give away for free out of love. Please don't copy, alter, plagiarize, feed to AI in any form, fold, spindle, or mutilate. I'm not in the market for concrit, but if you like my stories please feel free to leave me a comment/kudo, download/print/fanbind for personal use, or let other readers know!

#trigun #vashwood #trigun fanfic #tnk fic #trigun '98 #trigun maximum #trigun stampede

[rainydayfix]

Take One

pairing: Nomad! Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: Nomad!Steve Rogers fulfills his sex worker partner’s wishes until he can’t take it anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (MINORS DNI!!!), smut, lots of fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 3.2k

Notes: Please do not copy, steal, etc. My ask box is currently open if you want to send fic ideas / imagines / etc.

Snippet: It was a miracle any thoughts ran through your mind but you couldn’t help but wonder how his hands – that had been through so much war, endured so many scars and callouses from fighting - could bring out something so heavenly from you. Maybe it was the fact that his hands hand been used to defend and protect so unabashedly that made them capable of showing an equal amount of devotion.

“I thought about what you asked for,” you said, resting your head on Steve’s chest as you settled in for the night. “And, I want you to finger me.”

“I always finger you,” he joked, lightly tickling you at your sides.

“No, I want you to only finger me,” you repeated. “Over and over again.”

You and Steve talked about fantasies you wanted to share. You both moaned between the sheets when you were in a race to hit that space where nothing else existed but each other. But, when he first asked if he could help you out on camera, because that was one of his fantasies, it was still a bit of a shock – leaving you a couple of days to digest, to ponder, to re-ponder, to really think about what you could ask him to do.

As your first video together, you finally settled one idea: him fingering you relentlessly. It was genuinely a fantasy of yours. You knew your body and what you liked, and always found it exciting to see your partner discover it too. And it was a blessing that Steve didn’t rest on his stamina from the serum to do all the work.

“Why only fingering?” he questioned softly. “Why not more?”

“You know why?” you answered, trying to tiptoe around one of the reasons you only wanted fingering. Truth be told it was that you weren’t ready to do a full length video with him yet. Your stream had a good fifteen videos on it so far. Thousands of followers who loved seeing your curves, seeing you naked, seeing you come. But your sex work always came with a caveat making partners turned on before becoming jealous and distrusting, or being distrusting from the start and making you feel cheap.

That was just men who were regular Joe assholes. This was Steve Rogers. Retired Captain America. Now Nomad. He stayed in the shadows. Popping up online, no matter how many creative angles you could try, someone would figure it out. Who you were. Who he was with. Where you were. Then come the headlines. The jokes. The invasion of privacy. You hoped deep down making a video out in the open with Steve wouldn’t change things, but you knew it would. “Not even you can hide underneath all this,” you finished, gingerly teasing his full beard.

A small groan seemed to be his only response. You could feel his pensiveness clench his muscles.

“I just - “ you started, before turning in his arms to face him. “I want us to be us for as long as we possibly can. And, blasting America’s ass on the internet will have the vultures coming around in a heartbeat.”

That made him break out into a small smile at least. You couldn’t help but lay next to him in silence as your fingers caressed his face – the deepened wrinkles on his forehead, the laugh lines, the freckles. Blinking up at the ceiling, deep in thought, he turned his face towards yours and gently took your hand into his. He brought it to his lips, taking his time to plant soft kisses along your fingers.

“When do we start?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

You know Steve asked if he could help. But you couldn’t find it to answer him with your actual voice. He ended up sitting on the bench at the end of the bed - with that ever-cool patience and calm he possessed. Positioning everything just right seemed to be the only thing to settle your nerves. It wasn’t like you were new to this. You set up the equipment a couple of dozen times before – sometimes for videos to post, sometimes with videos that didn’t make the cut. You set your phone set high on the tripod over the bed in the exact angle that would show your breasts down to your feet, if you poised your legs up right. You made sure the lighting was right – with soft lamps centered on your vanity and at your bedside.

As you slowly ran out of things to do, you started to realize you only started the channel with one person in mind – yourself. But now there was someone else you wanted your videos to mean something for – Steve.

“I’m gonna put the final touches together,” you said softly, giving the tiniest curtsy when his hand reached out for yours. He pulled you between this legs. How could a 240 lb superhero seem so small in your arms yet take up your entire world?

“This won’t change anything, this is just for us,” he reminded, running his hands over your hips and reaching his head up to nestle his lips between sternum. Your hands ran through his thick hair, gently bringing his face up. “I know,” you smiled down at him, taking his hands in yours before letting him go. “I’ll only be a minute.”

One minute turned into more than a couple of minutes as you changed your outfit. Steve honestly doesn’t need much to get going, but your “branding” wasn’t exactly in mind when you picked out the lingerie. From a technical point of view, you wanted something that showed enough skin from your breasts to your hips as the camera’s angle pointed downwards away from your face. For yourself, you wanted something that was simple but special – nothing said that better than see-through black and lace. Your hands ran over the delicate floral pattern as it shaped your taut waist, and the stockings that were lightly attached to the garter and underwear. After putting on the finishing touches of light make-up, you looked yourself over once more in the mirror before opening the bathroom door.

All of the equipment stayed exactly the same, but you weren’t the only one that had changed. A small array of candles were lit alongside the drawers across the room. The softest low-fi music played from the stereo. And, Steve stood next to the bed having changed into a long black shirt and pants, matching exactly what you wore. His eyes bore into you with an intensity that paled into comparison to the soft romantic set-up around you.

“Are you sure you just want my hands?” he asked, his voice deep and almost raw. He inhaled sharp but slowly, looking you over as his hands seemed to unconsciously rub together.

“For right now, yes,” you said – it was taking everything in you to not just shove the shoot aside and just let you fuck for the hell of it. There was so much about his body that you loved, and somehow restricting yourself to only his hands made you want him even more. The part of you that pushed you to save it for the video, caused you to turn away from him slowly before handing him the remote control and slowly crawling up the bed, trying to give him as much of a show as possible.

Once you settled onto your back, you reminded yourself to breathe as you could see Steve in your peripheral check the angle of your placement on the bed with the lens and press record. You forced your eyes to stay peeled on the ceiling, knowing that if you looked at him too soon you might call the whole thing off. It seemed like forever before his weight sunk on the bed next to you, his presence becoming a safe haven and a master in control.

When he was fully settled next to you, resting his weight on his arm, he whispered, “it’s just us.” His lips planted softly against yours, you immediately felt it start to leave you breathless and wanting more. Carefully, he left a trail of wetness as his tongue and lips ran down your neck, as his hand traveled over the rim of fabric covering your breasts and towards your stomach. Your breathing steadily grew heavily, when you felt his nails dig into your hips before gliding across your lower stomach and under your underwear.

You were careful to not shuffle too much, not wanting the position of your body to skew out of view. You also didn’t want to seem too over-eager as you peeled the underwear lower. A small smirk lifted from Steve’s mouth as he discovered you were already wet. One of his fingers dipped lowly, lightly skimming your outer lips before delving further. He didn’t seem to be in a rush and it was killing you. You couldn’t help but let out a deep breath as he added another finger, just playing with the power his touch had on you. He took you licking your lips as an invitation as he brought his fingers to your mouth, letting your head bob against them for a few seconds before he placed them back where they belonged.

He started with his digits pushing between your lips to your core, not wasting any more time, causing you to sigh heavily. It was exactly what you wanted. His motions mostly focused on dipping in and out of you, experimenting with the pace of rough and slow. When his fingers hit your inner lips in the perfect way, he alternated to hitting your core. Just like his cock that fit inside you perfectly, Steve knew the right amount of thickness and how to curve his fingers to create the same tight fit. You thought you were close to hitting your first orgasm, when he switched up the position, pushing his middle and ring finger deep inside you, and letting his other fingers pad against your inner walls. Your moan filled the room as your hand dipped low to hold yourself open a little more for his palm to slightly tap against you.

“Fuck, just like that, almost there” you gasped, as you felt your wetness coat not only his hand but slip down between your thighs underneath you. The concentration on Steve’s face, the way his eyes invited you to come all over his hand, pushed you over the edge as your moan was caught in his lips on yours, your tongues thrashing against each other. The first wave washed over you, as he finally let you up for air, and his fingers slowly returned to the caressing he had started with just minutes ago.

You didn’t expect the initial orgasm to take so much out of you, your eyes falling shut a little too quickly for your taste as well as Steve’s. You felt his hand gradually leaving you feeling empty, and the weight of him next to you lightening a bit. When he returned a second later, you felt something soft and plastic roll across your collarbone, and over the rim of your brassiere. Your eyes shot open, when you felt the odd object pulse against one of your nipples and over to the other. You caught the hot pink device looking small in Steve’s massive hand – your vibrator. The one you used in the video that Steve said was his favorite. That bastard.

His heavy breath brushed against your ear. “You can’t quit on me now. I’m just getting started, honey,” he instructed, in a gruff tone you’d never heard before he nipped your lobe between his teeth. He turned the device on and off again as he made sure to let it sail smoothly over breasts and across your stomach, just close enough for you to feel it pulsate through the lingerie. Once the vibrator made it towards your heat, you opened your legs further for him, letting him know how ready you were for him to give it to you.

This time he wasn’t waiting to take it slow and steady like he did before. This time he turned on the vibrator to the first setting for a few brief seconds, and then the second – the one that usually made you come within minutes. The only problem was that he held it right between your clit and lips – not letting you do anything to give him permission to go further or deeper. He was within the reason of pressing the vibrator right where you need it and perfect distance of making you yearn for his touch.

“Oh god, baby, please,” you cried out, and was silenced immediately, as he plunged the vibrator into you. Steve didn’t mess around with the pressure of the touch; he just let it pulse against your folds. It felt like an endless divine tease. Seconds gave way to minutes. Minutes felt like it gave way to eternity. You felt like you were heaven without actually crossing over the through the gates. You looked over at Steve with hooded eyes, wondering how much this man could possibly know exactly what you wanted without saying words, as the coil within you began to tighten and tauntingly refuse to unravel.

Gradually, the arm that was resting near your head slipped under your neck, lifting your face upwards. Knowing he wanted you to watch what he was doing, you helped by slightly lifting yourself up onto your elbows, prompting your eyes to roll back into your head before refocusing on the full view of his hand thrusting between your legs– the black of his shirt wrapped towards his elbow, and your lingerie, contrasted with the hot pink glimpses of the vibrator. It was a miracle any thoughts ran through your mind but you couldn’t help but wonder how his hands – that had been through so much war, endured so many scars and callouses from fighting, could bring out something so heavenly from you. Maybe it was the fact that his hands hand been used to defend and protect so unabashedly that made them capable of showing an equal amount of devotion.

Steve’s body tilted towards you closer, you could feel his cock through his pants on your side. “I wish it was your cock inside me so bad,” you whined, as he suddenly dropped the vibrator and replaced it with his hand, practically fisting you. Your focus stayed on the continuous pounding of his hand that matched the throbbing of the vibrator and thensome for as long as you could. You never wanted it to stop, and Steve almost made you feel like it was never going to. Your one hand gripped the sheet underneath, while the other wrestled to reach for Steve’s arm as your head bowed backwards, as your body finally let go, and you released a high pitched squeal. Steve slowly lowered your head back against the bed, kissing away some of the tears that had freed themselves from the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks, as everything in you crossed the finishing line. You could of sworn you heard him mumble ‘good girl’ before asking if you were all right, making you nod in response as your hands reached up to run through his hair and wrap around his arms.

You laid there for several moments, letting him hold you, caress you, plant kisses everywhere. You didn’t know if this was the end of your recording. You weren’t sure if you had another round in you. You weren’t sure if two times would be enough to follow with what you had on your stream already. You just wanted to rest with Steve, as much as it seemed like he just wanted to rest alongside you. He brought his hand up long enough for you to see him run it along his lips, coating his palm in his spit before dipping it inside you. You guessed he wasn’t done with you just yet as his hand splayed itself against your core– his middle finger found its home deep inside you while the rest of his palm rested on your inner and outer lips.

When his mouth started to trail down towards your collarbone, and towards your breasts, you helped him nuzzle your corset as low as it could, just letting your nipples peak out from the top, enough for him to paying attention to one, and then the other. His mouth grappled your breasts, back and forth, before he settled on one while his hands picked up the pace of strokes. It had been a long time before you felt an orgasm building from more focused attention on your delicate folds. But the ease with his hand swiping at you and the way his mouth enfolded around one of your nipples pushed your body to accept that he was building that eden in you again.

The slight slits in Steve’s palm seemed to ever so gently and rapidly rap against your opening, testing the limit if you could come against his motions. Gradually, your moans – the only sound in the room – was mixed with his own. One deep groan, one you’d never heard before surprised you, of ‘fuck it’ – signaled a swift change that took your breath away. Steve’s mouth left your breasts, his hand left your core, as he moved over you. Everything happened so fast – you helping Steve fling his shirt over your head and his pants down around his ass, a loud thud mixing with the pillow above your head getting roughly tossed to the side of the bed, and Steve filling you up with his cock. His arms snaked above you, as his weight practically pinned you to the bed. You reached down towards your ass and moved the flesh away to hold your thighs open for him more. In a matter of milliseconds, he was animalistically fucking away all of the tension that had been building up between the two of you. The mix of of his hands padding away sensitively at your core, and then every inch of you getting railed, was almost too much to bare. You actually surprised Steve lasted as long as he did before taking matters literally into his own hands. Both of your moans echoed in the room as his thrusts grew messier and faster as you hit another high, and he hit his first, feeling him empty his essence inside you. Once the pace of his thrust sfinally began to smooth over and stop altogether, you laid underneath him, your arms wrapped underneath his above your head.

“That was….” Steve began to say before, his words tapered off. All you could do was nod. His hand started to nuzzle the side of your neck, the coarseness of his beard brushing against your face as your lolled your head to the side.

“….only the beginning,” you finished his sentence before his head whipped up and in the direction yours was facing. Your phone had been knocked to the ground along with the tripod, lying next to the pillow Steve had tossed around aside. The realization drew a laugh from both of you. You were sure there was enough material you and Steve would be happy to post if you had to cut out the grand finale. There was no need for words or apologies, not being entirely sure if the phone had been damaged from the fall...the only thing you could do was reconsider what you could plan for take two.

#nomad!steve rogers #nomad!steve x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagine #nomad steve rogers #marvel smut

[kuyaoya]

New anniversary art is out and it looks GORGEOUS so let's rate everyone again! With the caveat that everyone looks stunning!!! This is a ranking of my least favorite to most favorite pieces of art.

Here's the original art

12th:

Cute outfit, but his face looks really blank. His eyes sort of just dead stare ahead of him and a vacant way. And they've used this pose with this exact expression before.

11th:

Similar to Blade, this pose and expression is what we're used to for Quincy. Topper always looking adorable tho. But after the very cute Valentine's day art of quincy and topper, I want to see more character in topper art

10th:

Dante looks good! Smug and cute as always. The pose bothers me a bit. But otherwise I have no issues with this one

9th: this one killed me to rank so low

But isn't it just like kuya to do what I least expected of him. Ok, I have a lot of issues with this. His hair doesn't look right. The strands in front of his face have swapped length. The hair is too spiky, it looks like a messy hairstyle on kuya. And his forehead is way to short, which really messes up Kuyas elongated fox like look. What's saving this kuya from ranking even lover is that I'm physically not capable of putting in in the bottom 3. I'm sorry. I'm biased, I know.

8th:

CUTE cute cute. But again with the vacant eyes. The smile and pose are so expressive that by comparison, the eyes look empty.

7th:

Looking stunning Olivine. His clothes are so pretty. And he is so pretty. The hair doesn't quite look right, but I'm not an olivine expert. Just a kuya expert.

6th:

Aster is adorable. Checking his nails, or just being cute? I love his pose so much.

5th:

IM ALSO really impressed Garu made it this far. But look at him!! Fun pose, cute expression, and great fluffy hair. Everything a Garu fan could want. (So I've been told, I wouldn't know.) The suspenders as also a nice touch for his outfit, as well as the two tone flowers.

4th:

EDMOND OMGGG. Looking so good. So regal with his hair flowing in the wind like that. And his outfit is SO pretty. Amazing amazing gorgeous

Top three posted next, I can't add any more images unfortunately.

#nu carnival #nucarnival #nukani #nu carnival event #nu carnival dante #nu carnival kuya #nu carnival rei #nu carnival edmond #nu carnival eiden #nu carnival yakumo #nu carnival olivine #nu carnival quincy #nu carnival morvay #nu carnival aster

[wildpeachfarm]

Just saw a thumbnail for a commentary YouTuber commenting on the ‘dream vs Connor’ situation, and it was awful. The comments however seem to be proving that the greater internet is finally starting to see all these fake CCs for what they are, and also how horrid the treatment of Dream is. So I guess that’s nice, cause YouTube is where the core fanbase is for Dteam and seeing a majority of them on their side right now is amazing.

Irrelevant CCs continue to prove one thing. They’re irrelevant for a reason. Their entire content is based on shitting on someone els-which is fleeting, and adhering to a mob that will turn its back on them the second they make a mistake. And none of them can handle being in dreams shoes, cause they get just a teeniest taste and cave immediately.

They couldn’t make the drituation stick, and the gogcident seems to be more on George’s side now, everyone is airing out petty grievances against Dteam, and they’re all looking like fools. I could cry. We’ve waited for days like this. The Brighton bastards pissed off the commentary YouTubers, which is NOT something you want to do. I never thought I’d see the day. Twitter is still Twitter, but everywhere else is starting to realize things.

Caiti shot herself in the foot by taking this whole thing public, and her friends solidified the beginning of the end for her by doing what they did. George may have “lost” on Twitter, and some of his “friends” may have publicly turned on him, but her career is done. She lost her passion and outside of Twitter, no one really believes a word she says.

Who knew it’d take a misguided, reactionary 19 year old to catapult the general public opening their eyes to the vitriol Dteam has been facing for years? And her friends airing out their petty grievances was the nail in the coffin. I said continuously during my four years in this fandom that the tides will change for Dream, and people will be making exposés on how the internet treated him. I don’t think it’s quite that time yet, but we are getting close.

I feel for Caiti in the sense that losing your passion for something you once loved sucks. I’ve been there and it’s awful. But she brought it upon herself the second she removed her autonomy in the situation and didn’t even listen to George’s response. That is the bare minimum of what she should have done, and she didn’t, so she created her own end, albeit probably unintentionally.

To the anon doom posting about Sapnap leaving George, go back to Twitter or TikTok. That energy isn’t wanted here. If Sapnap and George didn’t leave Dream during the drituation, they’re not going to leave George when he makes a mistake. They’ve all clearly stated they love each other, and having known each other for over a decade, it would take a lot to lose a friendship that deep and with that kind of longevity. We were walking on eggshells for a bit, but that’s his brother. Take your doomposting elsewhere.

Sorry this is more of a ramble; had a lot to say and needed a place to go with it. Appreciate my morning tea, always.

One last thing.

It will never be Dteamover.

Proud dteamolo right here. (With the caveat of Sam cause he’s never wavered from those boys)

-L :)

always a pleasure to hear from you L!

And yeah I am surprised to hear that apparently youtube is taking Dream's side with the connor stuff (so far?) but I will take a win no nonetheless!

Crazy how much this has spiraled but at least people are giving dteam at least a TINY benefit of doubt now

#ask #anon #anti drummyache tag

[rriavian]

may I propose for December Prompts "starry night" for Morpheus x Lucienne or "hot chocolate" for Morpheus and baby Orpheus? :)

A small foot stomped. 

“No sleep!”

“Orpheus.” Dream said, unimpressed at even such a bold declaration of war, unmoved by even such defiant vehemence. “It is time for bed.”

This was not accepted as an adequate reason for Dream’s interruption of Essential Activities—the four hours Orpheus had spent playing his new favourite song on the lute—so opposed was his son to it that his announcement was immediately rejected by no less than five head shakes. The response made it clear that not only was Dream’s reasoning inadequate, but that it was actually an insane suggestion bordering on the ludicrous.

His sons small face had become one of determination, fixed in a set expression of horrified disgust. “No.”

Time for a wildcard.

“Then you do not want hot chocolate?”

This seemed to stump Orpheus quite completely.

The offer of hot chocolate proved to be a most compelling rebuttal, one his son had not anticipated, the proposal revealing an unexpected vulnerability in an otherwise flawless defence. Attrition was slow though, capitulation still not guaranteed, small fingers fiddling with the hem of a raven patterned pyjama top as this new contender was assessed. The frown turned thoughtful rather than angry, tension softening as Orpheus paused to consider this new argument for what it was worth, evidently taking the time to review every possible angle.

The silence stretched.

In terms of a game face it was quite impressive; Orpheus gave no sign as to which way he’d fall, and yet this silence at least confirmed a bribe was not yet off the table.

After a minute or so he blinked but otherwise remained impassive. The dark eyes—so like Calliope’s, so beloved—quietly considering, remaining so even when a deep breath was taken. Perhaps to steady the impulsive actions encouraged by a rush of anticipation, though who could be sure?, because when it came the question was merely curious.

“Hot chocolate?”

“Yes.” Dream confirmed the offer, set the scene for what could be attained, allowed a small pause and then continued in a tone soft and the slightest bit sly. “It is good for encouraging drowsiness after all. Though if you do not want—“

An excited interruption.

Orpheus had skipped closer. He’d wandered within touching distance—a dangerous prospect when he’d so recently felt at risk of being scooped up and delivered to his room—grabbing Dream’s hand and blurting out his question. “May I have some?”

Dream smiled. “Will you go to bed?”

It was important to name one’s price before agreeing a trade.

There was still a gamble in mentioning the apparently dreaded topic that was 'bedtime', but Dream believed he’d weighted those odds far enough in his favour to be safe. There was a caveat in this bribe after all, an exchange to be made, an agreement to be reached. It was polite to make the terms certain even as success was already within his grasp; Orpheus only tightening his grip on Dream’s hand in response, for all he was taking his time to answer he was also now tugging him towards the kitchen.

A decision had clearly been made. Orpheus seemed unwilling to risk the loss of hot chocolate even if there was a sacrifice to make in return. “Can I take it to bed?”

Still negotiating though. 

Dream pretended to think about it while allowing himself to be led. “You may.”

“Can I have a story too?”

Further requests? 

This deal certainly required a lot of sweetening. Dream’s smile only widened.

“Always.”

#dream of the endless #the sandman #Orpheus #winter prompt fic #i hope you like! #I'm filling both of these btw #but this one was finished first #no spoilers

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (December 3-9, 2023)

I made a frame from this shot Wikizilla's Image of the Week. No regrets. Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, I love ya. When I was a teenager, explicit queerness was anathema to most big-name franchises. Those dominoes have been slowly falling, often in lower-profile tie-ins first, and to me this is a huge one: 69 years without a queer live-action Godzilla character are over. And Cate's the main protagonist of the show! I'm not under the delusion that media representation will cure all society's ills, but it sure doesn't hurt. Now, the non-Tumblr parts of the fandom are being completely normal about this, right? Right? Whatever, that's why you'll never get rid of me here. Cate had a couple more sweet moments with May in this episode, and Mariko Tamaki wrote episode 7, so don't expect her to stop kissing girls. Hopefully she's learned a valuable lesson about cheating though.

"The Way Out" is also another gift to those of us who have always wanted to see more of the ramifications of a world where Godzilla exists, from underground towns for the super-rich to ruined cities where federal troops shoot looters and harass people experiencing homelessness. And the show continues to find ways to use kaiju to talk about COVID, from Cate and Kentaro's exchange about San Francisco truthers ("It's easier than waking up every day and thinking, at any moment, the same could happen to you") to the blink-of-an-eye speed at which the threat went from on the news to her front door in the flashbacks.

As I foretold, we got a Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire trailer, an amusing contrast to the weighty Toho flick and Apple show already fore of mind. It's Adam Wingard unbound, that's for sure. The human cast seems pared back, a longstanding Monsterverse problem, and the kaiju fights were far and away the best part of Godzilla vs. Kong, so hopefully this approach will play to his strengths. But that movie also had excellent VFX, and some of the shots in here are rough. There's time to fix them, at least... which probably can't be said of Godzilla's design. I like that he's pink (did some Warner Bros. executive take the wrong message away from Barbie?) and sporting a thagomizer on his tail, but his proportions are uncanny. And I see Kong found the Infinity Gauntlet; good for him.

I am, of course, not done talking about Godzilla Minus One. It added over 200 screens and made $8.3 million in its second weekend in the U.S., a minuscule drop considering that its $11.4 million opening "weekend" spanned five days. Almost a third of all tickets sold this weekend were for Godzilla or Hayao Miyazaki's The Boy and the Heron, remarkable in a market so allergic to foreign imports. That brings its total to $25.3 million (more by the time you read this). With an avalanche of Christmas blockbusters on the way, its grip on premium-format screens is about to slip. Still, I see it hanging around theaters for a while. I have never seen the fandom so united in praise for a film before, and it's making plenty of new fans.

Some of those fans are in high places. Variety leaked that it's on the 20-film shortlist for Best Visual Effects at the Oscars (to be narrowed to five nominees), something I, again, never expected to read about a Toho Godzilla film. Alas, it's locked out of this year's Best International Film category due to the quirky nomination period.

Much has been made of how great the film looks on a $15 million budget. I have two caveats, one in each direction. No one is quite sure where the $15 million figure came from; Yamazaki said at a recent con appearance that he only wished he had that much to play with. (He has yet to divulge the actual budget, just that it was above ¥1 billion.) Now, unions in the Japanese film industry are much weaker than in Hollywood, so a given production budget goes a lot further in Japan. All the same, I doubt that alone explains Minus One looking better than most superhero movies made for twenty times the cost. I'll offer a couple more reasons: Yamazaki has extensive visual effects experience (he's been the VFX supervisor of all but one of the live-action films he's directed), and the film's big effects scenes aren't as busy or lengthy as many of the Hollywood counterparts. I don't know if Disney will ask Yamazaki to direct the next Star Wars movie (that would require there to be a next Star Wars movie), but the studios here should be taking notes.

the sphinx, a blog with a ton of American Godzilla rarities to share, has outdone itself—behold a continuity and dialogue script for the U.S. version of King Kong vs. Godzilla! Included in the download is a detailed comparison with the film. No huge differences, apart from the script giving the secretary added to the U.S. version a name, but a fascinating piece of history all the same.

The Minus One incarnation of Godzilla (MaiGoji?) has joined Godzilla Battle Line, accompanied by [SPOILER]. To be honest, my enthusiasm for this game has been flagging, and I'm not caught up on the strategies developing around these two, so I'll just refer you to Sir Melee's channel as usual. This Godzilla's also doing a collaboration with the Japanese mobile game Fleet of Blue Flame.

Tiffany Grant, Asuka's original voice actress, will narrate the audiobooks for the Neon Genesis Evangelion: ANIMA light novels which explore an Instrumentality-free path for the show. Seven Seas Entertainment published them in English from 2019 to 2021, which, to be honest, was also news to me.

This one's for my fellow library workers: the obscenely popular Who HQ nonfiction series for children is publishing a book about Godzilla next June. I don't know if this will have quite the same impact on today's young Godzilla fans as the Ian Thorne tome had on Gen Xers and Millennials, what with the Internet and all, but it's certain to be more factual. Expect illustrations instead of licensed photos, and not just because of Toho.

I can finally talk more about the Godzilla x Kong: Titan Chasers mobile game without fearing a DMCA. Not that there's much to talk about; it's freemium through and through and I'm not sure I know a single person who's excited for it. Interesting to see some critters from the comics break into another medium, at least. Here's the trailer.

#kaiju week in review #godzilla minus one #monarch legacy of monsters #godzilla x kong the new empire #kaiju #godzilla

[markscherz]

i'm curious, when people ask you to identify frogs based on a picture, do you just look at it and immediately know which frog it is and the scientific name for it? or do your thoughts go through some sort of flow chart/process of elimination where you consider different aspects of the frog (colour, size, etc.) until you arrive at a conclusion? or is it a mix of both depending on how distinct the frog is (i'm assuming some are easier to identify than others, yeah?). and do you ever have to look it up to double check? either way, i'm very very impressed by your vast expanse of frowledge (frog knowledge) and i'm learning a lot from your blog!

It is a mixture. The first thing you do is see the whole animal, but get few details on the first pass. That can sometimes be enough. Some frogs are pretty instantly identifiable, even without any other information. But after that, things get a bit more deductive. Here, location is key. Knowing where a frog was seen is incredible helpful in narrowing down among the possibilities. Frogs are typically very range-restricted, so location helps me get to a list of possibilities.

Then there are a few more super obvious characters to look for. The 'habitus', i.e. how the frog sits, is important. The relative eye size. The length of the limbs. The fingers and toes, and the presence of webbing between them. Toads are almost always instantly identifiable by the parotid glands. Knowing these kinds of family-features makes things easier.

Colour is tricksy. It is very tempting to rely on colour to get to an ID, but frog colouration is IMMENSELY variable, and some species change dramatically by mood, or time of day, or ambient illumination. People like to use dorsal stripes to identify species, but they are almost always polymorphic (i.e. there are almost always individuals in the population without them). So, beware of colour.

To your last point, I almost always double check. Firstly, it is embarrassing to be wrong, and I hope that I lack the hubris to assume I am always right when it comes to these identifications (not least because I am really specialised on Madagascar, and the rest of the world's frogs are still comparatively unfamiliar to me). Secondly, I may have a rather broad overview of frog diversity, but I am far from a global expert, and there is always a chance that there are frogs that could be confused with a given one, of which I am not aware. I really want to fight the misinformation, so I try to only give species identifications if I can do so confidently, or otherwise couch my identification with caveats.

#frog identification #frog #frogs #science #animals #herpetology #anon #anonymous #Answers by Mark

[nyaagolor]

Merry DL6mas!

I wrote an inordinate amnt of words about Edgeworth and MVK and dynamics and meta and w/e, stuck it below the cut so I don't obliterate ur dashes

So originally I wanted to make a relationship flowchart for all the characters and then realized that the amnt of caveats would make the image entirely text so I’m just forgoing the image altogether and doing this group by group starting with the VKs bc DL6mas and whatnot. It’s an essay and also unorganized so um. Have fun or apologies in advance? 

Anyway. I think AA1 intending to be standalone and then getting these additional games does some fun things to the characters but especially for Manfred. I’m of the opinion that he was not created or written to be deep or nuanced or anything. He’s the final boss, we weren’t supposed to get more on him, he’s honestly just a symbolic representation of the forces Phoenix works against rather than a character in his own right (in AA1 at least). He’s cartoonishly evil and that was supposed to be it— and then we get JFA and Franziska and suddenly Manfred gets all this retroactive characterization as the story is built beyond its initial parameters. That’s part of the reason why I’m so interested in him— all this new information comes exclusively through other characters and insinuations rather than him actually being on screen up until Investigations and even then it’s like 4 lines. We get more on Manfred, yes, but it’s a shadow on the wall. I’m sorry to bring up allegory of the cave about the gay lawyer simulator but w/e I’m a melodramatist, it’s an allegory of the cave situation. The reason I bring that up is because I don’t really think about Manfred in the same way as other characters; I piece together how I think of him though his relationships and impact on others rather than as an independent dude. His past is inconsequential to me and the ppl who flesh him out are the real troopers but he matters to me more as a vessel for narrative themes than anything. This is all to say that everything I’m doing is conjecture and just kind of filling in the gaps based on my current understanding of the text. Headcanons for the broad and far-reaching audience of me, myself, and I. 

That being said. The whole spiel I just went on about “Manfred as defined by his relation to others” works quite nicely as tie-in to how he feels about Edgeworth, because I think Edgeworth occupies this symbolic space in MVK’s mind. Yes, Edgeworth is a kid he mentors and who lives in his house and who he is legally responsible for, but Edgeworth is also this physical manifestation of his failures. Edgeworth is a child, yes, but to MVK he’s a ghost, a consequence, a punishment. He may not be a VK, but he IS karma (sound the turnabout melody I am kissing you on the lips for this line btw). 

This also means that the way MVK views Edgeworth as an extension of his own thoughts about the DL6 incident rather than solely as his own person, which is something that changes pretty drastically over time. The way he talks about and to Edgeworth goes beyond who and what Edgeworth is as a person because for MVK, there was always an aspect of the self in there, and MVK interacting with Edgeworth is as much a reflection of his own identity as it is how he feels about Miles. 

If there is one thing the entire VK family does extraordinarily well it's projection, and I think MVK has been doing this since he brought Edgeworth into the picture (and before that, but it’s only relevant to me now). This is personally how I rationalize how absolutely batshit half of MVK’s actions are. I know the actual reason is “we expanded the characters around him which necessitates certain actions to drive the plot and inconsistency results from this expansion” blah blah blah paratext more or less confirms this, but we are going full Watsonian in this bitch. 

I have talked at length about the actual medical stuff around gunshots and how bullets are typically removed from joints specifically because of how badly they damage the surrounding tissues over time, I’ll link the post if anyone is curious, but tldr bullet wound symbolism. I bring this up now because I think the bullet acts as a physical representation for DL6, it literally and metaphorically tears him up inside. No one else knows about this murder, most people have forgotten the penalty, but he never did, because he can’t. For someone who has structured his entire self on the idea of perfection, this is an event of unprecedented magnitude, and the living proof of it is eating dinner at his table every night. MVK sits with the weight of what he’s done, and whether or not he feels justified or guilty or w/e doesn’t even matter because it’s making him lose his goddamn mind. His behavior gets more intense, more irrational, because before he was just a massive, scheming, paragon of perfection (and corruption but shh) but now he is in this inescapable cycle as the result of his choices and his choices exclusively. I don’t propose to know nor care about how he felt about it or what the specific emotions he felt were because they’re not particularly important in my mind, only that the lingering ghost of DL6 is driving MVK kinda bonkers and that drastically alters how he interacts with Edgeworth and Franziska. 

I’ve seen a lot of debate about why MVK took in Edgeworth, but my hot take is that he actually doesn’t know. I don’t think MVK ever processed DL6, I think he is filled with contradictory feelings (how ironic) and that this is what eats at him through all those years. Why did he take in Edgeworth? Because he felt guilty? Because he wanted to train him into everything his father hated as a twisted kind of revenge? Because he wanted a prodigy and saw himself in Edgeworth? It’s all of them, it’s none of them, it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t know. Why did he prosecute Edgeworth right before the statute of limitations ended? Was it revenge? Hatred? A way to test his prodigy? To project his own gnawing nest of emotions onto the person he felt embodied the incident? Same deal. (the real answer is that it doesn’t really matter bc we were not supposed to think about it this hard but. Shh. dw about it.)

I don’t take much interest into Manfred’s inner world because I ultimately think that a lot of his actions, while completely under his control, are him acting on impulse, on him doing irrational things because DL6, in a sense, killed him too. He comes out of that elevator a different person (not worse (can’t go down from rock bottom), not better, just a different kind of asshole), but destroyed from the inside out by a murder he committed. He’s so arrogant, so entitled, that he could never let this go, and I think that drives so much of the insane shit he tries to pull. He has centered his life around the axis of DL6 and he will always be pulled back into its orbit. The further we get from DL6 the more time he has to think, the more it tears him apart, the more the contradictory feelings about it rear their heads in turn and create this guy who is just desperate and angry. And when it’s days before the statute of limitations he just becomes completely subsumed by it all. He was always cruel, but now he’s cruel and desperate and completely willing to drag everyone down with him. The desperation is the important part. 

I will say though that he is, irrefutably, his own downfall. He molded Edgeworth in his own image, he created Phoenix Wright the defense attorney as a consequence, and it is the two of them who send him to his death. He is the one who planned the murder of Turnabout Goodbyes. From beginning to end, it’s his own hand. Manfred is one of the only characters in this series whose actions are not precedented by extenuating circumstances. It’s allllll him. He’s the bitch. He has been and will always be a selfish prick and for as much as he is lashing out because of DL6 he does so by dragging others in. 

Extremely long prelude to say that I think how he treats edgeworth varies so wildly over time and is so irrational in its presentation because of everything I mentioned before. He is Edgeworth’s greatest kindness and his worst nightmare— at the same time!! Multitasking king. He takes in Edgeworth as a snap decision for reasons he doesn’t entirely understand, and I think because of that he never quite views Edgeworth as a son (at least in the traditional sense). Edgeworth is not his child in the same way that Franziska is his child (and we will get to her in a different post I promise), but he’s not just some random kid either. Manfred is emotionally tied to him through DL6, and I think the fact colors the way that Manfred treats him. It’s a dynamic that I can’t really put a label on, because it’s mentor/student with so much extra baggage that it feels different than that. There is an emotional connection between them, a sense of atonement and revenge, and I don’t think either of them will ever be able to articulate what that means. Manfred does not address Edgeworth as his child, and I think there is an attempt in his language to distance himself from Edgeworth, but he finds himself drawn to Edgeworth all the same (bc Edgeworth is DL6 etc etc). He did not ask for a child, he does not WANT a child, but he has one! Get fucked!

MVK is obsessed with his own image, with this idea of perfection, and insofar as Edgeworth is DL6, Edgeworth is an extension of MVK. He pushes his ideals and tactics onto Edgeworth the second Edgeworth decides he wants to be a prosecutor, because even more than Franziska, Edgeworth is MVK’s living legacy. He is quite literally Manfred’s midlife crisis and I think Edgeworth wanting to be like him and becoming this Demon Prosecutor is this insanely fucked up kind of catharsis in MVK’s mind. And as Edgeworth becomes more like him, as he takes up MVK’s mantle, he becomes a mirror— that is where shit gets fun. I don’t think I need to spell out the ways in which MVK was simultaneously caring and cruel to his kids— you’ve seen Sound the Turnabout Melody, you’re seen Turnabout Goodbyes, we know this song and dance. 

The more time Edgeworth spends around him, as Edgeworth reflects more of Manfred back at himself, MVK simultaneously becomes proud and revolted. Edgeworth is growing beyond the consequences of DL6 and into a mirror of his adopted father figure mentor person. He is, from the ashes of DL6, becoming Manfred von Karma, and I think that drives MVK insane. He is becoming firmly entrenched in MVK’s life at this point. For as much as Edgeworth is DL6, he is now MVK himself. He becomes a walking contradiction, and Manfred’s projection then manifests as this rapidly oscillating clusterfuck of reactions. Edgeworth is out of his control but he’s super important to MVK— recipe for disaster. 

He builds Edgeworth up, teaches him everything he knows, starts to treat him like a son while at the same time irrevocably traumatizing for the rest of his life. He loves who Edgeworth is becoming while hating everything he stands for, and I think this absolute garbage pile of a child-rearing philosophy is as much a projection of himself as anything. It was never about Edgeworth the person. At first, MVK does not care in the slightest about Miles Edgeworth and it is only when he does, even a little bit, that shit hits the fan in my mind. Edgeworth the physical manifestation of DL6 is being overtaken by Edgeworth the Demon Prosecutor, and MVK starts to be proud of him— but this is an eventuality he did not plan for and cannot do anything about. For both of them, it’s personal now, and no amount of pushing each other away is really going to fix that. 

Anyway I don’t think literally any of this was intended. Manfred is not this deep, I am making literally all of this up, but it’s fine. If you got this far I salute you. Miles time. To pivot to Edgeworth’s POV for a while, I think that from the very beginning, Edgeworth looked up to MVK. It’s not the same idolization that Franziska does, but it’s up there. Obviously he idolized his father, but DL6 not only served as a complete evisceration of his family but also his ideals. Gregory the man was dead, but if criminals can kill his father and get away with it, that collapses the foundation on which Miles built his understanding of justice. Gregory the defense attorney– his ideals, his legacy, his philosophy– he died in that elevator too. Edgeworth pivots, completely independently, from a man who wants to protect to a man who wants to punish (and I firmly believe that this was his own decision and not Manfred pushing him into it, if MVK had not adopted him he still would have become a prosecutor just not so much of a dick). 

But so Manfred takes him in, and was spectacularly ill-equipped to handle this. I always saw Manfred as emotionally distant on the best of days (he’s born in the 50s what did u expect) but for Miles, who he barely considers a son at all, he isn’t capable of being the emotional support he needs. He never would be and never wanted to be. That’s layer one of baggage. What MVK does provide for Miles, though, is a purpose. Miles does not wallow in his father’s death, because he is taken in by someone who acts as a paragon of Miles’ new worldview. Manfred never lets a criminal get away. He is perfect in that way, and it gives Miles a tangible (albeit impossible) goal to strive for. MVK mentors him in this worldview and gives him the tools to outlet his grief and rage into something productive— fucked up and wrong, maybe, but productive. That’s layer two of baggage. 

For as complicated and twisted and contradictory as MVK’s feelings towards Edgeworth are, Edgeworth for most of his childhood sees MVK as this pillar of everything that is good and treats him with intense amounts of respect. He accepts any cruelty as tough love, he adopts his ideals and his tactics and his suit. Edgeworth needed *something* after the grief of DL6 and MVK is what he got, so Miles latches on and never lets go, for better or for worse. Miles Edgeworth is not Manfred von Karma but he actively tries to take his shape because whether or not it’s reciprocated, Edgeworth loves him and everything that he stands for. Manfred cares about him in that respect at the very least. And ultimately, this is my big take on Edgeworth: I think Edgeworth actively chased MVK. He became MVK on purpose. It’s a result of trauma and built entirely on false pretenses, but Miles is the one who takes the initiative and Manfred indulges him— And then Turnabout Goodbyes happens. 

Everything Edgeworth is, everything he made himself become, is wrong. Edgeworth has molded himself into a person he does not recognize and that person turned out to be a monster. The person Edgeworth idolized, respected, and maybe even loved is the very person who destroyed his life. He is wearing the skin of the monster he wanted to destroy, and he did it on purpose (in his mind). This is not to say he had much if any agency in this situation— this is not a path he would naturally take, this is structured entirely under false pretenses, and he was clouded by grief, traumatized, and most importantly nine, but what matters here is that Edgeworth FEELS like it’s his fault, and the complete collapse of his worldview AGAIN is what drives all the bullshit of RFTA. Edgeworth is not MVK (and you can tell because he is capable of self-reflection which MVK is ostensibly not (or at least unwilling to)), but it still drives him to this complete and utter devastation. He sees Manfred in himself and it isn’t until AAI1/2 that he’s able to see Gregory as well. MVK filled a need for Edgeworth at the lowest point in his life (and absolutely made him worse but that’s not the point). Edgeworth respected and loved Manfred’s ideals, STILL chases the idea of the man, and because of that still cares about him. He becomes aware of who the monster he loved is, and how has to reconcile with what it means to be that person’s reflection and legacy despite knowing— and feeling, and BEING— all the harm he caused.

Those contradictory feelings that I talked about earlier? Love and hatred all mixed together— questions that cannot be answered and actions taken without knowing why? That’s Edgeworth’s final gift from Manfred: he inherits the bullet and the legacy he carries forward. Unlike Manfred, though, Edgeworth takes that pain and shares it, lets other people in, scoffs at the veneer of perfection and allows himself to be hurt and vulnerable and it is only in that way that Edgeworth can break out of VK’s shadow and break the cycle. He holds onto the ideals that he learned from Manfred, separates them from the nastiness and acknowledges the place they came from. It’s obvious in the way that Edgeworth carries aspects of that legacy forward that he’s capable of disseminating everything that Manfred is, acknowledging the way he’s been influenced by him and what he still respects about the man despite it all, and make peace with the rest of it. The cycle of violence and corruption started with Manfred and Edgeworth makes sure that it ends with him too. 

I have a ton more to talk about with respect to his teaching methods and the nitty gritty of how he interacts with his kids but that’s for the Fran post. This is more of the “whys” than the “hows” but I’ll get there :)

Anyway, I think that’s it. I’m sure there’s more that I’m missing but my head is beyond empty rn and I can’t think of anything else I wanna talk about with respect to these two. I know I literally just spewed 3k words about into this textpost but I do love chatting about them (total shock I know) so if u also have thoughts or ideas abt anything related to them lmk :3

#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #manfred von karma #mod vex #long post #meta

[renlyslittlerose]

Kinktober Day 31 - Bunny-Wan

Today's final prompt: Bunny-Wan 🐰🐰🐰

Written for my darling @kyberkenobi. Thanks for doing this insane month with me 💗💗💗

Soft Like Velvet - 5,771 Rating: E Content: Bunny-Wan; Oral sex; Anal sex; Anal fingering; Switching; Multiple orgasms; Obi-Wan and Anakin fucking like they're rabbits~

---

“Bitten?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“By what?”

“We’re still determining that,” Mundi said. “But it appears as if it was a creature with large ears and a fluffy tail.”

Anakin paused before speaking. “How did you determine that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Windu interrupted, dragging Anakin’s attention back to him. “We just wanted you to know that Master Kenobi will be indisposed for the next day while the technicians down at the med lab synthesize some sort of antidote.”

“Is he in danger?” Anakin asked.

“No, not as far as we can tell.” Mundi replied.

When the Council had asked for his immediate presence to speak with Mundi and Windu, Anakin had feared the worst. Obi-Wan’s presence in their bond had been muted the whole time he’d been back from his trip to the Outer Rim, his presence missing in the meeting chamber and the dining hall. Anakin knew Obi-Wan enjoyed his solitude when he’d returned from a particularly demanding mission, but his solitude always had the caveat of allowing Anakin at least a conversation. But Obi-Wan had been missing entirely - not even Cody had seen him.

So when the Council contacted him with an urgent message Anakin began to panic. Visions of Obi-Wan having been maimed flooded his mind - a lost limb, a scarred and mutilated body, or he’d finally gotten his hands on a brain worm and decided to experiment on himself. These thoughts and more warped and ripped at his mind, dragging him further and further into a state of panic that couldn’t be soothed. He had half a mind to ignore the Council and rush down to the clinic instead, but was stopped when he remembered that Obi-Wan would want him to remain calm - for the both of them.

And thus he went to the Council only to be told that Obi-Wan had been bitten by an alien creature. An alien creature that had given him ‘side-effects’ that they were ‘working on healing’ down in the lab. Perhaps not as terrifying as being infected with a brain worm, but definitely more confusing.

“We’ve called you up here for two reasons,” Windu continued. “Firstly, to let you know that your Master is alive and well, just momentarily indisposed. And secondly, we’d like for you to pick up a few of his duties he’d promised to attend to while in Coruscant.”

Anakin nodded. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. The Younglings were so looking forward to his presentation tomorrow.” Mundi smiled.

Kriff. Anakin had never been good with instructing Younglings.

“If that’s all…” he started.

“One more thing,” Windu said, catching Anakin as he started for the door. “Master Kenobi has asked for privacy during this time. I suggest you respect his wishes.”

“Of course,” Anakin lied.

“You may leave,” Mundi said with a soft nod.

Anakin whirled around and hurried to the door, footsteps quick across the carpeted floor. He didn’t waste any time and headed straight to the living quarters, all the while prodding at his bond with Obi-Wan, trying to let him in. But it remained firmly shut - locked and barricaded and unmoving to Anakin’s desperate poking. By the time he’d arrived to Obi-Wan’s apartment Anakin was positively buzzing with curiosity, wanting to see what the big fuss was about.

Entering the apartment Anakin shucked off his robes and looked for Obi-Wan in the quiet space, but could see nothing of his presence save for a tunic draped elegantly across the armrest of one of the chairs. Approaching the bedroom door, Anakin pressed his ear against it and heard rustling.

“Obi-Wan?” he asked as he tapped his knuckle against the door. “Are you in there.”

“Go away!”

Anakin paused. Obi-Wan’s voice was high and frantic, with a tenor beneath it that Anakin recognized.

“Are you fucking yourself?” Anakin asked.

“No.”

Obi-Wan’s voice cracked. Anakin grinned.

“Can I come in?”

“No!”

Obi-Wan’s desperation only intrigued Anakin further. Licking his bottom lip, he toyed with the idea of just entering despite Obi-Wan’s pleas, but even he wasn’t so rude as to saunter in when someone explicitly said no. Even if he really, really wanted to see what was going on.

The rustling started up again, followed by soft little grunts.

“Are you fucking yourself again?”

“Go away, Anakin.”

“The Council told me what happened,” Anakin continued, trying very hard not to get side-tracked by the fact that Obi-Wan still hadn’t denied Anakin’s claims that he was, indeed, playing with himself. “They said you got bitten by something?”

“Yes, but I’d really rather not talk about it.”

“Obi-Wan… please?”

“Anakin, I don’t want you seeing me like this.”

“C’mon… I promise I won’t be weird about it.”

“You will. You can’t possibly not be.”

There was another grunt, this time more aroused than frustrated.

“I’m coming in,” Anakin said. He waited for another demand to stay away but it didn’t come, and so with great excitement and a minor amount of worry Anakin pressed the keypad and opened the door.

Anakin was greeted with the sight of Obi-Wan on his bed, naked and furiously humping a pillow.

He glared at Anakin as he entered but didn’t stop his movements, hands shoved between his legs as he pushed the plush pillow against his cock, hips stuttering as he thrust madly, shoving his cock into the dense material. But it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s actions that caught Anakin’s immediate attention - it was Obi-Wan’s… accessories.

Floppy ears, brown and soft looking, hung from his head and rested across his shoulders, while a fluffy tail of brown and white sprouted up from his tailbone, twitching along with his hips as he continued to fuck his pillow and glare at Anakin.

“Don’t say anything,” Obi-Wan gritted out.

Anakin didn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Obi-Wan looked so desperate as he rocked on the bed, his mouth slack as he continued to thrust wildly into his pillow. Anakin could see he’d already orgasmed at least once before, come that was still drying visible on the sheets, tacky beneath the yellow light of his room. Anakin rarely saw Obi-Wan this overcome with lust.

His own cock twitched with interest, and he bit his bottom lip as he approached the bed. Obi-Wan tracked him with his eyes, his movements never stalling even when Anakin knew he must be tiring. Reaching out he cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek with his mechno-hand, the soft bristles of his beard rubbing across the leathers of his glove. With his flesh hand he went to touch one of Obi-Wan’s ears, surprised by how soft it was. It was like petting velvet.

“I-it’s a side effect of the bite,” Obi-Wan panted out. He looked drunk with lust, eyes hazy and mouth slack. “I-I developed the tail first, and t-then the ears. T-then, an i-insatiable urge to eat vegetables. And finally… this.”

“Pillow humping?”

“Anakin.”

“How many times have you come already?”

“Three times.”

“Kriff, Obi-Wan, three times?”

“I can’t stop,” Obi-Wan whimpered.

Anakin’s cock twitched again, and he could feel a pearl of precome bead out at the tip. Obi-Wan’s nose twitched, and he looked down to stare at Anakin’s groin. He was still thrusting, though his movements had quieted slightly, his cheek pressed against Anakin’s hand as he nuzzled into the leather, breath visible across the stretches of black material. With his ears and tail Obi-Wan looked cute. And incredibly tempting.

“Is this a side-effect of the bite?” Anakin asked. He kept stroking Obi-Wan’s ear, loving how soft it was. Meanwhile, his attention slipped down Obi-Wan’s lower back to stare at his tail as it twitched, his hips still humping the pillow. Anakin bet his tail felt just as soft. “I mean, the ears and your… stamina.”

“I think so,” Obi-Wan panted out. He started kissing Anakin’s gloved hand, tongue skirting out to coat the leather in his spit. He nipped the glove, pulling at the leather with his teeth, and Anakin’s cock drooled in his leggings. “A-and heightened senses. I-I can hear everything. And smell everything. I can smell your sex, Anakin. It smells so good.”

Anakin chewed on his bottom lip. “Did you want help?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling.”

Anakin chuckled. “Remember that time you made me come five times in a row?”

Obi-Wan whimpered when Anakin pulled away. He kept humping his pillow, eyes hungry as he watched Anakin undress. Shucking off his tabards, glove, and tunic, Anakin sat on the edge of the bed to work on his boots, laughing softly as Obi-Wan nuzzled his neck and breathed heavily against his temple. Once done he pulled his boots and leggings off before climbing on to the bed. Grabbing the pillow he ripped it from Obi-Wan’s grasp before straddling his lap and taking Obi-Wan’s cock into his hand.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan moaned, his hips staling as Anakin took over, flesh hand quick across his aching length.

He was already so wet, sticky with precome and his three other releases, cock slick and foreskin running smooth along the red head. Anakin groaned softly as Obi-Wan started biting across his neck, tongue hot along his collarbone as he nipped and teased. Pressing his face against the top of one of Obi-Wan’s new ears, Anakin breathed in the scent of the fur. It smelled good - like earth and Obi-Wan’s spicy shampoo, heady and deep.

It didn’t take long for Anakin to get Obi-Wan off, his hips stuttering up before he released with a deep groan, come landing on their groins and Anakin’s hand. When he was done Obi-Wan hugged Anakin close, his face pressed against Anakin’s chest as he breathed through his afterglow.

“How was that?” Anakin asked, his mechno-hand going to stroke his ears and the back of his head, copper strands clinging to the base of his neck.

“Perfect,” Obi-Wan whispered. “But it won’t last. It never lasts.”

Anakin pushed Obi-Wan back on to the bed. Obi-Wan fell back with a grunt followed by a look of pain.

“What is it?” Anakin asked, hovering just above.

“My blasted tail,” Obi-Wan huffed. He shifted a bit, one hand stuck beneath him as he fiddled with the tail, before he settled back on the mattress. “The stupid thing gets caught on everything.”

“I like it. I think it’s cu—”

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan interrupted, eyes sharp like glass in the light. “Don’t call it cute.”

“But it is.”

“It’s an abomination.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and reached for the lube on the side table. Spilling some in his hand, he rubbed his fingers together to warm it up as he remained hovering above Obi-Wan. He could already see Obi-Wan’s cock twitching in interest again, fat and heavy against his thigh. Sliding down Obi-Wan’s hips Anakin settled on his thighs and ducked his head down to suck on the tip of Obi-Wan’s over-sensitive cock, sighing happily as the slit released a pearl of precome that tasted delicious across his palate. While he suckled on Obi-Wan’s cock-head he reached around and started stretching himself open, two fingers sliding easily in the rim of his hole.

“Oh, darling,” Obi-Wan whispered, his hands coming down to card through Anakin’s curls, touch reverent despite the tremble in his body. “That feels so good… so much better than when I do it.”

Anakin lifted his head, releasing Obi-Wan’s now hardened cock from his mouth with a wet ‘pop’. He groaned as he continued to stretch himself himself, fingers shoving into his hole before pulling out, spreading the rim open before delving back in.

“Y-you try and suck yourself off?” he asked, before he dropped back down to take Obi-Wan back in his mouth.

“I didn’t try - I did.”

Anakin almost came right then and there, and he rose again from Obi-Wan’s cock to stare at him, his fingers stalled out inside himself. “You sucked your own cock?” he repeated.

Obi-Wan’s chest and cheeks went an even deeper shade of red, and Anakin noticed his ears wilting slightly. “I can only get the tip in.”

“Kriff, Obi-Wan, how come you never told me you could do that?”

“Because I knew you’d fixate on it.”

Before Anakin could deny or confirm Obi-Wan was grabbing the back of his head and shoving him back down on to his cock. Gagging as Obi-Wan slipped as much of his length in his mouth, Anakin started fucking himself again, stretching his hole with three fingers now as he relaxed his jaw and throat and let Obi-Wan thrust up into him. Despite his state Obi-Wan remained gentle, his cock only hitting the back of Anakin’s throat before easing off. Anakin could feel drool spilling out from the corners of his lips to run down his chin, his jaw already aching in that delightful way of having been mouth-fucked, and he took over from Obi-Wan, bobbing his head up and down before slamming as far as he could go, nose pressed into pubes.

Obi-Wan came with a shout, spilling into Anakin. Anakin gagged on the first part and came up coughing, throat fluttering as he swallowed what he could and hacked up the rest. Obi-Wan was muttering various apologies even as he was orgasming, petting Anakin’s cheek and hair, mussing him up further in his attempts to assuage the coughing fit.

“It’s fine,” Anakin wheezed out as soon as his lungs had settled. Brushing his hand across his chin he tried to clean himself up, and was grateful when Obi-Wan pulled him close and started kissing him - first quick and sweet before it became demanding, Obi-Wan sliding his tongue inside to slip along the sensitive spots he’d just been fucking.

“T-that’s five now?” Anakin panted against Obi-Wan’s lips, tongue sliding along Obi-Wan’s, the pair rubbing them together as Anakin climbed back on to Obi-Wan’s lap and rocked his hips against his length.

“Unfortunately.”

“Are you going to be okay with a sixth?” Anakin asked. He could already feel Obi-Wan responding beneath him, hips twitching up in desperate little thrusts.

“I don’t have much of a say,” Obi-Wan mumbled before sucking on Anakin’s tongue.

Anakin knew it had to hurt by now, but Obi-Wan wasn’t making any overtures that he was uncomfortable. As they kissed Anakin brought his hands up to play with Obi-Wan’s ears, loving how soft they felt beneath his hands, already sticky with spilled seed and sweat. He wanted to see his tail - wanted to fuck into him as he watched it twitch and flutter - but knew that Obi-Wan needed a break.

Pushing him back down on to the bed, Anakin broke away from the kiss and busied himself with Obi-Wan’s seventh erection. Despite the over-stimulation Obi-Wan still thrust up into Anakin’s hand when he gripped him, a deep moan slipping past his lips as Anakin positioned his hole over the head of his cock. Taking a deep breath, Anakin slid down Obi-Wan’s length, easing himself along the thick length with steady breaths before he bottomed out and settled.

“Y-you’re so tight,” Obi-Wan huffed as he wiggled beneath Anakin. “So warm and soft. So much better than my pillow.”

Anakin laughed softly and braced his hands on Obi-Wan’s chest, fingers petting the dense matting of chest hair. Opening his eyes he stared down at Obi-Wan, delighting in the sight before him. Obi-Wan already had a fucked-out expression on his face, lips parted, beard sticky with spit, eyes hazy with lust. His hair was plastered down across his temples and brow, his new ears splayed out across the pillow and mattress as he trembled and quaked.

His hands were hot along Anakin’s thighs and groin, petting him and fondling him, attention focused on Anakin’s cock as it bobbed between his legs. Anakin could feel Obi-Wan’s length deep inside, throbbing against his walls, filling him and stretching his rim in a satisfying way. Even though Obi-Wan was experiencing a very strange set of side-effects by the alien bite, body overcome with an almost insane urge to mate, they still found time to make the moment count - to bask in the sensations that they could give each other.

For a time, of course.

As soon as Anakin adjusted Obi-Wan started pushing up, shoving his cock in as far as he could possibly go. Gasping at the sudden movement, Anakin shifted his weight on to his heels and started bouncing, sliding up Obi-Wan’s cock until he could feel the ridging of his cock-head along his rim, before slamming back down. He kept a punishing pace, ignoring the burning in his thigh muscles as he bounced happily on top of Obi-Wan’s cock. Obi-Wan was moaning loudly, uncharacteristic for him but enjoyed none of the less, Anakin wrapping himself up in it along with the slap of skin against skin and his own desperate pants.

He couldn’t keep the position up for long, and reached back to grab Obi-Wan’s knees as he slid down further. Obi-Wan continued to thrust up into Anakin, bearing some of his weight as Anakin threw his head back and let Obi-Wan fuck into him. His cock was so thick, stretching Anakin open to the point that he thought he might break apart, body humming with pleasure and just that hint of pain, a slicing little thing that rumbled around in his groin and skittered along his hole.

Obi-Wan started jerking Anakin off, touch steady despite the rapidity at which he was fucking up into Anakin, palms hot along his length and thumb firm against the spongy head of his cock. Another shift in the angle and Obi-Wan was pounding into Anakin’s prostate, waves of pleasure lapping at his limbs and his low back, cock throbbing in Obi-Wan’s touch.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin panted before he started started chanting his name, his head tossed to the side as he gripped Obi-Wan’s knees and slammed back down, again and again and again until—

Obi-Wan came first, spilling deep inside Anakin as Anakin ground down, shoving Obi-Wan in as deep as he could go. Obi-Wan kept playing with Anakin’s cock, fist a flurry across his length, and it was more the sight of Obi-Wan jacking him off than the sensation itself that caused Anakin to come. Squeezing down on Obi-Wan’s cock, Anakin milked him for all he was worth, wanting for Obi-Wan to be satisfied for at least a little while.

Once he was done he slipped off of Obi-Wan’s cock and collapsed on top of him. Obi-Wan let out a quick grunt of pain and started moving about, almost hitting Anakin in the face with his elbow as he pulled his ear out from Anakin’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Anakin mumbled.

“It’s not your fault,” Obi-Wan replied. He fussed around with his ears a moment longer, trying to keep them out of both their ways, before he settled on flipping them up over his head.

Anakin tried very hard not to laugh and instead curled up against Obi-Wan’s side. Immediately Obi-Wan was hugging him close, lips tender across Anakin’s cheeks and lips, kisses soft and slow. Sighing into the embrace, Anakin let Obi-Wan kiss him as much as he wanted, contented to keep going but realizing that Obi-Wan really needed a break.

How many times could a Jedi come before they were tapped out completely? Had anyone done a study on it? Or was the creature that bit Obi-Wan giving him superpowers - inhumane abilities like coming ten, twenty, even thirty times with no negatives associated with it?

“How did it happen?” Anakin mumbled between kisses.

Obi-Wan paused his embraces and pressed his forehead against Anakin’s, the pair sharing breath as they settled in their afterglow. “I saw a small furry creature when I was scouting up ahead. I’d seen something similar on another planet a few years back, but had never gotten close enough to figure out what it was.”

“What did it look like?”

“Like a small rodent - the sort you see on Naboo. Furry, with large floppy ears and a nose that twitched, and large hind-legs that allowed it to leap great distances. Only this one had a unique patterning on its coat - like the spots of a loth-cat. As I approached it, I also noticed it had rather large and sharp teeth.”

Obi-Wan brought his hand up between them to show off the healing bite mark.

“So you tried to touch it?” Anakin asked. “Honestly, Obi-Wan, one of these days your curiosity is going to get you killed—”

“Firstly, Anakin, curiosity is a part of who I am,” Obi-Wan began, his familiar patronizing tone immediately making Anakin’s eyes glaze over, “and I’d rather die doing something foolish in order to sate my curiosity, than be contented to go through life without questioning anything. Secondly, I didn’t try and pet it. It lunged at me.”

Anakin quirked his brow. “It lunged?” he repeated.

“Yes. I got about within ten feet of it before it bounded over and attacked me. I barely had time to yell before it bit and then leapt away.”

Anakin tried not to laugh - he really did. But it was almost impossible not to, especially when Obi-Wan began to pout. Almost immediately Obi-Wan was grappling with Anakin, his hands everywhere as he pinched and teased and pulled, Anakin’s laughter mixing with grunts of pain and pleasure. They started wrestling, Anakin tried his hardest not to catch Obi-Wan’s velvet soft ears in the process. But in his attempts he left himself open for recourse, and Obi-Wan flipped him on to his stomach before straddling him.

Almost immediately Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s cock against the cleft of his ass, and he had time to relax before Obi-Wan was pushing back in, filling him up and shoving the come that was left of his prior orgasm back into Anakin. Anakin’s moan was muffled by the mattress as Obi-Wan tangled his hand in his curls and held him down face-first into the mattress, his other hand gripping Anakin’s waist as he fucked into him. He set a punishing pace, Anakin gripping the mattress and digging his knees into it as he tried to stop himself from slamming up into the headboard.

“Fuck, Anakin, you’re still so tight,” Obi-Wan grunted out, breath slick against Anakin’s temple as he collapsed on top of him.

With his arms wrapped tight around Anakin’s waist, Obi-Wan began fucking into him at a speed Anakin didn’t think possible, hips twitching as he shoved Anakin down into the mattress. The pain and the pleasure was almost overwhelming, Anakin’s cock going from soft to hard in a matter of moments, blood rushing from his brain and down into his groin. Light headed and on the precipice of another orgasm, Anakin squeezed his rim around Obi-Wan’s cock to slow him.

It didn’t work. Obi-Wan just kept hammering into him, Anakin crying out as his prostate was hit and his cock was shoved into the soft sheets below. Obi-Wan kept his legs spread, knees shoving them apart, his hole stretched by Obi-Wan’s thick cock. Obi-Wan’s ears were draped over them both, cocooning them from the outside world, Anakin’s moans and Obi-Wan’s desperate pants amplified by the secrecy.

“Obi-Wan, you feel so good,” Anakin moaned, his hands digging into the mattress.

Obi-Wan nibbled on Anakin’s ear, sucking on the lobe before he disentangled one arm from around Anakin’s waist to grab his thigh and squeeze. Anakin groaned and thrust back, trying to get some of his control back, but it was no use when Obi-Wan smacked the meat of his ass and squeezed.

“Fuck,” Anakin cried out, and bit his bottom lip as Obi-Wan spanked him again. It wasn’t violent, just a smart tap to his skin, but it made Anakin quiver and quake, his whole body alight.

Anakin came without touch, spilling into the sheets as he rutted down into them. Obi-Wan came as well, hips harsh against Anakin’s ass, skin slapping and grunts slipping through desperate whimpers. Anakin groaned as he was filled, hot come drenching his walls once more as Obi-Wan hurried through his eighth orgasm of the day. Once he was done Obi-Wan collapsed, all his weight pressing down on Anakin.

Brushing a hand across his eyes to get his hair out of his face, Anakin stared at Obi-Wan’s ear as it remained splayed across them, hot against Anakin as he tried to regulate his breathing. Obi-Wan rarely fucked him like that - hard and forceful and demanding. It felt good, though, every time it happened. Like he’d been bested in a fight and Obi-Wan was showing him his place.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan replied with a snore.

XXX

Anakin woke to an empty bed.

They’d fucked a few more times throughout the night - first Anakin taking Obi-Wan once more before Anakin sucked Obi-Wan off, allowing Obi-Wan to thrust into his mouth as he lay limp on the bed. Never did he think he’d lose his eagerness to fuck, but halfway through the third blow-job of the night Anakin found his mind drifting to other things, like repairing droids or flying his starfighter. Usually it was the other way round, Anakin daydreaming about having Obi-Wan’s cock in his mouth as a means by which to get through the monotony of the day.

How quickly the tides turned.

Sitting up, Anakin had just enough time to wonder where Obi-Wan had gone to before he reappeared in the doorway. He was cleaned and dressed, though he didn’t remain that way for long, hands already scrambling around his belt as he shed his clothes and tossed them on to the floor. He still had ears, but for some reason they looked slightly smaller, and his tail a little less bouncy.

“They found an antidote,” Obi-Wan explained as he crawled back on to the bed. Immediately he was kissing Anakin, covering him up in his slobber. “They said I’ll be normal in about an hour.”

Anakin groaned as Obi-Wan straddled his hips, his exhausted cock putting in the effort to get hard again. “But in the meantime…” he mumbled into their kiss before he bit Obi-Wan’s bottom lip and pulled it.

“In the meantime, I want you to fuck me,” Obi-Wan demanded.

Anakin had been hoping Obi-Wan would ask that of him. He’d been obsessing about Obi-Wan’s tail, wanting to see it wobble and bounce while Anakin shoved his cock into him. Obi-Wan was already hard - of course - as he clambered off of Anakin’s lap and knelt on the bed. The sheets were a total mess, bundled up and wrapped around one another, pillows strewn about the floor. Anakin wondered if the droids would ever be able to get rid of all the come stains, or if they’d just burn them along with the rest of the things that weren’t salvageable.

Elbows and knees dug into the mattress, Obi-Wan watched with hungry eyes as Anakin grabbed the last of the lube, the contents of it almost totally dredged. Anakin was still slightly tired, body sluggish with the vestiges of sleep, but the sight of Obi-Wan knelt on the bed with a tail sprouted up from the cleft of his ass, and his rabbit ears hanging limp around his face, woke Anakin up along with his cock.

Spreading Obi-Wan’s cheeks apart, Anakin poured some of the lube on to his hole, the pink rim covered with a dense matting of hair that Anakin pressed into with his thumb. Obi-Wan sighed and pushed back, his stance shifting so he could spread his legs further. The tight rim of his hole fluttered against Anakin’s fingertip, sucking Anakin’s thumb in with just the slightest of pressure. Pushing his thumb in, he watched as Obi-Wan’s tail twitched and his low back arched further back, demanding more.

“Hurry up,” Obi-Wan muttered over his shoulder.

“I’m still tired,” Anakin mumbled. He went back to teasing Obi-Wan, pushing into his hole just a little before dragging his thumb along the rim. He repeated the action a few more times before pushing his pointer and middle finger in all the way, slick with lube and easily accepted by Obi-Wan’s hungry hole.

“That’s it,” Obi-Wan cooed, voice already slurry with lust. He rested his head on his arms and sunk back on Anakin’s fingers, a pleased little sound slipping past his lips that Anakin wanted tattooed on his heart.

Anakin opened Obi-Wan up slowly, enjoying the laziness of the affair. After the desperation from the night before, it was nice to slow down and enjoy what little time they had like this. Though Anakin knew the extreme sexual appetite was an unwelcome side-effect, Anakin would be sad to see the ears and the tail go. They suited Obi-Wan for some reason - soft fur matching the colour of his hair, tail twitching with annoyance or arousal and soft to the touch.

Anakin stroked Obi-Wan’s tail as he fingered him open, and watched in delight as Obi-Wan’s hole fluttered and his thighs spread further.

“Feel good?” Anakin asked as he pet his tail again.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin continued to pet Obi-Wan’s tail as he opened him up, making Obi-Wan’s rim sloppy and loose. He spread his fingers and stretched Obi-Wan apart, his cock drooling between his legs as he admired Obi-Wan’s open hole, pink and wet and eager for Anakin’s cock. Sitting up, he removed his fingers and coated his cock in the last of the lube before positioning himself at Obi-Wan’s entrance.

With focus he slipped inside of Obi-Wan, whimpering as the tight ring of muscles clenched around the head of his cock before enveloping his length, Obi-Wan’s little tail twitching and flicking the entire time.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan purred out as soon as Anakin had settled, hips flush against Obi-Wan’s ass.

“That feel good?” Anakin asked as he resumed petting Obi-Wan’s tail. He bit his bottom lip, trying not to immediately start moving even as Obi-Wan’s walls tightened and squeezed down on his aching length.

“So good,” Obi-Wan repeated. “Such a satisfying thing, your cock. Fills me so well.”

“You like my cock inside you?” Anakin asked as he began to rock - just short little thrusts that barely did anything.

“Love it,” Obi-Wan panted out. He’d turned his head to speak, voice slurry against his arm as he rocked back on Anakin’s cock. “Love how you fill me up, darling. Love your cock deep inside of me, and how desperate you get when you’re between my legs.”

Anakin bit his bottom lip and started thrusting in earnest, pulling out of Obi-Wan almost all the way before slamming back inside. Shifting positions, he pressed one foot into the mattress to get a better angle, his hands gripping Obi-Wan’s hips as he fucked into him quick and steady. Obi-Wan was deliciously hot and wet around his length, body relaxed, his little whimpers driving Anakin on further and further. His tail kept flickering, white and brown fur a whirl of colour along his low back as he was pleasured, every part of his body showing off how much he was enjoying this.

Obi-Wan shifted and brought one hand between his legs, and Anakin gasped when he felt Obi-Wan’s fingers slide along his length as he fucked into Obi-Wan’s hole.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whimpered, voice caught in his throat as Obi-Wan continued to fondle his cock as he fucked into him, fingers dancing along his length.

“You stretch me open so well, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin saw that he was crying, tears springing up along the corners of his eyes as he sobbed through his pleasures. “Such a good boy to me. So helpful, so generous. So tender with me even when I’m making a mess of myself.”

Anakin curled forward and bit the meat of Obi-Wan’s shoulder sucking a dark bruise across his pale flesh as he slammed into Obi-Wan at a now brutal pace. Obi-Wan dropped his hand down to his cock and started stroking, Anakin hearing the sound of his foreskin going over the head even as he fucked into Obi-Wan again and again. It didn’t take much longer, Obi-Wan dragging pleasure after pleasure from Anakin’s cock as he squeezed down and trembled.

Biting down on Obi-Wan’s shoulder Anakin spilled into Obi-Wan, shoving his cock in as far as he could as Obi-Wan continued to milk his cock. He could feel Obi-Wan tense and then relax, his own orgasm shuttering through him, this time more gentle than the others as Obi-Wan panted out his adorations into the sticky mattress beneath.

Once he was done Anakin slipped out of Obi-Wan and sat back on his haunches. He noted Obi-Wan’s tail was gone, and when Obi-Wan rolled around on the bed and lay splayed out, Anakin saw his ears were also missing.

“Are they gone?” Obi-Wan asked, hands coming up to run through his hair.

Anakin nodded and collapsed next to Obi-Wan on the bed. “They’re gone.”

“Oh thank the Force,” Obi-Wan said, relief palpable. He took in a deep breath and stretched his arms above his head, his back popping, before he dropped his hands back down and stared at Anakin through the morning gloom. “I think I owe you a breakfast.”

“Dex’s?”

“Whatever you like.” Anakin grinned and sat up, but winced when a muscle in his low back popped. Obi-Wan frowned. “I also think I owe you a spa day.”

#obikin #star wars fanfiction #lemon fanfiction #kinktober 2023 #lemon does kinktober #I can't believe we did it

[berriethewizard]

Parley - Champion of Blood au

Masterpost

The parley is set in motion at noon. The pitiless desert sun beating down upon their backs, sand kicking up and battering their cheeks, squinting their eyes - they stand opposed on this canyon cliff, mere metres from each other. Zelda and her two dozen knights, the best of the best, facing lone Ganondorf, leaning up against a boulder ever so casually.

Meeting his gaze fills her with the dread of being outmatched anyway.

The fiery beams of noon light catch the gold pouldrens on her shoulders, the clasps of her prayer bracelets, and the decorated limbs of her bow, resting in her hand with an arrow nocked but not drawn. He holds no weapon at all. Nothing but his own arrogance.

“Surely this is overkill, Princess. This is a peaceful meeting.”

“Behind enemy lines, it will always treat you better to be prepared, Ganondorf.”

His face twists into a smile.

“As you see fit. Now,” He dismissively waves his hand, “Lay out your terms, and I shall see if they are agreeable.”

She retrieves a scroll from her right hand knight - a newer addition to her ranks, but suitable - and begins reading from the script upon it. Most of these are terms laid out by her father, and she can tell in the endless specifics and caveats and compromises that litter it. If it were truly her prerogative, she would throw away all acts of diplomacy and run the Demon King through here and now. But with their recent loss of… weaponry, they cannot afford to be rash. As such, here she is, borderline pleading with the unreasonable.

Half of the way through the scroll, she hears the clashing of metal, and pauses her reading immediately. Only a whistle of the wind greets her ears in the silence.

“Is there a problem, your highness?”

“...no.”

“Then please, stop wasting my time.”

She hesitantly continues on, ears up to catch anything more. Nothing but the whistling.

When the scroll is finally read through, Zelda returns it to her knight’s hand and faces Ganondorf once more.

“If you do not agree to these terms, Hyrule will commence a total blockade of the Gerudo deserts immediately. No trade will come through your canyons until either you surrender to our terms, or you die of starv–”

A shadow rounds the edge of the boulder behind Ganondorf. A short figure, lithe and graceful, draped in the same garb as the Demon King. When his face enters the light, she chokes on her words.

The sundered hero stares, cold and unblinking.

He stalks to Ganondorf’s side, welcomed by a smile that is too small to be anything but sickeningly genuine, and a hand trailing down to his hip that is borderline intimate. He's near dripping with blood, from his hands to his hair far longer than the Hyrule Military approved three inches, like he'd dipped them in the crimson like a child over eagerly playing in a pool of water. The Demon King pays it no mind as he gently tucks the half white, half blonde strands behind his ear, ensuring the scar stretching the length of his face and cutting through his eye is plainly visible to Zelda and her men.

The sundered hero does not break his eyes away from her once.

“It seems, Princess, that your preparations for this meeting were in vain. I do not agree to your terms, but you will find in the canyons no blockade that harm my people.”

The sundered hero takes a step forward.

“I suggest you turn tail and run, before you have no men left to save you. I’m very reluctant to deny my Champion of Blood much of anything - and least of all revenge.”

She gapes for one single moment more, before very quickly remembering her place both politically and physically, and taking her only chance of survival while she still can. Zelda bows to the King.

“We shall be seeing each other again, Ganondorf. Do not doubt this.” She retreats with her knights circling her completely, back to the path that will surely lead to a pile of bodies.

Zelda only feels the eyes of the Champion of Blood leave her back when there’s the ever so gentle smacking of lips that meet her ears.

#ganlink #loz au #berries writing #been very hyperfixated on this idea this past week and having a lot of fun with it #i have some more written for it but this is a good introduction #no long term story but the concept and some fun snippets to explore

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Well you asked for this.

Can I ask for hcs about how the task force DEFY girls would act around their crush? Plus how they ask them out if they do decide to act on their feelings

Your writing for them is the reason I downloaded the game very recently, especially the ones for RPK-16. She’s so hot I l’m dying until she shows up in the actual story.

(GFL) AK-12, AN-94, AK-15, and RPK-16 around someone they like

Thank you kindly for the request, always happy to write for more DEFY! And in regards to RPK-16 being your favorite:

A reminder that my writing is the more lighthearted non-canon events. And that is all I'll say on the matter...Now onto the imagine before my PTSD kicks in.

12 doesn't necessarily get crushes, but its more so that people intrigue her.

She doesn't act too different (smug as hell) whenever she's around said person of interest, but she'll be testing them for different reactions.

If they intrigue 12 further, she'll pull pranks or say some completely out of pocket things solely to see their reaction and satisfy her curiosity.

Assuming they catch her attention whole-heartedly, she'll egg them on more and more.

It'd be easier for her to 'confess' first for sure, but that wouldn't be nearly as much fun, now would it?

94 has no idea what she's feeling for whoever she's interested in. It's not like AK-12 where she'll sacrifice her life for, but...it's close.

She wants to stay within vicinity of them as well as AK-12.

Upon telling AK-12 this, she simply says to get to know them better, which 94 complies with.

Her aloofness may seem like she's quite cold towards the person, but in reality she wants to be with them.

Upon finally being told that what she's experiencing are what humans call "crushes", she first thought is to stay away to avoid hurting them.

Once the actual definition is told, she examines and watches her crush to see if they reciprocate her feelings.

Before being given the hardest order of her life by AK-12.

Socialize with her crush instead of trying to plan it out step by step.

She is quite nervous in doing so, a combat scenario she can handle no problem. But this? This was beyond her capabilities...But, an order is an order.

And her crush was worth the effort.

15 is extremely curt, and to the point. She makes it very clear when she doesn't like someone.

Which makes it all the more special for whoever earns her respect, moreso if it's without a caveat of she isn't personally fond of them.

She believes in the wisdom of her superiors, her strength, her squad's effectiveness, and little else.

And yet, she feels at ease with the person she likes, knowing that they didn't waste any time with frivolous things, and at the very least, respected her wishes as well.

15 feels more at ease if they're in close proximity, knowing if anything were to happen she could leap in and protect them.

Upon realizing her feelings, she would simply just ask them if they could continue working with her as is, not even realizing she had a "crush" until told.

She's terribly confused by the concept of a 'crush' and the normal human etiquette of finding the "perfect" way of asking them out.

Is it not far more effective to just ask them straight up?

16 always was intrigued by humans, and it wasn't particularly hard for her to grow fond of one that caught her interest.

Much like AK-12, she doesn't act terribly different from how she normally is, but her tendency to bring up random philosophical subjects and strange poems increases around them.

She finds it very amusing if the person she observes gets shy by her looking at them. Maybe if she were human she'd understand that mindset more, but for now it entertains her.

Deciding that she wants to be closer to them, she'll make an attempt to compare herself to a moth drawn to the flame.

And it's up to the person to realize what she means. If things go perfect however, then it'll be them that are drawn to her flames.

16 is quite interested to see if either of them ends up burning, or if they'll end up as something more.

#girls' frontline imagines #girls' frontline headcanons #girls' frontline x reader #ak 12 x reader #an 94 x reader #ak 15 x reader #rpk 16 x reader #ak 12 gfl #an 94 gfl #ak 15 gfl #rpk 16 gfl