#imagine him in the bedroom

[ruporas]

good mornings throughout the travel

[ID: Two comics of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The second is underneath the read more.

The first is in four panels and follows Vash and Wolfwood through hotel rooms. First, Vash and Wolfwood exit adjacent rooms, and Wolfwood has sparkles floating around him as he exclaims, “Rise and shine! Ready to go?” Vash frowns, displeased, and says, Urk— Good morning to you too.”

Next, they’re in a room with two beds. Wolfwood is awake and fully dressed. He’s sitting on the bed and smoking, back turned away from the viewer and he says, “Wake up already, sleepyhead.” Vash sits up with his eyes still closed and yawns before saying good morning. After that, they’re sharing a bed, and Wolfwood gets up and says, “Morning, sunshine. Time to get up.” His body shadows Vash from the sunlight. Vash is still lying down with a blanket draped over him as he mumbles good morning.

Finally, they’re embracing in bed, both shirtless. Sunlight shines on them, but their contact allows their shadows to drape over their faces. Vash smiles, kisses the top of Wolfwood’s head, and says, “Good morning, Wolfwood.” Wolfwood sleepily says, “Mph, g’morning, needle-noggin’,” snuggling into on Vash’s shoulder. End ID] ID CREDIT

TRIMAX Vol. 10 Spoilers under read more // bonus comic

[ID: The bonus comic starts with Vash asleep in bed, fully clothed with his hair half-black. Someone says “Good morning,” and Vash says, “Morning, Wolf—w...” He trails off as Livio, holding a plate of food, stares with abject shock.

Livio says, “I’m sorry.” Vash, smiling but sweating, says, “No, it’s my bad...” Livio repeats, “I’m sorry.” Vash says, “Geez, stop apologizing,” and cuts off Livio’s “I—” with a “Good morning, Livio.” Livio quietly mumbles, “... Good morning...”

Vash sits up from the couch he was sleeping on and looks down, thinking, “... That’s right. I won’t wake up to you anymore... I have to get used to that...” End ID]

[willowser]

aw winter being the time of year katsuki doesn't want to get out of bed without you 🥺 you've grown used to waking up in the morning when he leaves, and then waking up a few hours later in an empty bed—but during this season, you wake up with him curled around your back, leg between yours, face buried in your neck below the blanket. like fully encapsulating you and trying to roast you both alive 🥺

[lady-harrowhark]

do you suppose john asked kiriona if she and ianthe were being safe too? or is that concern reserved for harrow?

[charlunday]

it's okay to be sad. 💛

[catharusustulatus]

Steve runs hot and Eddie is always cold, but Eddie is the sun and Steve is the moon. Steve exercises every morning to keep in shape and Eddie can eat whatever he wants and not gain weight. Steve loves to make big romantic breakfasts and Eddie is barely hungry until 2 pm. Steve is horrible at board games but competitive and Eddie is laid back and always wins. Steve cooks full meals when he’s hungry and Eddie eats a bell pepper like an apple. Steve loves to sit on his roof and look at the stars and Eddie loves to sit on Steve’s roof and look at Steve.

[starmocha]

This is Rafayel's bedroom?? It's so gorgeous I want this room to be real so bad

[misc-obeyme]

*taps mic* diavolo is 100% a switch *everyone claps*

I need this man to fuck me roughly until i can't feel my legs anymore and also i need to watch him cry and beg to let him cum while fingering him <3

NSFW MDNI

Well, anon, I agree with you. Personally I think all the characters are switches to some extent, but I have always felt like Diavolo just wants to make you happy. He's going to do whatever you ask him to do.

You want him to fuck you roughly? As soon as you give him permission, it's game over. He is more than prepared to give you what you want. Diavolo is used to being in control. It would be different with you of course, but he would easily step into the role of being dominant, making sure that things go the way he thinks they should. He is absolutely going to make your legs numb and there will be no question that he's the one in charge.

Of course if you were fingering him to the point where he was crying and begging, you can be sure he has at that point relinquished all control. I expect it's a nice break for him to just let you take over. Just imagine what it would feel like to have a big demon like that, the next Demon King, at your mercy. Begging you to let him cum. Whimpering your name. Unable to stay still because he's just too desperate.

Yeah, Diavolo could absolutely do either and it'd be insanely hot either way lol. At least, that's how I personally feel about it!

[kingkatsuki]

Bakugou, who gets the most inexplicable amount of rage whenever you call his All Might collectible action figures toys.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ghost!toji x reader ….. hmmmm hm hm hm

[toastedbarleytea]

Naoya is a violent misogynist who enjoys demeaning women - sexual harassment, threats of rape, physical violence - and flaunting his status within the Zenin hierarchy.

But get him within three feet of actual pussy and he starts breaking out in cold sweats.

[gay-otlc]

Fuck yeah Darude

[ask-but-beware-the-consequences]

So I got this great idea (after that dentist episode) to do redraws of Arrietty ghibli anime, just to include tiny Pickles. So have a sick trope art. Click for better res... please :')

Inspo:

[willowser]

not to be so horny on main, but when bakugou is home, all he wears are those super tight black boxer shorts

[tennessoui]

wherein anakin leaves the order

for @kana7o who requested anakin leaving the order when he’s 14 or so and obi-wan leaving with him which catches anakin completely by surprise. 

(2.7k)

It’s the balino pasta that does it. 

Sort of.

Well, okay, it’s a lot of things if Anakin is being honest.

But it’s the balino pasta that really, actually, finally does it.

Anakin stares down at the bowl in front of him, feeling the excitement curdling in his chest as Briyel digs her fork into a red noodle and raises it to her mouth with alacrity. 

“Oh stars,” Vun says from beside him, breaking a chunk of bread and dipping it into the still-bubbling yellow sauce. “Oh stars, thank the Force Master Renwal let us go early for lunch.”

“They put souan bird in it!” Lana reports, sounding so kriffing excited.

“Oh that’s bantha shit then,” Rangok says, pushing the bowl away. “Souan’s the worst.”

Anakin can’t tear his eyes away from the pasta in his bowl the same way he can’t escape the sinking feeling in his gut, the one that tells him what he already knows:

He doesn’t belong here.

Just from the smell, he can tell it’s bland, that even though the colors in his bowl are reminiscent of fire, it will taste like nothing when it slides down his throat.

“Chin up, Skywalker,” Briyel nudges at him underneath the table with her fin. “I thought you liked Souan bird.”

“I do,” Anakin says and forces a smile onto his face. “Yeah definitely.”

He reaches for the excitement that he’d felt two hours ago when the first whispers of the lunch menu circulated through his age mates. Balino pasta.

He hadn’t known what it was, but he’s gotten very good at pretending he does with this sort of thing. He’s found it’s much easier to fake excitement than it is to face his peers’ incredulity when they remember again and again that he is different from the rest of them, raised speaking a different language, on a different planet, with a different understanding of—of everything.

Even something as simple as food. 

“Yeah, it’s good,” Anakin nods and tries to make it look happy, spearing a noodle on his fork and lifting it to his mouth. “Oh, wow,” he says. “That’s wizard.”

“Oh, what?” Vun looks up from his fourth forkful. “Wait, do you actually like balino pasta?” 

Anakin freezes mid-chew. The question feels like a trap, but he can’t understand how. They’re all eating it, they were all so excited about it. Surely that means they like it. And surely that means that Anakin should as well. 

“Yeah,” he swallows. Frankly, he thinks, the ration bars he ate with his master while they took cover under a shipwreck tasted better than this. Kark, if Anakin’s being honest, the bugs he’d eaten roasted over the smallest fire imaginable on Tatooine tasted better than this.

But just a few months ago, he’d overheard his master talking with Master Vos in their quarters. Anakin was meant to be asleep, but he’d been so thirsty, still recovering from a sickness that had left him bedridden for two weeks. He’d just needed water, but then his master had been talking to Vos and it had taken Anakin all of two seconds to realize he was talking about him.

So of course he’d stayed. Of course he’d crouched in the shadows of the hallway leading to the living area and listened to his master’s words.

“It is like he does not want to be accepted by his age mates,” Obi-Wan had muttered, and Anakin could see the way he scrubbed his hand over his face. “Like he does not care nor desire the community they can bring him. That the Jedi can bring him.”

“From where I’m sitting, he wants to be accepted by you,” Quinlan Vos had replied, and Anakin had felt mortification deep down to his bones. “Maybe he doesn’t need agemates if he has you.”

“He won’t always have me,” Obi-Wan had said. “Not to mention that that way of thinking leads to dangerous attachment. He needs—kriff, Quinlan, I want him to feel as if he belongs here at the Temple, but he—he never wants to attend activities with his agemates, he never wakes in time for morning meditation, he hid the fact that he was sick until he almost collapsed in Mid Rim Contextual Histories class! I don’t know if—if he truly does not need the connection with his peers or if he doesn’t want to try or if he still does not trust the Jedi enough to seek his agemates out, but—” his master had cut himself off with a frustrated groan and gone quiet.

His friend hadn’t. “Obi-Wan, you’ve been given a difficult task, one that’s not been done in living memory for very good reason. Your padawan’s rough adjustment to Temple life is not a reflection of you as a master, nor of how much you care for the boy.”

“How could it not be?” Anakin’s master had said, and Anakin had gone back to his bed with a dry throat and a pit in his stomach which solidified into a resolution overnight: he would try. For that wavering note of dismay in his master’s voice, he would try harder than ever before to belong here in the Temple.

But then—but now—-

“I’ve never met someone who likes the balino pasta,” Vun says.

Anakin looks to Briyel, because nothing makes sense, but she’s smiling slightly too.

“But then—” he stutters out, setting down his fork in his still full bowl of food. “I don’t—”

Lana takes pity on him. “Everyone in the entire Temple thinks balino pasta is disgusting,” she tells him after she swallows her mouthful. “And so the cooks always give us the best dessert after to make up for it. Balino pasta means Bavaugan cream puffs, and if you eat really fast, Chef Faj gives you extra cream puffs.”

“Since you like the pasta so much, can I have your cream puffs?” Rangok asks, and Anakin’s chest feels tight, like all the pasta he’s just forced himself to swallow has gummed up his lungs.

He stands and walks out of the refectory without another word.

—----------

So it’s a lot of things, but it’s the balino pasta that really does it, really makes him understand that he can learn the rules and he can play nice as anything, he can join the outings his agemates schedule and he can stay silent during morning meditation, but he doesn’t belong. He doesn’t know how to, will never be able to learn every hidden rule and tacit understanding that binds the Jedi together.

He can recite the Code in four different languages, but he’ll never know about the balino pastas of the Jedi Temple, the silent rituals that bind all Jedi together.

And he can’t think of one reason why he should keep trying. 

—------------

Anakin wouldn’t say he’s an expert at leaving homes behind, but he’s done it once already, so he understands the basics.

He understands that it’s important to go fast and to not look back. He has a bit of credits, a lot more than any fourteen year old should have. He has a bit of credits and a loose plan. He’s going to leave the Jedi Order one night, and he’s not going to come back. He won all the credits he has by podracing in the lower levels, so he’ll go there first, bet on himself under a fake name, and collect his winnings. Then he’ll get off of Coruscant for good.

Out of necessity, he waits one week between the day balino pasta was served in the refectory and the night he leaves. He tells himself it’s because of the podracing schedule, but he knows it’s not.

His master is gone. He’d been sent on a solo mission a few weeks ago, and Anakin wants to say goodbye to him. He doesn’t want to just leave.

But Obi-Wan is nowhere to be found, even when Anakin thinks he should be back, and Anakin can feel the resolve in his stomach wavering.

More importantly, he can feel his disquiet slowly harden into resentment—of his agemates, of the Order, of his master.

He doesn’t want to hate anything, especially not the Jedi. Especially not his master.

So when the night of his self-imposed departure rolls around, Anakin walks to his master’s room. It’s empty still, the bed carefully made and every surface clean and devoid of personality.

He leaves his padawan braid on the blanket. His master should have that at least. It’s always been his more than it’s been Anakin’s.

It’s incredibly difficult not to linger as he walks through their quarters. He spent five years of his life here. There, the third caf table that Master had had to request because Anakin had destroyed the first two. The kitchen where Master had taught him how to make an omelet.

It doesn’t get any easier as he moves through the Jedi Temple, quiet as a mouse-droid and leaving half-hearted goodbyes in his wake even as he tries not to linger.

He knows what he should do because this is not his first time leaving a home.

But he doesn’t think he can do it, leave and not look back. He isn’t sure he has it in him.

It tears at his heart, standing in the hangar bay, hugging the shadows of the room as he waits for the last worker to leave.

He wonders when his bond with his master will fade, when his master will get another padawan. He thinks about some strange boy sleeping in his bed, and his heart falters. Maybe he can try harder. Maybe there’s still time to turn back, run back to their quarters, and unpack his bag.

He can explain away the shorn padawan braid as a training accident, he can—he can stuff this hurt deep down into his chest and try to be the padawan his master deserves. The Jedi Order can be his family, they can, he can just—he just has to pretend a little more and then he—

A hand, rough and familiar, falls onto his shoulder and it’s only when Anakin raises his head to blink tear-filled eyes at his master that he realizes he’s sunk down against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest as his mind tears into his heart.

“Hello there,” his master murmurs, kneeling in front of him. “What are you doing on the floor, padawan?”

Anakin promptly bursts into tears.

When his master sucks in a startled breath and guides him into his chest, Anakin feels rotten. He’s leaving but his master is still being so nice to him. And in a few years—a few months—his master will find a new padawan, and he won’t be his master anymore and this is what Anakin wants because he doesn’t belong at the Temple, this is what he needs. 

But it hurts. It hurts so much.

“Hush, padawan,” his master murmurs, and Anakin buries his face in the tunic of Obi-Wan’s robe.

“Not your padawan,” he mumbles, gripping tighter to the fabric. “‘M leaving.”

Obi-Wan huffs something that could be a laugh or could be scoff. “Oh, Anakin,” he says, free hand rubbing his back. “I know. But you must give me a few weeks to get used to the idea. You have been my padawan for five years. I’ll probably slip up and call you so for five more.”

Anakin sniffles and pulls back, wiping at his eyes. “You mean you’re not mad?” he asks, far more timidly than he means to. “You’re still going to want to talk to me even though I’m not gonna be a Jedi? And probably do a lot of illegal things to make a living?”

His master’s eyes are twinkling. “I hope we can meet in the middle when it comes to those criminal tendencies,” he says. “But as for talking to you…as your legal guardian in the eyes of the Coruscanti and Stewjoni governments, I would like to see you try to ignore me until you come of age.”

“What?”

“Ah, but please do not take that as a challenge, dear one. I imagine your teenage years will be hard enough as it is.”

“What?”

“Not to say that I’m dreading them,” his master says distractedly. “Though I suppose the accommodations I secured for us on Stewjon are modest compared to having a whole Temple that you can put between us when you’re feeling stroppy. But dreading feels much too harsh, even though I can already hear the doors slamming hard enough to shake the walls—”

“Master, what!” Anakin pushes himself fully away from Obi-Wan’s arms, frowning at his master’s face. “What are you talking about?”

Obi-Wan looks at him for a moment, as if debating something very serious before he sighs and stands, offering a hand to Anakin who takes it automatically.

“Anakin, when you stopped attending your classes a week ago, your masters let me know. It didn’t come as a shock, not to any of us, and I had several long talks with Master Yoda and the Jedi Council. We…decided that if you were to indicate that you believed you wanted to leave the Order, my resignation would be effective immediately as well.

“What they didn’t quite understand and I knew intrinsically is that you would never indicate your intentions. You would simply act upon them. Master Yoda agreed to allow me a sort of…soft exit from the Jedi Order. Enough time to find lodgings for us, to complete the paperwork necessary to make me your legal guardian so that I may take you off-world, to say my own goodbyes.”

Anakin doesn’t know when he starts shaking his head, but he can’t seem to stop. “Master, no, you’re a Jedi, you can’t just leave for me—”

“Nonsense,” his master says. “The Jedi Order is not a prison, nor is it a cult. I can leave whenever I want for whatever reason I choose. And besides, I’ve already found myself a rather good entry-level job near our lodgings in Stewjon. I’m quite excited, if I’m being honest. I’ve never paid taxes before.”

Anakin blinks and tries once more with a furious shake of his head. “I don’t—master, I never asked for this—I can do it myself, I don’t need you to—”

“Yes, I wager you probably could find your own way,” Obi-Wan nods thoughtfully. “And I know you’ve never asked this of me and that you probably never even thought to. But the truth of the matter is this, dear one: you never had to.”

Tears bead at Anakin’s eyes again as fear and guilt and relief war within him. “Master,” he mutters.

Obi-Wan’s hand lands on his head in a friendly pat before his fingers slide down to rub at the shorn end of his hair where his braid used to be. “I believe you can call me Obi-Wan, Anakin. I’m hardly your master anymore.”

Anakin sucks in a breath and lets the relief win out and flood his chest. “Obi-Wan,” he murmurs, testing the syllables on his tongue. Just Obi-Wan. His face breaks out into a smile at the way they sound, the gentle hold Obi-Wan has on his shoulder. “Obi-Wan,” he says again, and Obi-Wan laughs.

“I have a ship fueled,” Obi-Wan tells him, and Anakin looks at him in wonder.

He could have done this all alone. He knows that. But it’s an amazing feeling, knowing that he doesn’t have to, that he has someone with him to think about the little things like fueling the ship and paying taxes.

He probably has a dozen ration bars tucked away in his bag as well.

“Unless you would rather walk to Stewjon,” Obi-Wan’s eyebrow raises in an expression that’s painfully and giddly familiar. “Which would be rather hard to do as it’s several planets away.”

Anakin doesn’t say that right now he feels as if he could do it, could walk all the way to Stewjon and back. He doesn’t think he has to. It feels written all over his face.

“No, Obi-Wan,” he says instead, the same way he used to say master. But it feels better somehow.

Even more perfect now that they’re not master and padawan anymore, that they’re just Obi-Wan and Anakin and the galaxy is spread out before them.

[natelia-aldelliz]

"Ah, Nik, wait!"

Nikolai turns back around at the sound of the Captain's voice.

"You're going to make me miss my flight," he pretends to complain, not able to keep himself from smiling.

Price rolls his eyes. "You're the one flying your flight back home."

Nik chuckles. John looks annoyed, but clearly it's not directed at him if him relaxing in his presence is to be believed.

"Anyway, I won't keep you long, I just need you to teach me how to say something in Russian."

There's a terrible idea rising in Nik's mind. He tries to ignore it at first.

"There's this guy, he's a fucking asshole and I'd like to tell him to go fuck himself in his native language."

He nods distractedly at Price. But it would be the perfect moment... He leaves right after that, after all... And John wouldn't understand right away, he'd have time to go hide somewhere.

"Right," he clears his throat and smiles at Price. "I can do that, sure. Repeat after me, try to remember the words : я -"

Price squints his eyes in concentration. He looks so fucking cute that Nik could die.

"Ya -"

"влюбилась"

"Woah, okay, vl...vlyoubeelas?"

Nik's smile is growing. "Good," he says, voice lower. Swears that John's cheeks are redder than they were before. Interesting. "в"

Price frowns. "Just 'vv' ?"

"Да. And finally, тебя."

"Tyebya."

Nik's heart is starting to beat a bit faster, apparently just now realising what he was doing. There's no going back now.

"Now the whole thing : я влюбилась в тебя"

John's brow furrows more in deep focus. "Ya vlyoubeelas vtyebya."

Damn, that makes Nik's cheeks warmer and his smile wider. He knows that Price doesn't mean it, doesn't even know what it means, but if that's all he's going to get, he's going to cherish it inside his heart.

He isn't sure John will want anything to do with him when he'll look it up, after all, he hasn't survived this long by having too high hopes. His smile softens and he nods at his friend.

"Not bad. Remember the words."

Price huffs. "Of course I'll remember the words. Now go, wouldn't want you to miss your own chopper back home."

Nik laughs and shakes his head as he turns around and walks to his helicopter. He stops before climbing in, turns his head back towards the Captain.

"Oh, and John, don't actually tell him that, he has no right to hear it."

He knows Price well enough to know that he's sighing right now, but he's too far to hear it.

"What did you even teach me?" He asks in a jokingly tired voice.

Nik grins back at him. "You'll have to look it up, зайчик."

[meownotgood]

Aki coming home after a long day to his s/o in lingerie. That is all.

aki stares at you in disbelief for a solid few seconds, he does a double take and a triple take and then he's walking towards you, his face already red, placing a hand on your shoulder and muttering an exasperated, "let's go to the bedroom....."