#ahhhhh thank you!!

[egophiliac]

(almost) four years in, and I finally had time to draw something for the anniversary! woo! 🎉🎉🎉

[astralzeraphias]

but you saved me

you’ve made me a whole person

i owe you everything, scully, and you owe me nothing

[yeyinde]

I am binge reading your work and I love your Price characterisation so much! Can you please go into detail what you his childhood looked like and what led him to be this angry, stubborn man who is fixated on saving the world at all costs

this is basically a reinterpretation of opening Pandora's box but instead of releasing great evils, it's just me yapping non-stop about John Price whenever i get the opportunity. but i cut a lot out because it was getting too long, so this is a brief summary on what made John Price the way that he is;

re: abuse (physical, mental, emotional; of authoritative power).

Nepo-baby. Born into Military Royalty. The Price name has a lot of sway in the government. Probably lived in Hereford going up before moving to Liverpool at 18. Realistically, Price has no other career choices because I can't see Mr "threatens to hang superior officers" sitting in a cubical and expected to hit quotas without catching several charges for assault and battery when his temper gets the best of him. And it always does.

His homelife was bad (but absolutely nothing compared to Simon's). His dad was just a staunch disciplinarian groomed by the traditional values of 40s-60s England. The typical "father works to provide for his family all day and then comes home to quiet, respectable children neither seen nor heard with food already on the table waiting for him and a wife that only speaks when spoken to and only ever to agree with her husband (and a lil bit of female "orgasm"????? by god! they've brought witchcraft back to the land of her Majesty the Queen!)"

He has an angry, uncompromising father with a temper and a mother who says thinks like, "well if *you* didn't make him angry, then you wouldn't have gotten yourself a black eye."

His dad was very physically abusive to both of them. Price really tried to stick up for his mum, but that would just set his dad off even more. And afterwards, his mum would just side with his dad, anyway. But on the flipside, I think she expected Price to protect her. So when he didn't (because he's a literal child!!), she'd get angry. But she obviously can't lash out like her husband or even her child, so uses the only weapon she has to gain some semblance of control: manipulation.

Price takes pieces of both his parents. His father, the physical aggressor, and his mother, the manipulative victim. And she is a victim, very much so. But I also think she pits them against each other. Gets bored. Causes issues. But there's power in getting someone to do what you want, and that's how she takes hers.

Price catches on to her in his early teens, but that's still his mother. Even though they have a very rocky relationship, she's still the Victim in his head, even when she's whispering in his dad's ear about all the things she despises about her son. And then going to Price (after his dad does something about it - again: disciplinarian, control freak) and playing the pitiful mother subjected to her husband's tyranny and a sad, weak son who can't do a single thing to protect her when she needs him.

Price learns to manipulate from her. Emotional blackmail. Victim-complex. Gaslighting. Scapegoating. But the biggest takeaway is the way he shifts the victim-complex into heroism (esp with Gaz). They can't be the bad guys. It's a logical fallacy in his mind. They're the ones saving the world, and if the world wasn't so riddled with bad guys, with people who need projecting, then they wouldn't need to do what they do.

I think Price has a bit of animosity towards people he sees as weaker (re: his mum having to share the victimhood with her son). But this animosity can also rear as obsession. He's the only person who can save you/them/the world. And since you/they/the world can't save yourself, then you should just listen to him.

And if you don't. Well, that's going to be a pretty big problem.

Honestly on the fence about siblings. If he has any, it's probably an older sister and she's either the equivalent of Janice Soprano (minus any of the backbone and ambition) or Barbara, resigned to her life and utterly forgetful. but I kinda like the idea of him not having any siblings to weather the storm with, you know? Like, it's just him and a mother who victim blames and ignores, and he gets the brunt of his dad's anger.

He was an obnoxious kid to be around. Probably really tried to impress his dad by adopting all of his values; baby misogyny, bite-sized authoritarianism, military fiscalism/military–industrial complex, militarism, etc., before realising (earlyyyyy teens) that he hates his dad and everything he stands for (but I'm a SUCKER for letting Price suffer and I love cyclicity and generational trauma so naturally, as much as he tries to run from the ghost of his dad, it still lingers - just in different ways; the worst thing you could ever say to Price is, you're just like your father).

Turned into a moody teen in the 80s/90s. His anger is a hair trigger. Utterly uncontrollable. But by this time, he learned to hide it because his dad's way of idealing with trauma was to add more. Therapists are pseudoscience, so he taught Price that men just bury these things. And if you can't, then you should be put down like a dog.

The assessment of a man's character was entirely based on the military tests he passed. And with Price's anger, trauma, he probably shouldn't have passed the evaluations, but since his dad, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, were all military dogs, he learned how to beat it. He's also really good at manipulating people.

I think between 16-17 there was a real attempt to do something that wasn't the military and I haven't decided which one I like better but:

He gets a job (as a port worker or in a factory). The Price name has no sway here (and baby Price grew up surrounded by people who knew his family, who revered them for their service to the country, etc). If he wants to make it, it has to be by his own merit. The problem is, while he's a hard worker, his trauma (men who remind him of his father, women who are too much like his mother) causes an incredible rift between him and authority.

If his boss is a man just like his dad, then Price is a match in a tinderbox.

If he isn't, to Price (who has only just learned to hold his tongue), the idea of a nobody being in a position of power over him will also set him off.

Either way, he's doomed.

If he man is a beast that no one can stand up to, and gets away with things because he's the boss, then Price's temper would flare pretty quickly. Especially if he comes after Price. Bullies him. Belittles him. But the worst is the humiliation. He ends up beating his boss very badly, terrifying the men around him but in their fear, and how quickly they listen to him because of it, Price realises he likes it. That fear can be weaponized. Honed.

Or: same situation, but if you lean more towards Price looking out for the underdog rather than his own self-interest, then he sticks up for someone and beats his boss to protect them. Everyone's still afraid of him, but they revere him. They do what he asks. This version, he realises that respect can be weaponized.

(and if the man is not like his dad, then Price will antagonise him into action. He'd throw the first punch, and Price will retaliate. It would still go too far, but - Nepo baby, weaponized fear: the outcome would be the same.)

He gets taken into custody. The tell him his boss is not going to make it. But Price's dad exercises every ounce of power to get his son out of trouble (because this will look very bad on them), and Price leans several things which shape him as an adult: his name has a lot of power; rules and regulations and just policing won't stop bad people unless you take it into your own hands once and for all, and people listen to him and that either version of the above can be weaponized.

He'd probably take the military a bit more seriously but only because he's trying to get vengeance for himself (even if this is subconscious and he doesn't realise it). He leaves at 18. Joins. And climbs the ranks higher than his dad.

At first, there's a concerted effort to do good but something cracks. Builds. Eventually Price comes to the conclusion that he'll have to take a more hands-on approach and get them a little bloody if he wants real change.

I have a lot of thoughts of military-dog Price. But!! That's basically it.

Shaped by physical, mental, emotional abuse; leans into the poor rich kid trope slightly. It all manifests more when he climbs the ranks, gets freedom, and realises that only he can do what needs to be done.

[sporeclan]

it's been more than a year of sporeclan! how are you feeling about it? what's your favourite piece (and not so favourite) so far? or favourite to draw?

It sure has! It's pretty wild that it's been a year since I started drawing these silly kitties! It paradoxically feels like it's been forever and no time at all simultaneously haha

I'm pretty proud of myself that I've managed to draw 27 moons of content over the course of the year! I usually have trouble sticking with long term projects, but all the positive reactions have really lit my fire to keep going. Thank you all for every like, reblog, tag, reply, ask and especially the wonderful fanart, I could not have gotten this far without you <3

Now, if I had to pick a favourite piece from this year, it definitely goes to Oakfox's death;

I REALLY love how this one turned out! The fire turned out so nice, and I really like the poses and expressions. I think if there's one thing I would change, I would make the text more visible. It's a little too light.

Least favourite piece is so hard to pick... So I'll just pick a process instead lol! I really don't like trying to map out the panels in moons where nothing happens. It's suchhh a fight to get the ratio's right when nothing even happened!!!

Anyways, I'm off to bed now!! Thank you all so much <3

[mayhemspreadingguy]

@magnusbae, not expecting I'd follow through, suggested to sketch Anakin but with cat fangs... Things got out of hand.

Also, look! Magnusbae gifted me with a most lovely fic inspired by my art (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (fic under the cut, 3,800+ words).

That’s it. Anakin had resisted long enough. 

All through morning, noon and even dinner. He had done his Katas, had finished his chores, even went through his studies, all without so much as a single comment. He deserves to be commended personally by Master Yoda for being an exemplary Jedi. He deserves to be knighted right this moment seeing how he never even mentioned just how force karked awful his Master’s hair looked like for the past week. Sticking in all directions, it grows in uneven patches, the addition of a beard is somehow making his elegant Master look like a beggar from the streets and that, that is intolerable. 

Anakin growls quietly, muscles tense. He knows his Master most likely can feel him staring holes through him, and yet he simply continues reading his datapad, not asking nor looking, radiating calm in the force. Anakin wonders if he could tidy that mess with the power of thought alone. Would that be considered a frivolous use of the force? Even if done in the service of the republic? After all, his Master’s good looks are the cornerstone of the… 

Obi-Wan scratches at the back of his head, clearly bothered and Anakin can’t tolerate this anymore, cannot accept this anymore. His tongue is itching something fierce, his hands are sweating, he cannot sit still like there’s fire ants filling his pants and crawling up his spine. He cannot tolerate this. If not for himself, he must do this for his Master. If not for his Master, then for the order. If not for the order, then for the Galaxy. If not for the Galaxy, then for the Force itself. For he can swear by all that he holds dear that the Force itself is embarrassed by his Master being so unkempt, so ungroomed. 

Unacceptable. This is absolutely unacceptable. His Master has to always look neat and nice and put together, smelling fresh and looking proper. That’s the only right way for his Master to be. Anakin will not stand for it being any other way. He will not. He will make it right. 

His Master ignores the first lick. He often does that, pretends to not notice in the hopes of Anakin stopping after catching himself at his instincts. Oftentimes it works. Oftentimes it is an accident. But not this time. This time it’s very much on purpose and very much intended to continue until Anakin is satisfied with the results. All Anakin needs is for his Master to continue pretending to not notice long enough for him to fix this mess. 

Two more licks, lower neck up the scratchy beard and—

“Anakin—” his Master stops pretending so suddenly that Anakin’s tongue moves over his jawline and across the beard in a way that tickles funny. Anakin likes how it feels, rough and interesting, makes him curious about how it’ll feel like to lick across the jawline, where the beard is the thickest.

Knowing he does not have much time before his Master attempts to stop him altogether, Anakin leans in with renewed urgency, tongue ready, mouth starting to water— “Anakin, stop!” a strong hand pushes against his shoulder, moving him a distance away without being as rough as to push. 

“Mrrphh!” Anakin protests, pushing against the hand but not fighting it actively. His Master can be so bossy when he gets like this, so unreasonable. The only way to win is to use his words, otherwise his Master might just walk off and hide in his rooms instead. Or worse, go meditate in the halls, where everyone will see this shameful disaster.

“You need the grooming, Master!” Anakin starts with the foundation and heart of his objection. His Master always teaches that it’s important to be able to pinpoint the problem early on and address it quickly so as to not let it fester and become bigger than it must be. Granted his Master spoke of interpersonal disputes however it absolutely does apply here. His Master simply cannot deny this reasoning, ergo, will not be able to dispute it as untrue. “So just let me!” Anakin adds, before his Master could somehow find a way to object.

Can’t his Master see that Anakin is offering him a service? Out of the kindness of his heart, no less. Him enjoying the way his Master’s flavor sits on his tongue, the way it makes all the small hairs on his body stand on end, how it fills him with excitement— His Master’s scent, rich and spiced and safe— how he favors it above all else even when the exotic teas make him sneeze and sneeze— the way a single point of contact would narrow his senses into a single point of focus, clear his mind of all worries— the way his vision relaxes, the way his nostrils flare and he inhales and inhales and inhales— the way his heartbeat peaks and then slows, the way his mouth goes dry and he feels thirsty, hungry even— all that, all that has nothing to do with his altruistic motivations. He’s just looking out for his Master. Obviously, duh. 

“Master.” He can hear his own voice, can hear how it takes a whiny note his Master often teases him for. It’s hard to care when he has a goal bigger than his own ego. “Just let me.” He demands, he can hear it and he still doesn’t stop himself from reaching for his Master’s flowing robes, claws catching on the material and making him shudder. Maybe he does need trimming just like his Master insists each time they spar. Maybe Anakin will allow it, if his Master is good and allows him this. Maybe he’d even let his Master groom him too.

The bewilderment in the force clues Anakin on the fact that yes, maybe he did forget to shield, again. He huffs through his nose, wrinkling it. He really doesn’t know what the big deal with this is, doesn’t understand the obsession everyone and especially his Master, has with hiding every single urge and instinct and thought they have. It’s not like he thinks anything he wouldn’t also say out loud. Maybe if the Jedi used less of those shields, it would have been much easier to communicate with them, to bond with them, and maybe then he’d feel less like an outsider, like an odd bird out of its cage.

“Oh Anakin..” Obi-Wan sighs, the tension loosening from his hold against his shoulder, rather than scolding, there’s the hints of the sadness his Master expresses each time Anakin feels alienated in this place. It is not his fault no one understands him, it is not his fault he is different than everyone. 

“Master.” Anakin chirps back, rolling his eyes. His Master has the oddest of tendencies to get hung up on the most particular of topics. Anakin not having enough friends, per his Master’s opinion, is one such topic. Nevermind the fact that Anakin had never seen his Master ever share a true conversation with a single person. Other than himself. Of course. His Master does talk to him.

His Master will get fixated on him instead of thinking about himself and nag him to half death. ‘Anakin get more friends’ and ‘Anakin don’t spread the droid parts all across the quarters’ and ‘Anakin I’m a grown man I can groom myself.’ And while some of those things might be true, obviously, the last one is not. “You look like a mess.” Anakin says it to his face, because he and his Master are real friends.

“Thank you Padawan.” His Master answer, no longer sounding sad, instead his voice is dripping with sarcasm. Anakin doesn’t like it, but he supposes it’s better than sadness. “I do not recall asking for your no doubt impeccable sense of— Ahnakin—!” his ranting stops mid warming up when Anakin uses the opening to dart forward and lick him again, from the lowest exposed spot of his neck, up the smooth skin, his rough tongue making a satisfying ‘shh’ sound as it catches at the hair of the beard and smooths it up with his lick. The flavor is… is… 

Obi-Wan had used some sort of balm… some sort of synthetic musk that makes Anakin’s brain swim funny and eyes to close and mouth to water even more. He has to swallow down the saliva lest he drool like a hungry Tooka. It’s hard not to, when his Master is so, so, so karkin yummy. He slams his shields up with a clumsy thud in the force, but maybe just a moment too late to cover up that last thought.

“Anakin!” his Master sounds properly scandalized, voice raising to a tone that always makes Anakin’s ears ring uncomfortably and the following lecturing tone is no better. “Cease this nonsense immediately, you must not—" 

Anakin licks again. The side of his neck and up to the point where skin meets ear. “Master.” He says there, voice dropping into a purr that morphs into a warning growl he didn’t even think of making, there’s no aggression, only the frustrated warning to not stop him in the middle of something so damn important. Grooming, is important. More than Katas or studies or meditations. Maybe even more than sparring. And Anakin loves sparring. 

All Anakin wants is for his Master to sit quietly and let him take care of him. The way he ought to, the way he was meant to do. It’s his job, after all, is it not? He is Obi-Wan’s Padawan, it’s only natural he would tend to his Master, that he would care for him, that he would help him. That just makes sense. That rings true in the force and that’s all Anakin needs to know.

"I will.” He declares, it is no longer a request nor a plea, it is a declaration of intentions. A declaration of intent. He presses his nose at the soft skin under his Master’s ear and inhales, deeply, the scent making him Master-stupid so he says what’s on his mind with no filters, with no thought. “Unless you hate me.” His voice drops softer, he can’t breath, having inhaled too much of the strongest drug known to him. “Then I won’t” he trembles, he waits, if his Master rejects him, if he does hate him for his care, he will, he

“Anakin, this is hardly related, I do not think that—”

The force between them sparks and Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps closed with an audible click of the jaw. There’s a tension and a heating of an eruption that is halted with the calming breeze of spring air, Obi-Wan’s Force Signature covering his own, soothing, embracing, calming. “Very well, Padawan.” Obi-Wan speaks with a voice of a man who’s been worn in battle, sighing out in exhaustion.b “Since you cannot resist your nature, I’ll allow it.“ He pauses, sounding not a little doubtful as he adds the obligatory “Just this once, Anakin.” A final form of giving in, one Anakin is familiar with. 

There’s an ‘You should be old enough to know better’ goes unsaid and so Anakin ignores it. It wouldn’t have mattered even if Obi-Wan did say it. He had before, many times, and it never mattered. Anakin somehow doubts it’ll matter even when he grows taller than Obi-Wan. And he will, he just knows it. He will grow tall and strong, and he will always take care of his Master, and Obi-Wan would not be able to argue with that. Because it’ll all make sense. It always does. Everything about them does. 

If only his Master understood him better, he’d know that one doesn’t just grow out of wishing to groom those he cares and…loves. This is something that is forever and always. That is something that only grows and deepens, something to be shared and relished. Something he will always give to his Master freely, even if his Master maybe doesn’t…. Really share it in the same way as him. Which is fine. He had decided a long time ago. It is fine. 

It is enough that he gets to care for his Master. So he smiles instead and purrs out a sweet “Thank you, Master.” In that respectful manner he knows his Master enjoys hearing. He giggles when he feels his Master’s breath hitching, giggles more when nuzzling against the neck tickles his nose. “This is so horrible.” He complains, wanting his Master to know how strongly he objects to this change, and yet he cannot stop giggling. “Master!” he doesn’t even try to hide his joy from his voice, nevermind from the Force.

His Force Signature is a slow pulse of contentment, securely tucked beneath Obi-Wan’s still. When he licks small licks under Obi-Wan’s ear, he can feel his Master’s breath catching, can feel the way he stops breathing entirely and the soft gasp when Anakin licks at his ear directly, once, twice, a few more times just to test how committed his Master is to this session. Very, it seems. His Master doesn’t object even when Anakin grows bold and nibbles at his earlobe, tugging ever so gently. His Master is always so sensitive around this area, always so jumpy if Anakin stays too long at this spot. It always makes Anakin want to lick there until Obi-Wan loses his composure entirely.

He never does. 

At least not too much.

He does want to groom Obi-Wan after all, not only bully him into squirming because he is so damn ticklish there. That is not to say that he is above wanting to see his pristine Master squirming a little. So he licks there again, and when his tongue dips only a little into the ear, his Master finally jumps and moves away, breathing harshly and looking redder than his hair.

“Anakin I do believe that my hair is not located in that particular spot and—” his hands close on Anakin’s shoulders when he makes it to the ear again, wanting to nibble just one more time, just one last time… “Anakin.” His Master’s firm voice snaps him back into focus, tells him gently through the force to not overdo it. Fine, fine. He will not overdo it. This time.

"Just relax, Mastah.” Anakin pouts, the word slurring in the way his Master always corrects. Always, but not now. Anakin reaches for his Master’s wide shoulders and waits a moment until his Master’s grip loosens enough for him to actually move. It’s easy enough to shift to his Master’s lap. One knee over and sitting down in one smooth motion that has a practiced finesse to it. You either get to Obi-Wan’s lap swiftly, or you don’t at all. There is no room for hesitation for his Master will do enough hesitating for the both of them. So he sits down and nudges closer, right away. Inhaling, inhaling deeper.

Oh how he wants their scent to become one. They’re already nearly inseparable, living as closely as they do, using the same soaps, eating the same foods. Anakin wants more. Anakin wishes that they could smell and feel like one. United. Clearly bonded. Even more than they are through the force. He wants it so much that his fangs itch, itch, itch to bite and bite and bite. But no. No he is here to groom, to care. Not to bite, not to… mark. His cheeks are warm with it, knowing that he has, and is, constantly considering this. Wondering about this, curious about this. About marking his Master in a way that will be known, in a way that will be understood. He thinks about it, always. Luckily his Master has no clue. Luckily, Obi-Wan does not know. Or he wouldn’t let him sit here so carelessly, surely, he wouldn’t. 

“It’s part of it, duh.” Anakin says without truly knowing what he speaks of. The grooming, the licking, the biting, the sitting on the lap? He doesn’t know. He only knows of the happy, loud purr that fills his lungs when Obi-Wan doesn’t stop him from leaning back in, back to his neck, nuzzling, smelling, licking up that rough, funny tasting beard and to his hair, spiky and significantly softer than the beard. He giggles again, and purrs. It’s an odd combination of sounds he does try to stop but doesn’t manage. He is too preoccupied for dignity, or decorum, or class. He’s too karking pleased. 

When he licks at his Master’s neck again, the man tilts his head up and away, exposing his throat for him. Good. Good. Good, great, awesome.

His Master couldn’t have displayed his trust more plainly than this. No words could have conveyed the same level of commitment, of confidence and belief. Exposing one’s throat, Anakin thinks, is a universal sign. Even if his Master is less inclined to instincts as Anakin is, it still counts, it still matters a whole lot that he does it for him. His Master does it because he knows it matters to him and that— that matters more than all else.

His own purring is deafening, drumming in his eardrums and filling his chest with sound, he used to try to hide this in the past when he realized that most Padawans did not purr at every one of their Master’s compliments or gestures of kindness. He no longer bothers. He pulls and licks and purrs some more. He takes his time, licking small, measured licks, taking care to put that awful messy beard into something much neater, dignified.

“Maste-rrr.” He draws the ‘R’, nuzzling again under the ear and grinning when his Master shudders but doesn’t pull away, he always gives him a chance to be good. So he will be good. He does not nibble, instead he wraps his lips carefully around the bit of skin where no hair touches. Oh he wants to suck, to mark, to taste. Oh he does, so much. But he doesn’t. He will be good, because his Master believes him to be good, and proper, and nice. So he will be. 

His cheeks are fire hot when he thinks about what else he would have liked to be doing instead of the promised grooming. That is not something he should be thinking of, nor something his Master would ever permit, but…

Thinking is not illegal and he is not good at not thinking. 

So he imagines it. Imagines how his Master’s hands would feel on his hips, imagines his Master yanking him down to sit properly on his lap, Imagines his Master wanting him to lick elsewhere and—

“Ahnakin—” Obi-Wan protests, so strongly it rings in the force with his words. He feels and looks scandalized, even more so than before. He looks like he is considering all his choices and decisions. He looks like he’s about to call quits. He looks like he’d push Anakin away, he— places his hands on Anakin’s hips and pulls him down, to sit properly. 

The whine that escapes Anakin’s lips is nothing short of mortifying. It’s a needy, surprised thing, he feels like a proper youngling, confused and shy. He seeks the refuge of his Master’s neck and hides there, nuzzling while whining again, complaining, scandalized too by his Master’s audacity to follow his dreams up like this. He can’t mean it, he simply can’t! It is a mere coincidence, his Master would never follow his fantasies, he didn’t even hear it, his shields are up and proper, he’s sure of it, he’s sure of it, he’s… 

“Sorry…” Anakin murmurs out, because if he’s honest, he is not sure if his shields are worth anything with how excited he had gotten. Maybe his Master did hear, maybe his Master did feel something. Maybe he did push a little too hard. He doesn’t want to push too hard, he knows that sometimes his Master gets nervous because of his thoughts. Not angry, never angry.

He doesn’t want to make his Master nervous, he can feel the tell-tales of it in the force. Despite his Master’s secure hold on him, despite his Master’s unmoving frame. He can feel the building up hesitation. He does not want his Master to feel that way with him. 

“I’ll stop.” He promises his Master, assures him. He’ll try to, anyway. For his Master he’d try to go against his nature, even if his nature does tell him to think and do all sorts of things. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night when he can’t sleep and he thinks of his Master and every word they had ever passed, he does wonder about this. Is this truly his nature, his instincts that drive him to act as he does, or is it simply how he is with his Master? He suspects he knows the answer to that, but it’s easier for the both of them to call it instincts and be over with it, so he never disputes it. “Really.”

There’s a charged silence and then, blessedly, his Master says the two words Anakin loves more than anything else in the world, the two words for which he, not jokingly, thinks he might be willing to die for. 

“Good boy.”

The Coruscanti accent is thick and rolling, he sounds almost distracted, he sounds… 

Anakin shuts his eyes and bites his tongue, fangs digging into the soft flesh. He must not think of exactly how he imagines his Master sounding. He should not think about how his hands feel warm and human on his hips. He should not think about the lingering flavor on his tongue nor how his lungs are full of Obi-Wan, of his Master. He should not, is not allowed to. Promised not to. Instead he wraps his arms around his Master’s neck and hugs him, pulling the larger man to himself, having his head against his chest for a few long moments in which he is sure Obi-Wan hears just how fast his heart goes. He surely can feel it through the bond, it’s going crazy, ba-dum, ba-dum. 

He can feel a distant echo of his own heartbeat, almost imperceptible to his senses, and yet there. An answer. Thoomp-thoomp.

When he leans back, he moves his hands to cup his Master’s cheeks and makes him tilt his head up, to face him. “You look good now,” His fangs stretch at his lips as he grins wide enough to hurt. “Master!” he adds, cheekily.

His Master’s eyes are a bright blue, the deepest, calmest pond. He rolls them shortly, then looks directly into Anakin’s own eyes and smiles at him, sarcasm dripping with fondness as he says “Thank you. Ah-nah-kin.” With the most accented tone Anakin had ever heard. There’s so much black in his Master’s eyes, a beautiful, wondrous thing that makes him itch all over and want to see more of that soft darkness no one else gets to see. 

No one else, but him. 

[scarletlizzard]

OH I SEE YOURE TAKING REQUESTS...what about emo!wanda x emo!reader but wanda is like >:( and reader is more ^_^ happy and then reader is best friend's bucky and wanda is so jealous. idk it can be fluff or smut !! ( i tried to be a little more specific

Jealousy

Pairing: wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: smut, wanda in a skirt, fingering (R receiving), little arguing, jealousy!

A/N: Hiii anon! Thank you soo much for your request!! It's been a busy week sorry for being late, but I hope this is okay and you enjoy jealous Wanda ���

Wanda knows deep down that you would never cheat on her. She knows how much you loved her, how much you cared about her. In the time she's spent here at the Avengers campus, she's only ever taken a real liking to you, not interested in truly getting to know the others. And you, thankfully, gave her everything she needed.

But right now, she couldn't help the heavy feeling in her chest as she watched you with your best friend.

She stood with her arms crossed, biting down on her lip so hard it may just bleed, staring at you and Bucky. Wanda watches as your hand touches his arm, your head thrown back in a fit of laughter. He smiles at you with fond eyes, and oh, she can't take it anymore.

"Having fun?" She asks, words coming out more bitterly than she had planned.

"Wanda!" You say, and the way you beam at her almost makes her feel guilty. Then Bucky turns too, with his arm slung around your shoulder.

"Come to join in? We could actually use your help. It turns out both of us are shit at baking," Bucky jokes, and you both laugh, looking at the mess around the kitchen.

Your smile fades, though when you see the seriousness in Wandas face. Buckys arm slowly slides off of you, scratching his head awkwardly in the silence. Wanda tilts her head and okay, you were fucked.

"Actually, you know," Bucky clears his throat and looks at the time. "I was supposed to meet Steve for training a little bit ago." His metal arm pats your shoulder, giving you a good luck look before walking out of the kitchen.

"Baby... what's wrong?" You frown and walk around the counter to her, your hands moving up to her shoulders. She shrugs you off, crossing her arms. "What's your problem?" You ask, annoyed she was pushing you away.

"What's my problem?" Wanda spits out, a sarcastic laugh leaving her lips. "My problem is you two are always all over each other! He's always looking at you like he wants to fuck you!"

"That's not true!" You defend, raising your voice to match hers. "Bucky is my best friend, that's it! That's all we've ever been, all we will be."

"Right, okay. You're literally always hanging out with him, I dont see why you have to spend so much time together." She rolls her eyes.

"We're friends!"

"Friends don't eye fuck the other friend! Don't be so stupid."

Your eyes widen at her words.

"Sorry you don't have any friends to hangout with because you fucking hate everyone." You cross your arms, dishing it out as she does.

"Fuck you," Wanda replies.

"Just because you're jealous doesn't mean you have to take it out on me."

Her eyes shoot daggers at you.

"Jealous? I am not jealous." She seethes, taking a step forward. Your back hits the counter as you take a step back, her usually soft green eyes dark as she peers into yours.

"You are so jealous." You bite your lip, taking in her angry appearance. She wore your zip-up jacket over her shirt, a dark skirt around her hips. Her fingernails were still black from when she painted them the other day.

Wanda doesn't speak, she only takes another step, pressing her chest against yours. The tension between the two of you built up with every word spoken.

"I'm not jealous, Y/N. You want to know why?" She asks, her hands move to the counter behind you, trapping you in her presence. You only look up in reply, with a questioning look. "Because you're mine. And if I have to remind you of that again, I will."

Wandas eyes flash red, and you feel yourself being lifted a few inch onto the counter.

"Wanda, what are you-" You look around the empty kitchen and to her, who is now level face to face. Her hands moved to your thighs, spreading them apart, and you've never been more grateful for stealing one of her shorter skirts this morning.

"What if someone walks in?" You ask, feeling the wetness pool in your panties at the way she kisses your neck.

"Hopefully, it'll be him." She mumbles, and your cheeks burn red at the possibility. You feel her fingers slide your soaked panties to the side. You grip onto the jacket she wore, pulling her as close as possible.

"So wet, detka... tell me who made you this way," Wanda whispers, and you feel her fingers dip inside of you easily. You bite back a moan as she begins to move them.

"You, Wanda.. fuck - just you," you lean forward, pressing your face against her neck as she fingers you right there.

"Don't hide those pretty moans, let me hear you."

"I'm yours!" You moan out.

"Say it again."

"I'm yours, Wanda," you pant against her skin, her fingers thrusting inside of you at a quicker pace. When you feel her thumb press against your clit you feel that familiar burn in the pit of your stomach.

"Nobody else is allowed to touch you like this except for me." She whispers against your neck and bites down, marking you as hers. You nod desperately, holding onto her as tight as you can.

"Baby, I-I'm so close," you moan into her ear as her fingers work inside of you, and she smirks at the delightful whimpers that leave your lips.

"That's my good girl... let go detka. Tell them who you belong to," she says, forcing your head out of the crook of her neck. Her grip is strong in your hair, and your legs tremble around her. It's not long before you pathetically are moaning, "Wanda!" Into the kitchen, releasing onto her fingers, your panties now drenched.

Wanda takes all you have and removes her fingers from inside you, slipping them into her mouth. Her eyes burn red at the taste, and she pulls you into a heated kiss, making you taste yourself on her tongue.

You pull back to catch your breath, letting your head hit her shoulder hard. She chuckles at how cute you were and wraps her arms around you, you do the same. The two of you hold each other for a moment as you sit on the counter still.

"I'm sorry, for saying what I said..." Wanda says, her voice soft. Your fingers move in circles on her back.

"I know... I'm sorry, too. I promise there's nothing going on between us. I love you so much." You kiss her jaw, and she smiles.

"I don't hate everyone, you know," she jokes, lightening the mood. "I especially love you."

You can't help but laugh, pulling back to see the now playful look on her face. Wandas soft spot for you made your chest swell, you loved how different she treated you.

"You only love me," you giggle and kiss her nose. She groans and rolls her eyes.

"Fine, you're right," she chuckles and leans forward to give you a sweet kiss.

A noise from behind you pulls you from her kiss, you see Bucky standing in the doorway clearing his throat. You hop off the counter, feeling Wandas arm wrapp protectively around your waist.

"Forgot my phone," he says with a hint of pink on his cheeks and points to the phone next to you. You watch as the phone glows red, and it's suddenly floating in the air towards him. He catches it as it drops in front of him.

You turn to Wanda, watching her eyes return to green with an unbothered look on her face.

"You know, you kinda really scare me. I like it," Bucky says to Wanda, a smile taking over his face. You groan and put a hand over your face. Wanda can't help the smirk on her face, satisfied with herself as the man leaves with a wave.

"Happy?" You ask, turning to look at her satisfied smirk. You take her hand in yours, feeling the cool metal of her rings against your fingers.

"Very," she beams down at you, kissing your cheek.

[spearxwind]

IT'S FINALLY DONE! :D Here's an 8 page comic of one of the very very beginning scenes of The Hollowridge Disaster: the moment Knife and Adri meet Dianne.

Having done this comic means a lot to me for a myriad of reasons, but the main ones are that I really wanted to get better at paneling and do more interesting texture work. And, this is also both a homage to my older HR comics, and my (successful!) attempt at getting back into making comics for this story, so it truly feels like I'm in my prime with it and it's finally somewhere that I am immensely proud of :] so please enjoy this scene in quite literally all it's glory!

[Disclaimer: this is a standalone scene (of a larger story), but it's not the beginning of a long form comic. Currently I have no plans of doing that, but I would like to do more of these short ones! ]

[sainz100]

Carlos Sainz | ICON Magazine | August 31, 2024

[hoghazi]

The jiggle physics is sending me 😭 who ever added them, thank you

[thevikingwoman]

Iwyn Lavellan by @sunshinemage

I'm so in love with this rendition of older Iwyn, ready to tackle whatever comes next for the (ex) Inquisitor. This is so beautiful - the colors, the background, the light, her hair, her eyes and face and the hint on lines in it. Thank you SO much Rory for this stunning commission.

[to-know-how-it-ends]

listening to a light or somethin’ from warriors album for the 30th tune and I hear mercy saying quietly “more than beautiful?” Which I hadn’t heard before, I don’t know how — and like— how she was only valued for her beauty before but now she is empowered to be more than that so many thoughts oh g-d

[oya-oya-okay]

Lydia approaches Shuu hesitantly, holding something gently in her hand.

"So... there was an accident in alchemy class today, and..." Her words drag out, unsure how to explain the situation. It seemed so ridiculous, so unreal, like a prank someone would pull. She shakes her head, knowing that was just how Twisted Wonderland was.

"Floyd... turned Azul... into a marketable plushie." She finishes, holding him out for Shuu to see:

"I know this must seem crazy, but! Professor Crewel said that... true love's kiss... might break the spell." Lydia finishes awkwardly, feeling bad for putting Shuu in this position. She knew that while they weren't a couple, there was something between them, hidden feelings that were more than platonic.

She could only hope that Azul would forgive her for this, having offered to take him to Shuu in Floyd's place.

KYAAAAAA SUPER CUTE😭💕💕💖💖💗

[storge]

Heroes (2024) 1.08

[amokslime]

Hey! It's me! I'm beyond excited to finally be able to show you my cover art for the @kamehamehamlet script.

Thank you so much, Daniel, for commissioning me to draw two of my favorite characters of all time, during my favorite arc of the series. And a massive thank you to whichever tumblr user/s reached out to ask him about it. Now I'll get to experience a play I never thought I'd get to see again. Seeing it all those years ago really did pull me out of the most difficult art slump of my life. Seeing the actors have so much fun, while being so emotionally sensitive, made me remember why I fell in love with making art in the first place. So I'm really looking forward to reading the script and seeing the staged reading! I hope we can all enjoy it together.

Here's the latest informational post about the script. Please take a look, and please reblog to make everybody look at my drawings of vegeta to make sure all the folks who are lamenting that they missed it get their chance.

[and-corn]

AUGH this feels so weird because I never really send anybody asks but your dragon comic has done so much more than you could possibly realise.

I have a friend who adore dragons more than anything and he felt really down recently. After finding your comic I sent him all of it so far and he was the happiest I’ve ever seen him.

This boy is like my brother and I’ve known him for years — we do everything together, I nearly cried seeing how quickly he forgot everything that was bothering him and just rambled about dragons too me and how much he loved the comic

and I hope it makes you happy hearing about how much of an impact your art has on people :)

oh oh hold on, give me a minute, uh ..yeah uh huh yeah you could say it makes me happy, um but that's kind of an understatement so like multiply it by 100 and also add a feeling that can't be put into words

i wish you and your friend all the joy the world has to offer

[ayahimes]

guuji yae was always a good teacher , even now as she takes on the role of being her opponent . while ayaka knows she isn't the best swordmaster she does pride herself in her self - taught skills . ❛ i am confident , guuji yae , but i still have much to learn . ❜ there is acknowledgment in her words to the shrine maiden's own expertise . ❛ i was hoping you'd take me as your apprentice . perhaps if i win this spar you could consider ? ❜

"my, someone's feeling terribly confident." her lips split into a ridiculously entertained grin, flashing pointed teeth at the edges. it's all but for a brief second. her index touches the tip of the bokken, and pushes it downward. "instead of focusing on how much you want to be utterly defeated, that energy is better spent in cutting someone down before they even have a chance to strike."