#little froggy fellows

[phosphoresccent]

he deserves 800 more of these little guys actually

[munespice]

Hello everyone!! #froggyfall is coming back this year for a month of frog themed prompts ✨ I cant believe we are also just one month away from #frogcon 🐸

Frog Con is an online (free!) frog-themed convention organized by @frogcultorg that will be happening October 13-23 where frog lovers from around the world can gather online and bond over love of some of the cutest little animals on the planet (that also play vital roles in ecosystems!).

#froggyfall is a prompt list for the month of October where we combine the daily prompt with a froggy element - up to you in how you do it. it’s open to all mediums and all forms of creative expression 🎨📚. Tag your post #froggyfall and #froggyfall23 so we can find your creation. No stress here, participate in as many or few prompts as you want 🥰 Have fun and support your fellow creators in the tag ✨

[hazelfoureyes]

hello babies! I’m honored to kick off Kinktober! This whole month we will be posting stories alternating between us 6. The culmination is the prompt Ducky Ball Gag, that all 6 of us will be posting a story for. That is 36 stories this month….!💖 below is the schedule for this first week. Be sure to follow my fellow coven lovins to have an October that’ll keep you sweating 💦 you’re welcome to use the hashtags as well and share your kinky stories 👀

Coven: @fraugwinska @minkdelovely @sugoi-writes @macabr3-barbi3 @synamartia (banner by Syn!)

Kinktober 2024 - Day 1 - Ride

Alastor visits New York to hunt down Mimzy’s ex and takes a younger Angel Dust as his tour guide, despite Angel….. not being a tour guide. Angel decides nearly immediately he will fuck this fancy tourist. ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

「warnings/promises: TopHumanAlastor x BottomHumanAngel, physical abuse mentioned and referenced through bruises, smut, Alastor gets into being called Daddy, Age Difference, prostitution, jerking off fingers in the cinema, lube needed prescriptions, condoms came in cans, oh murder is on the menu but not ordered, pretty cocks, creampie」

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MDNI 🕷️ 🎥 📻

For Anthony, Alastor looked like a good ride. Clean cut, tall, built well (but nothing he couldn’t take in a fight if things got froggy), and nice clothes to boot.

He shoved the others out of his way to get to him first.

“Hey sugar, lookin‘ for a friend?” He beamed, proud pearly whites his best front facing indicator of his cleanliness. “Cuz I’m quite friendly.”

Alastor stiffened, the alarmingly youthful man sliding lithe fingers down his back. “You could say that! I was looking for a tour guide of sorts.”

He and Anthony briefly looked around at their surroundings— they were standing in front of a rather obvious hourly motel. Anthony was…. clearly not a tour guide. Was this strange man an idiot? He wasn’t above taking an idiot’s money but he drew the line at false advertisement.

“Oh.” Anthony’s tone fell flat, a tinge of disgust.

“I’d pay for your time.” Alastor offered, reading the other man’s expression with ease.

“Oh!” Sweet as honey and twice as thick, “Why didn’t ya lead with that! Sure!”

Alastor looked the young man up and down. He was dressed sharp, his shirt a little open for a man with the top two buttons undone to reveal pale and slick skin, slacks high and showing off his petite waist. Perfectly respectable enough.

“Whaddya wanna tour, daddy?” The pet name was said with a deeper voice then the the rest of the question, Anthony being sure to meet Alastor’s eyes when he said it.

Alastor extended his hand, glossing over the word entirely, “Where are my manners! Alastor.”

Anthony inspected his hand, turning it over before grabbing the left hand. No ring. He shook his hand back, “An-,” a cough, “Angel.”

“Angel?”

“Yeah, cuz I’ll make ya see heaven,” he winked. Alastor’s cackle hurt his feelings a tad. He nervously ran his fingers through his soft, blonde hair to self soothe.

“I just wanna see the city, Angel.” A pregnant pause, Alastor fidgeting a little with his vest, “How old are you exactly?”

Angel’s turn to laugh, but nearly immediately his face went flat and his bright eyes turned dark, “I have a baby face, but I’m of age. If you’re lookin’ for younger you’d bettah hop on a train back to whatever backwater hole you came from.” He tapped his foot, ready to turn and leave.

“Just a local guide, thank you!” A sigh of relief, “You’d be perfect.”

Sometimes customers claimed they just wanted a date, but this one seemed to actually want a tour guide. But money is money, so Angel hooked his arm into Alastor’s arm with renewed hospitality, “What’s your scene, fancy pants?”

“I’d like a drink, how about that first?” Alastor’s ever present smile beamed.

“Uhhh it won’t be the kinda places you’re used to.” He let his eyes drift down and back up the tall tourist with broadcasting judgement.

“Dear you don’t know the places I frequent. Do your worst.”

Angel felt a tingle down his spine, oh, he liked this one. “My worst? I know just the place.”

It took a head nod, a series of knocks to a tune Alastor didn’t recognize, and a secret phrase but finally he had a room temperature glass of illegally imported Irish whiskey in his hands.

“If you want a pick me up I can get you one of those too,” Angel watched him sip.

“Very generous but I’d rather keep my nose clean while in a new city.”

“Oh right! Are you visitin’ or can I expect to be seein’ yous around?” Angel’s fingers walked their way across the bar top to tap softly on Alastor’s left hand. The older man’s hand slid out from under his touch.

Alastor had left New Orleans for a reason, but not one he could tell others about. A certain person had been particularly cruel to his dear friend and bar owner, Mimzy. Alastor had made the extended weekend trip to give the man his opinion of such things.

“Just the weekend, I’m afraid,” he said it with a sing song voice void of any supposed fear, “I work in entertainment, so I’m hoping to find some new talent.”

Angel nodded, sounded like bullshit but he knew prying could make people switch up attitudes fast. His family taught him well enough to not ask too many questions. But then a lightbulb went off for him. The kind that overshadowed his smarter senses.

“Speakin’ of, you talk funny. You an actor or somethin’?” Angel asked, leaning on the bar with his body fully turned to Alastor.

“Radio show host.”

“Oooh fancy!” Angel smacked Alastor’s thigh, causing his newest client to jump. With a roll of his eyes, he whispered an apology and leaned his chin on his palm. His foot began to shake. Eyes flitting over to Alastor, who was motionless and grinning with unfocused eyes.

“You’re so quiet. Bor-ing.”

“Silence is a virtue.” Alastor’s ears were peeled for certain keywords. Hints for where to go next. Mimzy was tight lipped on where she’d worked before, but he knew the kind of places she enjoyed.

He wouldn’t call the trip a failure if he never found Chester. But it sure would be nice. His usual means of disposal were unavailable, but since he was so far from home and the city already quite busy with crime, he’d just roll ole boy into the water. It wasn’t like Chester’s associates didn’t usually rid each other of deadweight this way.

Angel chewed his bottom lip. This wasn’t necessarily better than fucking but he figured it was nice to have someone buying him the good hooch rather than stealing it from distracted bars and his uncle’s refreshment cart.

He inspected Alastor closer with a sharp side glance. His hair looked soft and fine, his skin washed and smooth. When he’d taken his hand he checked for dirt under his nails and didn't find a speck.

“You don’t look like you get a lot of hookers.” Angel twirled his finger in his glass and sucked the tip. Alastor choked a little, drink clanking loudly when he brought it down.

Angel watched him flounder, glasses slipping down his nose. Cute, he thought. When he smiled, his eyes wrinkled at the corners and Angel found it uncomfortably endearing.

“No, I don’t.” Alastor patted his chest. He thought Angel had been trying to get a rise out of him but instead the younger man was just toying with his drink, seemingly unamused and unbothered. If not for the smallest smile pulling his lips to the left he’d had assumed he imagined the comment.

Angel thought about the kinds of men and women he encountered. Often times, the most dangerous seemed to be the ones you didn’t expect. The gaunt bookish type always had some fetish for choking until you blacked out. The rich liked to make you scream in the worst ways.

“You’re not some weirdo like that guy in ‘The Most Dangerous Game’, are ya? Hunting people for sport.” He narrowed his eyes, waiting for a physical tell.

The apt comparison flew past Alastor as he was too thrilled with the other aspect of that question, “You watch thrillers?!”

“Oh do I, I’m a fan of anything that gets the blood pumpin’,” Angel winked at him.

“Do you actually watch these movies or are you just in the theater.” Alastor was suspicious, given Angel’s overall focus on sex.

“Well it started as just a nice and shady place for some hand stuff, but I started gettin’ really into ‘em. Pissed off the Johns so I started goin’ solo.”

Angel did enjoy the movies, but free time and disposable income could be scarce. Letting dates, of sorts, take him allowed the excuse he was working. Until the complaints started. His face and name were known by most in the neighborhood, so it wasn’t difficult for people to find a cousin or an uncle and vent about their poorly behaved slut of a family member. The missed screenings were worth the absence of bruises. It’s harder to work when you’re different shades of red and blue.

He didn’t understand how the small common interest made his new friend feel invigorated.

Alastor downed the last sips of his drink, “Alright! Let’s dance. Take me somewhere we can swing.”

“Finally! Thought ya hired me to bore me to death. A very slow hitman.”

With a quickly hidden panic, Alastor let the comment die and linked his arm with Angel’s.

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Angel was amazed at the sight; Alastor could dance.

“You aren’t as tightly buttoned up as I thought!” Angel’s hand was in Alastor’s as their bodies disconnected and spun away from each other. Meeting back again, hands to hands, their feet did all the work.

“You’re quite the dancer too, Angel.” Alastor leaned in, saying it loudly into the shell of the other man’s ear.

The blush it earned made him grin, he wasn’t trying to impress him but he did enjoy seeing the cocky man go quiet and pink.

“That’s a lovely color on you! I’ll have to keep making you blush.” Alastor whispered now, lips pressed to Angel’s skin not to entice but to ensure he was heard.

What’s life without a little teasing? And the younger man had been so talkative and assertive. Nothing gave Alastor quite the same thrill as making people act unlike themselves. Inspiring a meek woman to be brazen; a cocky man to shy away; a loud person to go silent.

Self betrayal. Influencing that in the people around him was his second favorite hobby. Maybe tied with dancing.

“Do you go out to dance often?” He asked, now peeled off of Angel. Angel shook his head. “But I thought you liked making your heart race?” He smirked.

Alastor was equal in size to Angel, but the blonde felt slight in the other man’s hold. There was a magnetism rolling off of Alastor’s body. Something in the way he spoke and moved made Angel want to please him. To get his approval. To make him waver that well coiffed image.

While Angel plotted how to do that, he kept his eyes glued to Alastor’s own, unable to break away. He knew his usual charms (grabbing his dick and pulling him into the bathroom) wouldn’t work, but an opportunity would surely present itself.

“You seem the kind of man who knows how beautiful he is. Odd, given you don’t seem arrogant about it.” Alastor was reading Angel with skills honed over decades of moving amongst others in secret. Commentary he usually kept to himself given freely as he wanted to understand the man more, “Who is making you think otherwise? You should be arrogant.”

Deep blue eyes looked to the left, escaping Alastor’s own now that the topic made their gaze too intimate, “Whaddya mean? I know I’m a dish! No one is sayin’ otherwise.”

Alastor observed the way his tour guide’s shoulders drew up and in, making himself physically retreat from the subject. He advanced.

“I said beautiful. Not some dish. And I didn’t mention anything about words bringing you down.”

A roll of his eyes, “You sure are talkin’ a lot now, I’m beginning to see the radio skills. Tell me then, Alastor, what actions are you prepared to do to confirm my beauty?”

A loud laugh, Alastor feeling cornered in the most exciting way. The only music was from a radio playing weakly on a table on a rather useless looking bar, but Alastor swung Angel around with the same energy he did for the live bands in New Orleans. It was silly, Angel thought, how quickly he forgot where he was.

He was, for the record, at the only place he knew was open and allowed dance. One he knew too well.

“Hey Anthony!” The man behind the dark wooden counter bellowed much louder than necessary. Alastor could feel Angel recoil in his arms, the dancing coming to an abrupt end. In truth, they’d been dancing for quite a few songs already. It felt cut short anyway, as they could have gone on for much longer. No one else was dancing, he noted, though the bar only had a couple other patrons.

“I’m workin’,” his hands slipped from their place in Alastor’s with a palpable reluctance before striding to the bar. Alastor followed shortly behind, not drunk enough to cut a rug alone in a strange place. The music wasn’t even that good if he was honest. In fact, every foot Angel grew further from the dance floor, the less appealing the beat became.

“Oh sorry, Angel,” the short man said it with an overt sarcasm that made it clear how he felt about Angel. Alastor found it quite grating. “Uncle wants to talk. Go upstairs for a sec.”

“I’m busy right now.” Hissed as he leaned over the bar too far, body stretching with a leg kicking up. Alastor admired the line from nape to ankle. He wondered what kind of life Angel could have as a dancer.

“Oh ya know what, that’s funny you mention it cuz,” the bartender smacked Angel’s head with his hand, “I wasn’t fucking asking.” Angel winced, excusing himself to Alastor and disappeared behind a door. The unnecessarily mean man sniffled, swallowing whatever he managed to inhale, and said, “You look like a bitch.” He pointed at Alastor with a short and blunt finger.

Alastor’s head shook slightly with the surprise of the statement. His smile was sharp and drawn in, failing to suppress a chuckle. He made a point of straightening his back and looking the man up and down. Red face, an alcoholic’s nose, little grubby hands, and cauliflower ears. Had the barkeep been kinder, Alastor could label the details as charming. But given the frame of cruelty they were in, they made his lip curl up in disgust. Looking down his nose at the man, he hummed.

“Ya know, it’s funny you mention that,” he parroted, “I was just thinking the same thing about you!” Alastor said it with measured pacing but quickly leaned away from the bar in time to dodge the unsavory barkeep’s hand smacking at his head.

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“Where did Dom go?” Angel seemed to bounce out the front door, looking back with worry. Alastor thought it was terribly misplaced.

“In the bathroom! Poor man slipped and his hit head.” Alastor wiped the grubby little finger smudges off of his glasses with his handkerchief, “Let’s just walk for a bit. The bars are a bust at this time of day.”

Angel’s brow rose at the statement, what did it matter if the bars were empty? Hell, a busy place was more likely to get raided than an empty one. He let the door close and rejoined Alastor’s side. Reaching over, he smoothed a few of the other man’s hairs back in place. His fingers continued down the back of Alastor’s ears and to the nape of his neck.

“Your hair is so short in the back.” He raked his nails in the prickly hairs.

“And yours is quite long in the front.” The back of Alastor’s hand pushed the blonde hair from Angel’s eyes. It was quite easy to look Angel in the eyes, as he was nearly the same height. He took a step back and offered his arm, “Shall we?”

A prideful chill, seeing that pink blush spreading across the milky white of Angel’s cheeks. Angel knew it was just pleasantries but he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to the gesture. Touching his hair so tenderly, willing to link arms together. He knew he’d get it bad if someone saw and told on him, but he’d let tomorrow’s Anthony deal with that. Today’s Angel was enjoying himself too thoroughly.

They walked in silence, not out of boredom or awkwardness, but a misplaced familiarity. Well, seemingly misplaced. Neither man knew how much they shared in common. How they both came from broken homes, for one. Nor that they both had killed men before with their hands and tools alike.

When Alastor stopped just outside a theater and looked to Angel expectedly, the New York native took his arm back.

“Really? I’m not doin’ hand stuff.” Angel pointed sharply at Alastor, an oddly effective show of control.

“I really don’t want you to.” Alastor opened the door for Angel, “After you.”

Settled into their seats, Angel was vibrating with excitement. He didn’t often have time for movies and nearly never did he have company. Actual company. Alastor saw the fidgeting and smirked, the unhidden joy was something he could admire.

“I wanna be an actor someday. Be a star. Doesn’t that sound grande? Everyone knows your name and face?” Angel leaned dreamily into Alastor’s left shoulder.

Alastor couldn’t imagine something worse, that’d be a sign he royally fucked up.

He chuckled to himself, realizing he was a semi public figure whose voice and name was quite well known. So, actually, it was quite grande. Angel asked him what was funny but he just shook his head.

Angel’s eyes lingered on him. The screen light was bouncing off his date’s glasses. He looked so nice. Like the kind of guy who cleans off your seat before you sit and always tops up your glass. The kind of guy who wipes off your back after he cums on you and then draws a bath.

He decided he’d make it his goal to cause Alastor to fold, to be as love drunk as all the others he set his sights on. Why not? He seemed well off enough, maybe Angel could get a sugar daddy. Someone to take him to movies and spin him around dance floors.

His hand came to rest on Alastor’s forearm on the arm rest, and when Alastor asked him if he needed the space he shook his head no. They watched the thriller in silence, Angel’s hand drawing little lines and circles onto the top of the radio host’s arm.

When the movie was over, they stayed behind a little. Angel sliding his hand down Alastor's arm and blanketing the much larger hand.

“So this is what would happen.” Angel gripped two of Alastor’s slender fingers, “During excitin’ moments,” he made a fist around the digits and began short but fast jerking motions, “my hand would slow.” He mimicked the story with his mock handjob. “And when something shockin’ happened, I’d squeeze em waaay too tight.” He gripped Alastor’s fingers.

The action made the older man bite his lip, he wasn’t normally cognizant of sexual needs but Angel’s eyes never left his as he tightened and pumped his digits. He’d be lying to say his heart didn’t quicken a little.

“So, I had to stop bringin’ guys here.” Angel released his fingers. He watched with sharp eyes as Alastor stood and adjusted his pants slightly before offering a hand to him.

As they walked out and into the soft glow of dusk, Alastor asked if he disliked his job.

“Seems very impersonal.” He added.

Angel hooted “I love my work! Honestly the sex is the best part. I can’t stand that slow lovey shit. I need a good hard fuckin’ to get off. Plus, I like the variety.”’ His eyes brows danced up and down. The topic made Alastor grimace, he didn’t like the mental image of Angel receiving a variety of men.

“Do you ever find … more with your clients?” Alastor was curious, genuinely. Angel was younger than him, mid-20s it seemed, but he didn’t seem interested in anything deeper than sex. Surely by this age he was hoping to find meaningful companionship?

Angel kicked a rock, “Nah. I’m not opposed. But most men, they’re not exactly advertisin’ their love of cock.”

“Not like you.”

“Exactly! I’m not gonna be some guy’s dirty secret he rage fucks when his wife nags him too hard about … I don’t fuckin’ know. Money. Dirty clothes. Small apartments.” His hands were animated, moving around themselves to jazz up the point. Alastor nodded. It made sense to him. He didn’t want to subject someone to being a placeholder for society’s expectations of him. Alastor didn’t want to be the kind of person Angel didn’t want to be kept by. A man living a lie for the sake of pleasing the world around him, that fictional closeted man in Angel’s example, he could understand him well. And he didn’t want to become him. He hummed to himself low and quiet, taken aback by the compatibility he hadn't anticipated when he approached the group of men and women loitering in front of the shady motel. The non-response made Angel feel he’d been too open. He needed to close that vulnerable topic. “Sooo, did you want to go anywhere else or what?”

It was getting late, meaning Alastor’s chances were even better of finding some clues that could lead to his target.

“If you have the time…,” Alastor trailed off. Angel nodded in approval but stopped walking. He stopped too and looked back at his guide. Angel’s shirt seemed to have been unbuttoned another button, and his hand on his hip accentuated his shape. The mental image returned, but it wasn’t variety he saw now pressing Angel into a soft surface.

Something about the conversation, the realization they both were just trying to live their lives freely and as openly as they could without prosecution, made Alastor want to explore the other man more. Inside and out.

“Ya know you’re rackin’ up a pretty bill here. How’s about we stop at mine, you pay up for the day, and I can get ready to go out properly?” The sly smile made Alastor’s heart skip a beat, but it was the blatant challenge in Angel’s eyes that made his cock twitch. Angel barely said anything suggestive at all, but the way he seemingly dared Alastor to say no to the invitation was plainly a tell.

Had Angel asked him a couple hours earlier, he’d had handed him the cash and left. But, now? Well…

Alastor’s hands settled into his pockets and he leaned back on his heels, “Sounds grande. Lead the way.”

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“Take a load off, I’m gonna freshen up.” Angel slunk off into the bathroom as soon as the door was shut.

Alastor roamed the small one room apartment. A curved bar hung in the corner, a couple shirts and two trousers on hangers there. He felt the material between his fingers; expensive. Out of place in the space. Clearly he prioritized his image over his comfort. Alastor could feel a draft coming from the closed window, and the floor was warped.

He looked over the dresser, small make-up items neatly set in front of the mirror. Powder foundation and cream concealer. A faint lip tint. Alastor sat on the bed — it made a loud squeak as several springs whined under his weight. Leaning down he spotted a box and pulled it out. Heavy. Inside was a pistol, several photos, a small tin of condoms, and a silver money clip of bills. He closed it and slid it back.

The door creaked open and Alastor looked over his shoulder. Angel was in a black robe patterned with pink roses— a woman’s robe, it seemed. He knelt on the small bed and slide his long arms down Alastor’s torso from behind. Resting his head on his shoulder and pressing his chest into Alastor’s back, he undid the top button of his suit jacket.

“I want you to pay me now.” Angel’s tone was husky and, Alastor was sure he was misinterpreting this but, provocative. When Alastor tried to get up Angel’s strong arms pulled him back down. Chuckling, the now nervously excited Alastor raised his hips and fished out his cash.

“I never did ask how much.” Alastor realized.

Angel hummed, “How much ya got?”

A breathy laugh, Alastor pulling out a Jackson. Angel whined. Alastor unfolded another. Angel whined longer in a higher pitch. When he pulled out a third bill Angel pressed a kiss to his cheek and took the cash. Lying on his stomach he slid out the box, set the money within, and closed it.

“Now that that’s done.” Angel grabbed Alastor by the shoulders again and pulled him down, his strength startling. Alastor let himself be maneuvered, Angel putting his legs up and pushing his back into the pillows barely cushioning his spine from the metal headboard. Alastor didn’t say anything, just watched curiously at where this was going.

When Angel straddled him a smile pulled at his mouth. “What’s this, Angel?”

The robe opened, Alastor seeing Angel was entirely nude, a soft shine on his thighs catching the dirty yellow light of the room’s singular hanging bulb. His eyes drifted down a shaved and pale chest, a flat and toneless stomach, and a mess of bright blonde curls above a very pink and half hard cock.

“I prepared in the bathroom. And,” Angel leaned over and grabbed a small bottle, “I’m going to prepare you now, too.”

Alastor opened his mouth but Angel kept talking, “I know a guy, in case you were wonderin’. Doctor who will give anyone a lubricant prescription for enough money. Crisco is so hard to wash off…”

Angel didn’t see Alastor smirking or nodding, his hands busy undoing the other man’s buckle and pants. He found no resistance, Alastor letting him tug off his clothing until he was naked from the waist down. “Be a doll and take off your shirt and shit.” Angel poured the lubricant onto Alastor’s still very limp dick and began pumping. Alastor did as he was told, shrugging off his suit jacket and vest, then undoing his shirt and letting them all lie half behind him and half around him.

As Angel felt Alastor grow heavy in his palm and watched him become larger and longer, his mouth began to water. It was an attractive cock, two toned tan and pink. Not something he often saw. Little fantasies of choking on that length danced in his head. He nestled himself into the tan thighs and inspected Alastor for any signs of disease.

Not a blemish in sight, no growths or warts. He was clean, and Angel dared think he was even quite pretty to look at. As his foreskin drew back and his head was made bare, Angel decided to take him into his mouth. He hadn’t planned on it, but it seemed so enticing. He had to know, did he taste as sweet as he acted?

Alastor hissed, not in displeasure but from sensitivity. No one had sucked his dick in ages. He wasn’t a huge fan, but he liked watching Angel do it. His cheeks were flush, that complimentary color back. It made the light corn yellow of his hair seem to pop even brighter.

The weight of him on Angel’s tongue grew and Angel revelled in the reaction. Something about it made him feel powerful. His goal was coming to fruition.

“Glad to see you could get it up!” He teased, mood becoming light when Alastor tasted vaguely of soap.

“I’m only 40, Angel.”

“Meh sounds old. I’ll be long dead before then.” He began running his fingers along the impressive length. The other man wanted to argue how sad it was to think he’d be dead in what…a dozen odd years? But Angel moved on too quickly. “You’re packin’ more than I thought. This might actually be fun.”

Angel climbed onto Alastor and began lining him up. He was impatient now, hard and leaking from the little bit of Alastor he had in his mouth. “Don’t worry, I’m clean — and don’t let ‘em finish in me. My work rule. Condoms and all that.”

When Alastor’s slit was swiped over the lubed but still puckered entrance, Alastor clenched his eyes in response. He wasn’t sure how he’d started the day looking for someone to kill and ended up here, cock in the hands of a pretty man being rubbed along as his asshole. When Angel began the push, Alastor sat up reflexively. He felt blunt, and like the hole he was being squeezed into was not able to take him.

Angel knew better, and bit his lip in preparation for the initial pain. He hadn’t used enough fingers when he was frantically trying to get himself ready. But Angel was nothing if not ambitious. He held his breath and let his weight drop a few inches. Alastor’s hands shot to his slender hips to still him, the little cry Angel made worrying him that he’d hurt the man.

Or, that Angel had hurt himself.

Eyes wide and panicked, he felt himself go a little soft despite how tight he was being gripped. His cockhead was forced in, Angel’s hole quick to try and close again as soon as Alastor’s glands were past the rim. Using his hand to hold Alastor firm, Angel managed to fit the rest of him in.

When his balls came to rest on the curly hair above Alastor’s cock, he took a moment to breathe. Alastor hadn’t regained his erection fully, so when Angel lifted up his prize nearly folded out.

It happened sometimes– sometimes men just got caught up in the minute details of anal sex and got soft, is what Angel told himself as he tried to grind against the heated lap and bring Alastor back to life in him.

It felt good for him, soft or not the movement of his hips made himself jump with flickers of pleasure. Surely, Alastor would be hard again soon.

But when he looked up to Alastor, expecting to see a pleasured expression, he saw the man looked nearly confused. Face to face, suddenly he felt embarrassed. He felt naked and foolish.

Clearly, Alastor wasn’t into him.

Obviously, he’d made a mistake.

“What’s wrong with ya? You’re not— fuck, I get it.” Angel hurried off of him, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Alastor froze, unsure what had happened. Had he hurt him, after all? Or was he angry he became soft? Alastor sat up and leaned forward, moving that well tended to hair from his almost-lover’s face. “Just go. You’ve made a joke of me enough already.”

“Where’s the joke? Am I laughing?” Alastor asked softly, smile impossible to banish.

Angel grabbed his robe and bunched it into his hands, burying his face there. “If you don’t wanna fuck me then that’s fine,’I’m not some creep whose gonna make ya!” Alastor looked at him and couldn’t help but think he was quite cute when he was overreacting.

“Well you were fucking me, I think. Though, I’m not the professional here.” His hand came to rest on Angel’s shoulder. Alastor wasn’t sure where else was appropriate to touch.

Angel turned his head and gave him a sharp look. A little chill came to Alastor, it was a glare that could cut and he found that uniquely arousing.

“Would you like to try again? Come here.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat beside Angel, patting his thighs, “Facing me.” Angel’s eyes looked from cock to face, then back. His pout made Alastor melt a little. Such a cute face on such a dirty boy. He took Angel’s hand and set it on his lap, “Do it like you did with the men in the movies who got mad.”

A flame flared back up in Angel’s stomach. He wrapped his fingers around the small and pliable cock and started slow and gentle, before squeezing him tighter at the base. Alastor leaned back on his palms, letting his eyes close and focus on the sensations and less on the odd situation he was in. Not that he was complaining, it was a stress relief he hadn’t turned to in ages. He felt that build up of heat in his crotch, pleasure lighting up the darkness of his closed eyes. Opening them again, he patted Angel on the hip and urged him back onto him.

“Could you help me-?” He asked, focused on trying to catch his now swollen head on the slick entrance but knowing he wasn’t sure exactly where to press in.

“Do you have much experience with men?” Angel lifted up and guided Alastor back into him. His hole was still softened, Alastor hard enough to be pushed in easily. A small pleasured sigh tumbled out as he was filled again.

Alastor hissed, still sensitive slit raking over Angel’s heated flesh from the inside. He shook his head no.

“None?” Angel sank down slowly.

“Does this count?” Alastor’s eyes were transfixed onto where he was disappearing into Angel. Rarely did he take interest in the mechanics of sex, but seeing his thick member be taken into the small frame was making his head spin.

“No,” when Angel laughed, Alastor tensed. The shaking of the chuckle reaching his core.

Fully in and feeling Angel’s heartbeat around his most sensitive area, Alaster grabbed his waist with both hands and began to roll his hips up into Angel. Not thrusting yet, he wasn’t sure how long he could last if he did.

A loud, sudden moan tore through Angel’s lips, breath rocking Alastor’s tousled hair. The sound was nice. The radio host kissed at his escort’s cheeks, feeling the warmth of his blush now against his lips. It tasted even better than it looked. His mouth moved to the side to pepper his hairline with quick pecks. It was sweet, nearly too much so for Angel. He leaned back with one hand on Alastor’s knee and changed the angle. When he found the spot he needed, he began to bounce on the stiff cock buried so deeply in him.

He hit his g-spot, moaning louder with each swipe. His head fell back, every breath now carrying another wispy moan into the otherwise silent room.

And then it happened. Alastor groaned, the feeling of his cockhead rubbing against puffy and slick walls compounded with the vision of Angel crying while he rode him made him lose his control. The sound made Angel shudder, now with both hands on Alastor’s legs he picked up his pace. He needed to hear it. He wanted more of Alastor’s noises for him.

When he hit his spot again, harder than before, his body shook and once deep moans now became high pitch and short screams. That thick cock twitched forward in his guts somewhere imprecise, making his knees draw in between their chests, feet planted on the bed.

“Does– fuck, it look like I’m mocking you,” Alastor moaned mid sentence, needing a few breaths to regain his composure, “now?”

Angel could only shake his head, focusing on his tempo.

Alastor was losing his breath. His hands took over the rhythm, pulling Angel down and toward him harder and faster as he felt his balls drawing up and near. Angel felt like hot, tight silk gliding over his cock. When he buried his head into the crook of his neck he found his skin the same — soft and luxurious to the touch. He moaned into his neck, “I’m going to finish; where?”

Angel’s arms wrapped around Alastor’s head, drawing his forehead in to rest on his, “Finish in me.”

“I thought you said that’s against your work rules. You don’t let them-.” Alastor’s eyes wandered over Angel’s shining blue irises before kissing him on the mouth. The sentence wasn’t worth finishing.

Angel returned the kiss, pulling apart to gasp out a reply. “I’m not working right now,” rushed into Alastor’s sweat covered cheek, “I was just a tour guide you already paid, remember?”

Alastor wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t control his body anymore. His lips reclaimed Angel’s and he used his often overlooked strength to fuck up into the tight, melting pleasure until his hips stuttered. His climax weakened his muscles in his thighs and stomach, only allowing another three deep thrusts as he came into the other man. Angel broke the kiss to moan Alastor’s name, the feeling of powerful and overflowing spurts of his seed filling him up. He felt warm inside and out.

After a few calming breaths, but before Angel could dismount, Alastor began stroking his still hard and leaking cock.

“What— ah, your hands are so soft.” His head fell onto Alastor’s shoulder.

He rocked his hips again, despite Alastor softening already. But as Alastor’s fingers slid over his head and spread his precum down his shaft, he started to ride again in earnest. Repositioning so his knees were on either side of Alastor’s thighs, he started fucking himself like Alastor was his newest toy. Head lolling to the side he let his mouth run, “Oh, fuck yes, daddy.”

Angel felt another twitch as Alastor hardened again in him.

“Oooh, you dirty old man!” Faster, his face smug but breaking into a pleasured slack jawed mess with each heavy hit, “Come on daddy, fuck me. Pound into me until I cum on your cock.”

“Anthony.” Alastor’s attempt at chiding was betrayed by his erection, now fully formed again and stretching Angel’s hole. He reached his lips to Angel’s, “You talk too much.”

“Then shut me up, daddy.” Their teeth hit with the clumsy, impassioned kiss. Alastor couldn’t figure out why exactly the nickname was getting him so worked up. He wasn’t a father and sure as shit didn’t think highly of them. But when Angel moaned it like it was some high praise, a singular position above him that granted him some kind of power, his heart quickened.

His hand began to stoke faster, hips thrusting up as Angel rolled his own hips forward with every meeting of skin. “Fuck me like a slut, Alastor.” Alastor could feel the carefully shaved and lotioned body tensing against him , “Use me. Be rougher.” It wasn’t a request, and Alastor loved that tone on Angel.

He fisted a handful of his hair and pulled back his neck, that hair in grip just as silken as the rest of him. Angel himself very much like the elusive fabric, his wit allowing him to glide effortlessly along Alastor’s own intellectual way of speaking and charm letting him slip through Alastor’s many attempts to know him on a deeper level.

Angel wanted something harder, and though it was out of the celibate’s wheelhouse he tried to meet expectations. Head dipped down, he let spit drip onto his pistoning hand, “You get off on being a cock sleeve, Anthony?” Watching the prim Alastor lube his cock with spit was so out of character Angel’s eyes rolled close, hole clenching tighter. “Daddy’s little slut?” Angel whimpered and nodded enthusiastically as best he could.

A moment to inspect the younger man’s face, Alastor wondering if he’d ever again see such a sight. Angel’s pristine chest and shoulders heaving, sweat sliding down his enticing neck, and mouth hanging open as he choked out his name.

“Come undone for daddy.”

A broken and strained, “Fuck!”, Angel pushing Alastor down onto the bed and riding him through the final thrusts he needed to cum. He bottomed out, knees coming to touch over Alastor’s modestly toned stomach.

His spend spilled over Alastor’s knuckles and stomach weakly, small cock twitching pitifully as it ran dry.

Leaning up on his elbows, Alastor inspected his hand. Messy. Angel patted his chest twice and dismounted, promising a speedy towel.

“Did I do that?” Alastor’s voice was quick and seemed to briefly lose its trans-atlantic pitch. There was a dark bruise on Angel’s ribs, nearly to his back, that he hadn’t seen before until the young man turned around. He gently traced his fingers along the edge and found his fingertips painted with a soft pinkish white powder.

“Oh no, ha.” Angel pulled away, slipping on his robe. When he turned back to offer the hand towel, he saw the upset worry painting Alastor’s usually smiling face. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not some freak. I like it rough, not abusive. Just a family issue.” Eyebrows to his hairline, smile noticeably flatter, Alastor was unconvinced. “My family’s a real… uhh, tight knit one. Lots of rules and all that jazz.” Angel added.

“And this? Also… familial?” Alastor wiped away the make-up hiding a discolored wrist. Now that he knew what to look for, he was finding suspicious patches across Angel’s body.

“Ugh, that tone. Like ya pity me. Like —like, ya think I’m some victim.” He snatched the towel back and began wiping Alastor’s stomach. “This is just how things are, alright? Ya fuck up and you gotta learn to — to stop makin’ everything harder for evergone else.”

“I don’t pity you. Nothing about you is pitiful. I’m just surprised. You seem like the retaliatory type.” Alastor reached to take the towel back but was denied.

“You got that right. But no one hits back against my cousin. It’s best to just keep your head down.”

“And is that what you do? Keep your head down?” The insinuation wasn’t lost on Angel, who scowled while taking the other man’s hand and cleaning it finger by finger.

“Angel?” Alastor asked, naked and still being glared down at.

“What.” Angel set his hand down and walked to the bathroom. Alastor lied back down and let his head hang over the side of the bed, watching an upside down Angel saunter by. A vantage point he didn’t mind, eyes level with a very pert and now pink ass. Thanks to Alastor’s thighs.

“One last tour stop, before we enjoy a proper night out. If you have the time.” Angel leaned back so he could see Alastor’s face and nodded, waiting for more. “To a telegram office.” Alastor would need to let work know he’d be gone a little while longer.

🕯Kinktober Masterlist 👻

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

[mammon-money-maker]

G’DAY MATE, MAMMON’S THE NAME!

💵I saw Luci’ and some of the other deadly sins on here and Fizzarolli too, so I decided to sign up do I get money for this?💵

💵So uh, ask me shit I guess, maybe I’ll answer if you’re worth something.💵

💵No spamming walls of text/emojis in my ask!💵

OOC:I have no association with Vivziepop or her characters, this is just an obsessed fan being bored and goofing off. Things will most likely be out of character at times, I’m just kinda having fun with this.

Blog Tags—

Blog Tag 🝮 “#Mammon-money-maker”

Ooc 🝮 “#Andy Gossips:Ooc Posts”

Original Posts 🝮 “#Merchandising:Original Post”

Ask Answered 🝮 “#I dont get paid for this:Asks”

Reblogs 🝮 “#Cooyright:Reblogs”

Threads 🝮 “#Making Money:Threads”

End of Thread 🝮 “#The Payoff:End of Thread”

The “Bald allegations”

Lore—

A heartfelt message

Mod—

@sockmanduckman

Circle of role players—

Same mod—

@king--of--ducks—Luci’

@moxxies-wife

@wally-wackfords-wacky-blog—Guy I threw once

@ace-loves-josh

@the-666-news

@wiener-warrior

@gossip-sipper

@yogirt-not-yogurt

Family—

@headlessdeaddancer—Little shit

@ask-the-archs—Douche and Dumbass

@featheryhoe—Weakest sin

Others—

@blitztheoissilent

@ducky-loyal-servant-of-lucifer—Squeaky toy and general nuisance

@cherri-is-bomb—fellow Australian

@fizzythefrog—Fizzy

@fizzie-froggie—Fizzie hair hater!

@vox-tv-demon—Hater

[prolix-yuy]

In honor of your Bangathon, I spun the wheel 🤣

So we have froggy style with *drum roll* none other than our warm, feral racoon man Dieter Bravo. And we just need that sultry foul mouth.

I'm so excited for all the drabble that are going to come of this.

Lovely Britt! It is the penultimate day of the Bangathon and I've thrown all my rules out the window. Dieter double feature, absolutely obliterating my word count, and I'm having way too much fun with it. Let's get froggy with our raccoon boy!

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Position: Froggy Style

Word Count: 2656 (it's 12:45am, there are no gods, no one can save me)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, public sex, sex parties, mentions of fetish play.

Notes: This idea came to me in a dream and I had to write it, word count be damned! Technically I'm spoiling the ending with just the pairing, but I'm sure you would have guessed it instantly either way. Let's go!

“This is a little too Eyes Wide Shut for me,” you tell your friend Ana as she urges you through the front door of a Hollywood mansion. Your voice is muffled by the mask you wear, black lace molded to look like a cat. Only your eyes are visible, held on with a thick ribbon tied behind your head. Ana is sporting a rabbit mask, maybe a little on the nose for the occasion but you could appreciate the honesty. 

“Then why did you accept my invitation?” she asks, all smug grace and poise in the skimpy red dress she matched to her disguise. You’re more akin to a kitten, steps uncertain and timid as you take in the room and all its inhabitants. 

It had been too tempting, one of Ana’s fellow actors inviting her out to a “masquerade.” When she saw your eyes widen, heat rising in your cheeks, she made a phone call and extended your own invitation. It would have been rude to deny. But now, co-mingling with people who would never know you in the outside world, it all feels like a bad idea.  

Men and women alike are masked, some more on display than others. One fox woman is in barely-there lingerie, a falcon man in low-slung gray sweatpants and nothing else. Your skin tingles in anticipation, the long black dress hugging your form a comfort against the tickle of eyes. 

“If you get cold feet, just leave before the selection,” Ana says, stepping away from you to grab a couple glasses of champagne. You’re about to question how you’ll drink it when you see golden straws circling the lip.

“They thought of everything,” you murmur, eliciting a chuckle from her. 

“Anything catch your eye?” she says salaciously, and you bat her away before surveying the room. Many wolves and lions, a few birds of prey, some dog masks that look suspiciously close to fetish gear. Bodies of all types, but nothing that stood out enough to make you salivate.

“We’ll see,” you say as a chime sounds and the crowd moves deeper into the house. Ana walks next to you, head turning to take in the potentials. You keep yours tilted up, admiring the fresco on the ceiling and trying to ground yourself.

“It’s a pretty good replica, but the real thing is better,” says a deep male voice next to your shoulder. 

“The blue is really vibrant,” you reply, “Looks like they followed traditional techniques.” 

“Only the best for our esteemed hosts,” he muses, making a smile come to your hidden lips.

“Not a fan?” you tease, an entryway coming into view.

“I would never say an unkind word about those that invite me in their home,” the man says with faux adoration, “but yes, they're extremely tacky and most of their art is fake.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you laugh, turning to see who’s speaking but no one is directly behind you anymore. He must have melted into the crowd. You’re about to ask Ana if she saw him when you come to a bottleneck, two darkly dressed attendants speaking to each guest.

“Are you open to being chosen tonight?” the bright-eyed woman to your right says, holding out a red string bracelet. You swallow hard.

“Yes.”

She affixes the string around your wrist, letting you enter the open courtyard. Silver stars twinkle in the indigo sky, braziers lit around the room offering warmth and golden light. A group of guests, mostly male-presenting, gather in the middle of the courtyard. Around the peripheries, mixed company lounge on crisp white couches in various poses of seduction. You settle on one, letting Ana wander away. 

Once guests stopped filing in, another chime sounds and the group begins thinning out. Some remain, nodding to companions or conversing. The majority wander the perimeter, extending hands or sitting beside their choices. 

Anxiety wells in your throat. What was someone supposed to choose you for? You’re among the Hollywood twelves, smuggled in by your connections. What would they want with your cheap dress and cheaper tastes? What could they judge from a glance?

Suddenly, there’s a hand extended before you. 

“Would you care to be chosen, gatita?”

The voice is familiar, the same man from before. Putting visuals to him is more powerful than you thought. He’s in silk pajamas, white and tan with beautiful renditions of bare-branched trees poking up from red and green brush. You even spy some hunting dogs pointing at invisible prey. Covering his face is a brass-colored raccoon mask, tied with red ribbon. His eyes are dark pools behind it, a halo of wild chocolate curls framing the edges. As much as you want to laugh at the raccoon mask, something about it on this man curls excitement in your stomach. It reminds you less of cute animal videos you send to your friends, more of glittering eyes in the dead of night, and the fear of a vicious bite. 

You extend your hand, and his palm is soft and large under yours. “Can it be…private?” you ask, already glimpsing the bold undressing of some guests, others watching on. 

“As the lady wishes,” he concedes, leading you away from the crowd. As you ascend a set of stairs, you converse again.

“Why do the hosts have so much fake artwork?” 

He snorts, keeping your hand in his.

“Because it’s expected. Big house has to be full of priceless art. But you can’t have priceless art in every house, so you compromise. Say it’s on loan, from a museum, from a friend. A grand lie they all pretend to believe.”

“And what’s in your house?” you ask, reaching the top of the stairs. He pauses, eyes roaming you appreciatively. 

“Knew I picked a clever one,” he says, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. “Only originals. My own.” He leads you around a catwalk and down a hall with several doors.

“So you’re an artist?” you ask, stroking your thumb along his. It makes him squeeze your hand back. 

“Among other things,” he murmurs before stopping in front of a door with a tag hanging off the handle. Pocketing it, he enters the bedroom, locking the door behind you. 

It’s too lavish, an abundance of velvet and ruffles that makes you smirk at the raccoon’s earlier comments. He steps in and stands at the foot of the bed, waiting for you to follow. The bravery you’d mustered earlier evaporates when the door shuts, and now you hover by the edge of the bed.

“Gatita, if this isn’t what you want, I’ll leave. It’s only fun if we’re both having it.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head, stepping closer. His hands come up to smooth over your arms, moving to cup the back of your neck. Tugging you into his broad chest, his fingers find your zip and pull it ever so slightly.

“Would you like to know what I want to do to you?” he breathes in your ear, and you manage a weak yes before he starts unzipping your dress tooth by tooth.

“I’m going to remove this dress, and tease your nipples through your bra before taking it off - one handed, of course. Then I’ll lay you back and pleasure your pretty pussy with my fingers until you’re begging for my cock. Once you’re ready to explode I’ll join you in the bed and put you on all fours so I can hit deep and hard inside you. Make you cum on my dick once, then do it again. Maybe even get you to squirt if you’ve never done that. After all that, if you’re very good for me, I’ll keep making you cum all night. How does that sound?”

Could you actually orgasm from his voice alone? You sincerely worry you will as your dress slips to the floor, leaving you in your prettiest lingerie pressed against his intoxicating silks. 

“What about the masks?” you manage to get out, the stiff covering starting to itch against your overheated face.

“Let’s leave them on for now. The mystery is half the fun,” he says, hands sliding up to cup your breasts and thumb lightly at your peaked nipples. You gasp, letting your head roll back. 

“Oh, gatita, I’ll make you feel so good tonight.”

True to his word, the raccoon touches and teases you within an inch of your sanity, talented fingers caressing every erogenous zone until you’re aching and shaking with need. You swear if he even circles your clit once you’ll cum so hard you’ll need an ambulance. Want and desire burns hot in your veins, hands searching for his skin and only getting small touches. The caress of your fingers along the open expanse of his chest. Fingers entwining as he presses you down into the mattress. The skin across his lower back. He keeps just far enough away to tease, but always close enough to work you to dizzying heights. 

“Please,” you whimper after the umpteenth time he’s worked you up and stopped before you could crest. Tilting his head, he leaves another featherlight touch over your clit.

“Ask me for it,” he gruffs out, voice even deeper with desire. “Ask me to fuck you. Ask me to be inside you.” 

The words tumble out of your lips. “Please fuck me, please, any way you want. I need to feel you inside me, need to cum around you. You’ll feel so good, I’ll make you feel so good…” You could beg for hours more but he’s turning you over and moving you up the bed, settling on his knees behind you. Tugging your hips, he lifts you to crouch, hands on the bed and feet planted under bent knees. The position is new to you, but the control you feel like this, hearing the condom wrapper rip and the pops of the last few buttons on his shirt, is thick in your veins.

“Tilt your hips,” he orders, and you arch your back to offer your needy cunt to him. He stretched you well on his fingers, but just the snug fit of his head pressing inside you widens your eyes.

“Fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, earning a soothing stroke over your hips.

“Sure know how to make my cock even harder, gatita. Say it again.”

You whine through your teeth as he sinks further in, stroking two fingers over your clit.

‘“Fuck, you’re so big, my pussy’s full of you, I don’t know how it’s gonna fit inside me but fuck, I want it.” The end rushes out as he shallowly fucks into you, letting you adjust to his girth.

“Oh gatita, don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” he promises, rolling his hips even deeper. Your arms shake with the effort of holding yourself up, mask hot and sticky with sweat as you pant into the fabric. You want nothing more than to rip it off and let him devour you, whoever he may be. 

Finally, he’s fully seated and you’re delirious with how stuffed you are. One slow stroke out makes you grip the sheets, waiting for him to fill you again.

He's not making you wait any longer. The pace is firm, steady to start, working you around his cock and soaking him with your arousal. Your calves begin to burn but you pay no mind, instead using the leverage to push back against him. He groans at this, helping guide your hips with his hot touch.

“Fuck, your pussy is goddamn divine, squeezing me so tight. I’m gonna make you cum around me and then I’ll give you what you deserve.” Your head spins as he speeds up, every thrust angled right into your g-spot with mind-blowing accuracy. Gathering slick from your dripping cunt, he circles your clit steadily as you clamp down on him, the precipice of your orgasm right at your fingertips.

“Oh fuck I’m cumming,” you squeak before your knees give out, arms buckling as you tumble into the pillows with every nerve ending singing his praises. He’s firm behind you, murmuring how good of a girl you are, how good you’re cumming on him, how hard he has to try not to cum yet. The praise melts you down into barely perceiving a world outside the pleasures of your body.

Once the aftershocks subside, your cunt even tighter around his throbbing cock, the man speaks.

“That was so good, gatita. Now hold on.” At that he begins well and truly fucking you, deep and fast with snarls dripped onto your skin. You half expect to feel a bite, but only his fingers dig in to your thighs to keep you pressed tight against him. You let him use your pussy, content just to feel him pulse inside, when his fingers return to your clit.

“Did you think I was done with this?” he pants, teasing the sensitive bud from overstimulation back to drenching pleasure as he coaxes another orgasm to the surface. “Together this time, on five, four, three…”

You can’t believe this man is going to orchestrate your orgasm, but just as he’s nearing one you feel the telltale tingle erupt into molten fire filling your lungs with a wild shout. He’s shouting too, buried in your cunt and shuddering. It takes long minutes for you both to catch your breaths, white spots dancing around the edge of your vision. Finally he eases out, tugging your knees back to lay you down. You welcome the change, body relaxing as you hear him throw out the condom and return with tissues.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” you say, still a little loopy from all the endorphins flooding your brain. The raccoon man chuckles as you turn and sit up, admiring him standing in those designer pajamas, bottoms pulled up but top still open. Your mind wanders to kissing every inch of his chest, sucking a hickey into his collarbone. A small fear in your chest, unknown even to you, falls away.

“I’d like to take the mask off,” you say, looking up at the raccoon man. His hands falter, coming to his waist and tapping nervously. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, trepidation in his voice. You nod.

“It’s okay, I’m a nobody,” you say, hands on the ribbon behind your head.

“I’m not,” he says quietly, stilling your motions. He’s turning away from you, tense and anxious. You know the feeling.

“You don’t have to. I won’t ask you to. But I'm okay with you knowing me.” You tug at the ribbons and let the cat mask fall away. You skin can finally breathe, making you sigh in relief. The raccoon’s eyes snap to you, and all the hard lines of his body soften.

“You’re...more beautiful than I hoped,” he says, awe in his voice. It makes your skin heat up again, a shy smile fighting on your face. It was kind of sweet, the idea that this stranger would know you for only this night, and that it could be your secret. Even your face would be his and his alone. 

Then his hands lift to the back of his head, and the racoon mask comes away in his palms. 

A blink. Then two. Then shock paints your face. 

Did Dieter fucking Bravo just ruin your pussy?

But he’s kneeling on the bed and kissing you breathless, tearing the rest of his clothes off, and you remember the night’s still very young. 

Maybe you could share a few more secrets.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[sixminutestoriesblog]

oh no! vintage

Ye Olde Victorians were the early ancestors of tumblrites because they too loved their frogs.

inscriptions reads: "A jolly Christmas may yours be. (berlin)"

What a dapper looking gentlefrog.

poem is: "Oh children, join our merry band And carry a banner for the good of the land!

A jolly time just to remember That Christmas comes on the 25th of December

(signs say: Hurrah for Santy and Same Stocking)"

Very nice, I appreciate that they're all naked except for the fellow in the front but at least the last two made an attempt with their blue boots and top hat.

I realize the fly guy has a tambourine but it looks like a beach ball to me and this is now giving me 'holidays on the beach' vibes. Seems very cheerful. The inscription is "May Christmas be merry".

Oh! Oh dear, this seems a little less cheerful.

poem is:

Four Jovial froggies

a skating would go;

They has asked their mamma,

but she'd sternly said, "No!"

And they all cae to grief in a beautiful row,

There's a sweet Christmas moral for one not too slow.

------ Just go!

Inscription is: "A Merry Christmas to you". Not at all sure what a frog mugging gone bad has to do with that unless the frog is stealing the froggie money to buy you something nice. You've got to appreciate how liberal with blood the Victorians were when it came to Christmas cards.

inscription is: "Hearty Wishes" and yep, that's a pun all right. Not sure its the sentiment I'd want someone aiming at me.

[grandplaidrascalpurse]

Thank you all. Thank you for what we’ve been given. This is just a nostalgic relief. Despite everything, they all come together. They all won. Because outside of the lore, they found each other and are coming together

And the universe said I love you, because you are love.

Thank you, my fellow chatters. My crows and my particles and my raccoons. My bees and my doozers and my roses and my little froggy hats.

And all my friends here, you are my L’manburg. Thank you, my L’manburg.

With so much love, Fuck you @sootings. And thank you

[thejadedjewel]

Little Muppet Sesame things #126

Even with the credits rolling, there are many lovely and funny things to see:

Sam is disgusted from watching the movie

Robin telling his Uncle Kermit how the movie was swell

Floyd and Janice hugging each other

Rowlf making the mistake of asking Beaker his thoughts on the film

Piggy, after getting tons of compliments from her fellow Pigs in Space costars, goes to give her froggy some love and pose with some photos with him. Robin, meanwhile, just looks at the camera like he's on the office

Piggy and Kermit having a conversation with Floyd and Janice, two of the 'cannon' couples just shooting the breeze about the movie.

Fozzie, who's been asking what everyone thought of his jokes, being told by Kermit that he was funny. Kermit then complimenting Gonzo, who has his arm constantly around his beloved Camilla, on his stuntwork.

Zoot just straight chillin'

Animal: Go home! Go home! (sighs) Bye-bye.

And a special dedication for the one that help inspire Jim Henson to get into puppets.

Now onto some holiday cheer...

[froggiefataleart]

haiii!!!

my names froggie, and im looking to find my fellow daycare attendant/fnaf fans!!

i make dca fanart!! id love to hear about your au!!!

i also write fanfic, sometimes! come ask me about it, maybe?

i also like all other fnaf related media! i have lots of thoughts, the funtimes are my littel babies

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️

my main blog is @froggiefatale , its gonna be a little messy as i shuffle stuff here from over there, sorry!

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️

like/reblog and ill follow!

[flailingdreamist-blog]

Lyrical Mix 2 (No One Mourns The Wicked - Wicked)- 27/11/2024

[CITIZENS OF OZ] Good news She's dead The Witch of the West is dead The wickedest witch there ever was The enemy of all of us here in Oz Is dead! Good news Good news

[SOMEONE IN THE CROWD, spoken] Look! It's Glinda!

[GLINDA, spoken] Fellow Ozians

[GLINDA] Let us be glad Let us be grateful Let us rejoicify that goodness could subdue The wicked workings of you-know-who Isn't it nice to know? That good will conquer evil? The truth we all believe'll by and by Outlive a lie For you and— [SOMEONE IN THE CROWD] No one mourns the Wicked

[ANOTHER PERSON] No one cries, "They won't return!"

[ALL] No one lays a lily on their grave

[MAN] The good man scorns the Wicked

[WOMEN] Through their lives, our children learn [ALL] What we miss when we misbehave

[GLINDA] And Goodness knows the Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows the Wicked die alone It just shows, when you're wicked You're left only on your own

[ALL] Yes, Goodness knows the Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows the Wicked cry alone Nothing grows for the Wicked They reap only what they've sown

[GLINDA, spoken] Are people born Wicked? Or do they have Wickedness thrust upon them? After all, she had a father She had a mother, as so many do

[FREXSPAR] How I hate to go and leave you lonely

[MELENA] That's alright, it's only just one night

[FREXSPAR] But know that you're here in my heart While I'm out of your sight

[GLINDA, spoken] And, like every family, they had their secrets

[LOVER] Have another drink, my dark-eyed beauty I've got one more night left here in town So have another drink of green elixir And we'll have ourselves a little mixer Have another little swallow, little lady And follow me down

[GLINDA, spoken] And of course, from the moment she was born, she was Well, different

[MIDWIFE, spoken] It's coming!

[FREXSPAR, spoken] Now?

[MIDWIFE, spoken] The baby's coming!

[FREXSPAR, spoken] And how!

[MIDWIFE] I see a nose

[FREXSPAR] I see a curl [FREXSPAR & MIDWIFE] It's a healthy, perfect, lovely, little—

[MIDWIFE screams.]

[FREXSPAR, spoken] Sweet Oz!

[MELENA, spoken] What is it? What's wrong?

[MIDWIFE] How can it be?

[FREXSPAR] What does it mean?

[MIDWIFE] It's atrocious!

[FREXSPAR] It's obscene!

[MIDWIFE & FREXSPAR] Like a froggy, ferny cabbage The baby is unnaturally

[ALL] Green

[FREXSPAR, spoken] Take it away Take it away!

[GLINDA, spoken] So you see, it couldn't have been easy [ALL] No one mourns the Wicked Now, at last, she's dead and gone! Now, at last, there's joy throughout the land And Goodness knows We know what Goodness is Goodness knows The Wicked die alone

[GLINDA] She died alone

[ALL] Woe to those (Woe to those) Who spurn what Goodnesses They are shown No one mourns the Wicked

[GLINDA] Good news!

[CROWD] No one mourns the Wicked

[GLINDA] Good news

[ALL] No one mourns the Wicked Wicked Wicked

[eydilily]

Same anon as before (I'll just use 🐸 rn)

YOU ARE SO NOT ALONE

I was actually at a birthday party when Tango started streaming and had a moment where I was alone checking my phone and when I opened the stream notification I just sat there like 👁️👄👁️ how is he so pretty

Especially nice because I always felt kinda self conscious about my glasses but maybe I am just living vicariously through 40 year old men 🤝

Have fun watching the stream tho! I only watched a little and it was also very fun, on top of the glasses 👀

- 🐸

gasp. froggy anon!! 💚 oh man i probably would have shut down and rebooted if i were in your position??? and in the middle of a birthday party too HELP ME . tango in glasses was the present for the day!!

and fellow glasses wearer!!! i mean i totally get Why he wouldnt want to wear glasses (anyone with glasses knows theyre a PAIN) but they look good. and id also argue anyone with glasses looks good !! (and of course, they let us See lmao)

[idotartist]

I love the way you draw fire though! and your colouring is beautiful, I was wondering if there are any tips you could give for colouring?

OMG THANK YOU SO SO MUCH!!! ;A; i'm still figuring out how drawing fire works tho and the feedback i got was super helpfull and got me a step closer to it i think!! during my last 2 drawings i've always had some super helpful feedback about the fire so i feel really blessed about that~ as for the colouring tips, well these are some of the tricks and methods i use;

1- instead of using a darker colour for the shading i just use a more saturated colour, kinda like this;

the added saturation makes the colour appear darker when in reality it's not! think about it like colouring traditionally with colour pencils. when you use a colour pencil the places where you added a lot of pressure look much darker than the places where you added only very little pressure - despite it being one and the same colour! done with the same pencil! the reason it appears darker is because it simply just has more pigment. that's what we're doing here too, we're making the color appear darker by adding more pigment.

BUT

if we just simply stick with the exact same hue then the colouring would look bright and vivid - but still be horribly boring. so i play around with the hue too!!

the circle determines the hue you're selecting and the colors you see there are all at 0% darkness but 100% saturation despite them, technically, being equally light/dark according to the software they still look differently dark rotate the hue in the direction of blue/purple for the shadows and in the direction for yellow to select the colours for the highlights

blue, purple and red are the best colours to shade white with, for black however it'd stick to blue or else it stops looking like black and starts looking like a very dark colour instead

2- give each colour it's own layer.

that way, if you notice halfway through that the colours you've chosen don't look so good together you can still make adjustements and edit every single colour without losing any of the progress you've done with the shading (note: do all of the shading on the same!!! layer as the base colour tho!!!)

many artists solve this issue by using predetermined colour palettes, that way they're guaranteed that the colours look good toghether but colour palettes save absolutely no time at all (adjusting the colours of a layer takes only a few seconds) and are extremely limiting when colouring so i just don't see any benefit to them

3- USE THE RIGHT BRUSH!!!! your choice of brushes can honestly make or break the colouring. the impact they have should not be underestimated, it's huge. which brush is best for you depends on your artstyle but personally i think brushes that simulate either watercolours or copic markers are the best ones.

if you use a software where it's possible to use custom brushes made by fellow artists then PLEASE do that. most art software comes with awful default brushes, and even for those that come with decent default brushes (such as photoshop) most free custom brushes made by fellow artists are still so much better than the default brushes that they're worlds apart Clip Studio Paint (the software i use) has an assets "store" where you can download brushes made by fellow users. for other art software i'd recommend checking out deviantart for user made custom brushes if it's a software that existed before the downfall of deviantart. it's a huge goldmine filled with insanely amazing brushes for many different types of software. personally i use a brush called froggy pencil for the colouring 4- add overlay layers to your art after finishing with the colouring. they can make a drawing really come to live and it's insane just HOW much they add to a drawing. usually i always either use a gradient, a solid colour or a soft airbrushed colour on the overlays and let them do their magic.

to show just how much of a difference overlay layers make; here's a comparision between my most recent drawing - and a version of the same drawing where i removed all overlay layers. see the difference?

...soo uhhh ... that's all the tips and tricks i have up my sleeve lol hope it helped a bit?

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

This is so stupid, but U gotta ask...what's a "Nu"? The little froggy-looking fellow you've got over the 'Read More' on your pinned post?

Chrono Trigger

The Mystery of Life, vol. 841

Chapter 26

"All life begins with Nu and ends with Nu...This is the truth! This is my belief! At least for now..."

- Belthasar, Guru of Reason, 12000 B.C. and 2300 A.D.

I can't question the logic of the Guru of Reason. Even if he is kind of a nut job.

[candycryptids]

Happy Happy Birthday!! ♥ I am sending you a frog themed cake (just close your eyes and pretend you see the most charming lil cake with frogs peeking our of the top layer)

THE FROG IN THE LITTLE BERRY HAT HI… HELLO…!!!! Also…. Uuu… the little lily pad decorations on the top are so cute and those little frogs are so so adorable I almost don’t wanna eat it… their little froggy hands…. Sob… But I will 😤 (cos it would be a shame to not eat your hard work >:0!) thank you 🥺‼️

I saw this striking fellow and decided to look into him to see if he was a legit frog or just a hoax-frog, what with the ai n all- but he’s REAL!

Meet the Indian Bullfrog in his BEST jacket for impressing the LAAAADIES! This charming gent is normally a dull and drab khaki color, but for mating season the men all don their best and flashiest yellow coats and hope they don’t get EATEN because they are now not only more visible to the ladies… they’re also more visible to their hungry predators! of course no mating season is complete without a serenade… they’ll all puff up their darling blue cheeks and sing their night tunes in the hopes of impressing a girl. I may not be a girl…. But they’ve sure charmed me 🥰🌸✨

[mhcoolfacts]

Monster Hunter concepts Pt. 2: The Raptors II

After covering the raptor monsters from earlier gens it's time for those introduced from Monster Hunter Tri onwards. That brings us to the Jaggis and co.

The young males are known as Jaggi, the adult females Jaggia, and the alpha is known as Great Jaggi. This updated naming convention, using "Great" instead of the "-drome" suffix is not the only significant change in early bosses. It is clear that these small pink dinosaurs are an improvement over the Preys of previous generations, with a less rigid posture that feels bird-like and natural. Their pink and lilac colouration is also an interesting choice and somehow doesn't feel so out of place, and the frills on the sides of their head are a nice alternative to a crest. The Great Jaggi also improves the evolution of an leader design, as unlike Velocidrome, it isn't just a larger Velociprey with a larger crest: its body is way more robust and heavy, it has large hooked claws and bigger spikes on its tail, as well as a more prominent frill and a white mane running through it's neck and tail. It feels more menacing, or at least, menacing enough for a first boss fight. Can you hear it? AUGH AUGH AUGH. This monster is beloved by fans (despite being a punching bag) and it is definitely deserved, hopefully it will come back in future games.

Then we have Baggi and Great Baggi from the freezing Tundra (and also the Frost Islands), blue-yellow relatives of the Jaggi with a forward facing crest, their design might not be as elaborate, but the different limb shape and patches of fur are nice little changes that make them feel different enough. The Great Baggi doesn't fail to appear as a stronger boss either, thanks to its piercing yellow eyes, large crest and thicker limbs. The sleeping spit of these blue beasts also offers an additional level of difficulty.

Lastly for 3rd gen we have Wroggi and Great Wroggi, these are the most odd-looking of the bunch. Like Ioprey and Iodrome, their design has more amphibian traits, with a shiny orange skin and inflatable throat sacs. Wroggis sport two blue sacs on the sides, while Great Wroggi has a single, large purple sac as display structure. They are also poisonous, but unlike Iopreys, they emit this poison in a cloud that stays for a bit, making the fight against Great Wroggi a bit more interesting, breaking the throat sac of Great Wroggi also reduces its spitting ability, adding a tactical advantage to the break. Other elements on their design, including their narrow snout and multiple flaps on the forelegs and tail, kind of give it a feel of being semiaquatic despite being terrestrial.

While I wanted to talk about the etymology of the 3rd gen raptors, the truth is that it isn't really known. Theories include that Jaggi comes from "jagged" (due to their jagged tails), baggi comes from, well, "baggy" (referencing its sleep-inducing ability) and Wroggi (Furogi in Japanese) seems to come from "froggy" (ribbit ribbit). But honestly, it possibly is something less obvious.

In 4th gen we didn't get a new raptor until MH Generations with the Maccao and Great Maccao, these jumpy fellows have a pretty fancy design based on tropical birds: a yellow crest, vibrant red skin and green feathers on the body. They are also feisty and use their spiked tails and scuted limbs to hit you. The Great Maccao also uses a variety of movements including kicks and punches, something that previous raptors didn't really do, this makes its fight incredibly fresh and fun (if only it didn't last less than 5 minutes). The theme of this monster is clearly based on martial arts, and the name Maccao reflects this: while you may think it comes from "macaw", you couldn't be more wrong, as it is actually a combination of the taiwanese words Màt (punch) y Káo (knee).

Lastly we have the Izuchi and Great Izuchi that were introduced relatively recently in Monster Hunter Rise. Following the theme in the game around the yokai, it is quite obvious that this monster is based on the Kamaitachi, a weasel-like yokai with sickle-like limbs that travels in whirlwinds and leaves small cuts on people before they notice. Its chestnut fur is clearly based on a weasel, while the sickle tail on Great Izuchi is its predominant trait and main weapon. The most innovative gimmick of its fight, however, is that it always travels with two Izuchis and combines attacks with them. This raptor fight is by far the one that feels the most like a team fight. Lastly, to mention its etymology, unlike other "dromes" and "greats", the Japanese name for the Great Itachi isn't Dosuizuchi, but Osaizuchi, this is a combination of 長 osa (leader), 飯綱 izuna (weasel) y 窮奇 kamaitachi. Pretty cool right?

[all-the-things-2020]

Finding His Way - Chapter Eight

Summary: Enter Luke Skywalker and R2-D2 for their cameos. The helmet *almost* comes off for good but fate intervenes.

Rating: PG

The Razor Crest and Millennium Falcon landed next to each other on a windy stretch of coastline on the planet Florian. It was sparsely populated, especially on this part of the northern continent. Mariana hurried down the ramp, eager to get her hands back on Ad’ika. While she and Din had had an absolutely delicious time alone (she was not going to be able to enter the cockpit without blushing for a very long time), six hours was far too long to be away from her favorite child.

Chewbacca came down the ramp of the Falcon with Ad’ika in his arms. “Ma!” the child cried out when he saw her, making grabby hands and grinning madly.

“Did you miss me, kiddo?” she asked, gathering him close. He chattered softly in that almost-language he used when he wanted to share something, and patted her face. “Da?”

“Daddy’s coming,” she told him. “He just has to finish putting all his armor back on.” The child cocked his head at her, then giggled. She blushed. “You definitely understand more than you let on, don’t you?” He looked innocently away from her, but gave her a sideways glance.

Solo exited the Falcon and joined Chewie. “At least this one isn’t a dust pit like Tatooine,” he said, looking around at the scrubby grassland that ran as far as the eye could see. “Luke does have an affinity for shitholes.” Chewie growled in agreement.

Din finally came down the ramp, every bit of beskar in place and perfectly polished. The wind whipped his cape back dramatically, but the effect was spoiled when Ad’ika tossed Froggy at him. “Da!” he demanded. Din caught the toy in midair and laughed.

“Someone’s in a better mood now,” said Solo suggestively. Din didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he stepped closer and slipped his arm around Mariana’s waist. Ad’ika grabbed for Froggy and began a game of bopping them both on the head with the stuffed animal, reciting their names as he did so. “Da. Ma. Da. Ma. Ma. Da. Da. Da.”

They were distracted from the game by a loud roar from Chewie. The Wookiee raised an arm in greeting to a figure approaching from the near distance. It was a man cloaked in a grey hooded robe, only his hands and boots visible. He walked deliberately, without seeming to hurry at all, and yet he rapidly came closer. In just a few minutes, he was throwing back his hood and laughing. “Han, you scruffy old nerf herder! How’re Leia and Ben?” He was shorter than Solo, and several years younger. He threw his arms around his brother-in-law and Solo unceremoniously ruffled his sandy blond hair, which was desperately in need of a trim. Chewie growled happily and patted the newcomer on the back, nearly knocking both men over.

“This is the Jedi?” Din said quietly.

Skywalker turned toward them with a quiet smile. He’d been in the midst of chatting with Solo and Chewie, yet he seemed to have heard the comment. “Yes, Mr. Djarin,” he said. “I am a Jedi. And this little fellow must be the reason you’re here.” He held out a hand toward the kid, who had forgotten all about Froggy. His big, dark eyes calmly regarded Skywalker, and he stretched out his own tiny hand.

The Jedi laughed. “Oh, really?” he said. He looked at Mariana and Din kindly. “He wants me to know that he can protect you if he has to. He clearly loves you both very much.” He extended his hand toward Mariana. “Luke Skywalker. And you are …?”

“Mariana Loxli,” she said, shaking his hand.

His smile softened as he touched her hand, and his eyes darted between her and Din for a moment. “And you love each other very much,” he said quietly. Din’s arm tightened around her waist, but he remained silent.

“Yeah, yeah, they’re a couple of real Artanian lovebirds,” said Solo. “Look, do you need us for anything, or can Chewie and I get out of here? Contrary to popular belief, I do miss my wife and kid.”

Skywalker rolled his eyes. “Nah, I think we’re good. Get your ass back home and don’t corrupt my nephew too much before I see him again. How I’ll ever make a Jedi out of him with you as his role model …”

Solo shook his head. “Love you, too, brother,” he said with a smirk. Then his smile turned wistful “Don’t stay out in the wilderness so long this time, kid. Leia misses you.”

“I miss her, too,” said Skywalker. “I’ll try to get back before Ben’s birthday.”

Solo nodded, clearly uncomfortable with showing emotions in front of strangers. “Okay, then. Chewie, let's go home.” The Wookiee roared a farewell, patting Ad’ika gently on the head and ruffling Skywalker’s hair before he left.

They stood watching while the Falcon powered up and launched into the sky.

************

“Well,” said Skywalker once the Falcon was out of sight. “It’s a bit of a walk to the village, so if you have anything aboard you’re going to need in the next day or two, you might want to bring it with you.”

Din nodded. He did not feel defensive around the Jedi, even though by all rights he should be. In Mandalorian lore, the Jedi were enemies, but all Din felt when he looked at Skywalker was an odd sense of kinship. The younger man exuded equanimity, a soothing balance between a warrior’s readiness and a monk’s contemplative essence.

It didn’t hurt that he had already acknowledged and honored Din’s relationship with Mariana. Din’s own acknowledgement of their love was still fresh and a bit fragile, and it felt good to have it validated by someone else. He was walking into entirely uncharted territory with her and it scared him.

They fetched the bags that Mariana had prudently packed and followed Skywalker across the blustery scrubland. After a few hundred yards, the ground began to dip and as they rounded an outcropping of stone, the faint pathway dropped steeply into a hidden valley. Din dropped back as they made their way down the trail, which wasn’t wide enough for more than one person. If he couldn’t walk beside Mariana and Ad’ika, he would follow close behind to keep an eye on them. There were loose pebbles and worn spots on the trail, and he didn’t want her to slip.

When they reached the bottom of the trail, they passed through a thicket of spindly trees. Once clear, they had a good view of a cluster of stone buildings near the far wall of the valley. They were not quite ruins, but had not been maintained for some time.

“Welcome to Arvala,” said Skywalker. “It was a Jedi outpost about 300 years ago, and a hunting camp until about 75 years ago. The Florianas used the buildings but avoided the caves, so they’re relatively undisturbed. I’ve found a few books and scrolls that got left behind.”

Mariana’s eyes lit up. “Are they in good shape? It seems a bit damp here for good preservation.”

“So-so,” replied Skywalker. “The bindings are rotted but a lot of the pages are still halfway legible. I’ve gotten pretty good at cobbling together bits and pieces of manuscripts.”

“If you need any help, just let me know. It’s been a while, but I took a conservation course and I really enjoyed it.”

Skywalker smiled. “Thanks. I’ll take any help I can get. But for now, let’s get you three settled.” He walked toward a tarp covered pile next to the closest building. “You’ll be here a few days, at least, so I flew over to the nearest settlement and got some bedding and other supplies. Nothing fancy, but you can set up a decent little apartment in one of the buildings. Take your pick. I’m over there.” He pointed at the largest building, which was set slightly apart from the others. “Sorry for taking the biggest room, but I didn’t know I was going to have company.”

He was interrupted by a loud, indignant beeping. An R2 droid rolled out of the building. Din stiffened involuntarily. Not a droid, he groaned.

“Okay, okay, Artoo, I didn’t know we were going to have company,” Skywalker said with a chuckle. “May I present R2-D2, the best astromech droid in the galaxy?”

The droid beeped and spun its head. The kid was entranced by the lights and noise. Din was less impressed. He let Mariana make pleasantries with the droid while he surveyed the buildings. Several had gaping holes in their roofs, which put them out of the running immediately, but the remaining three looked solid enough. He finally selected the one furthest from Skywalker’s encampment. It was smaller than the others, but the walls were all in place and it was tucked back against the cliff wall in a way that led him to believe it was the least weathered of them all.

“Interesting choice.” Din stifled a flinch as he realized Skywalker had managed to sneak up on him. The Jedi cocked his head. “There are three of you, and yet you chose the smallest building.”

Din recognized a question even when it wasn’t posed as one. Skywalker reminded him a bit of one of the combat masters he’d had while growing up. He never asked a question directly, but nudged his students toward the answer nonetheless. “It’s small, but it appears to have the best structural integrity.” He pointed out the overhanging cliff wall. “It’s been more sheltered from the weather, so there’s been less erosion. It also backs up to the rock face, so it would be easier to defend in an attack.”

“And it’s the furthest away from mine, so you’re ensured privacy,” Skywalker said. “I know it’s hard for a Mandalorian to fully trust a Jedi, but I can assure you, Mr. Djarin, you have nothing to fear from me. Just because our ancestors were once enemies doesn’t mean we have to be.”

“I know,” Din admitted. “But …”

The Jedi nodded. “Old habits are hard to break. I understand. Get yourselves settled, then come to my room so we can talk. I may have some answers to your questions.”

He walked quietly away, leaving Din to start hauling the gear into the small building. Mariana and the kid were still chatting with the droid, which was beeping and booping away like an annoying toy, so he set up the room himself. There was just enough room for the self-inflating mattress, a small folding table and a pair of stools. He unrolled the bedding, set their packs near the foot of the bed and set Froggy between the pillows. They were sheltered from the wind down in this valley, but being so near the coast, he was sure it would get cold at night. Ad’ika would be snug and warm between them.

******************

“That droid is something else,” Mariana said as she finished unpacking their things. “Almost makes me wish I’d paid attention in Binary class.”

Din just grunted. He’d told her a bit about his dislike of droids, which she found understandable, if a bit severe. The R2 unit was a lot cuter than an assassin droid, after all.

“There,” she said, closing up the last of the packs. Most of the stuff they’d brought belonged to her and the kid … well, mostly her. Ad’ika had his toys and a blue blanket that he always slept with, and Din had an assortment of small weapons, but she had a couple of changes of clothes, her data pad, some snacks, toiletries … she might have packed too much, but she still wasn’t used to having things to pack and it felt good to indulge a little. “Shall we go see what the illustrious Luke Skywalker has to say?”

Din scooped up the kid and they walked the short distance to the building where Skywalker and R2 were staying. It must have been the village hall, twice as big as any of the other buildings, with a large fire pit in the center of the floor. Something was bubbling in a pot hung over the fire. One end of the room held a cluttered sleeping area similar to theirs, while the other end looked more like a workshop. Bits of electronics and droid parts were scattered about on a workbench, where R2 was happily fiddling with a piece of equipment. Skywalker was sitting next to the fire pit, legs crossed, eyes closed. He appeared to be meditating. He also appeared to be floating about six inches off the floor.

He opened his eyes as they approached and sank to the ground. “All settled in? Then let’s get down to business.” He gestured for them to sit and they settled on the floor. Din made sure he was between her and the Jedi, and put Ad’ika in her lap.

“You know something about my … son,” Din began. Mariana caught the slight hesitation and shifted a bit closer so that their knees and shoulders were touching. This was his conversation to have, but she wanted him to know she was there for him.

“A little,” Skywalker conceded. “I can’t tell you what species he is, because I don’t know what it’s called, but I do know he is the same species as Master Yoda.” He smiled fondly. “I always wondered what Yoda looked like in his younger days, and now I know.”

“Master Yoda,” Mariana said. “I saw that name a lot in the Old Republic senate records. He was one of the leaders of the Jedi, wasn’t he?” Skywalker nodded. “But those records were hundreds of years old and I never found any vids of him, or any physical descriptions. How do you know what he looked like?”

“He trained me in the ways of the Jedi. Don’t look so surprised. He was close to nine hundred years old when he died. I was his last student.”

Din nodded. “We know our son is fifty years old and still an infant. If all his species are as long lived as this Master Yoda, it makes sense.” Mariana couldn’t help noticing he was no longer hesitant to call Ad’ika his son … and that he’d switched pronouns from “my” to “our.” She leaned a little closer.

“Unfortunately, Master Yoda never spoke about his home planet or his people. I was under the impression that he was the last of his kind, but obviously that’s not true. I can speak to him about this later.”

“I thought you said he was dead,” said Din.

“He is, but powerful Jedi can still interact with the living. For now, let me put your mind at ease, Mr. Djarin. I’m intrigued by your son, but I’m not ready to start taking students, not until I’ve gathered more information about the Jedi temples. I’ll be setting up an academy of sorts eventually, but even if it was up and running, he’s still much too young. The Jedi of old took children as padawans at a very young age, but I’m not so sure that was a good idea. Right now, what he needs is a father, not a teacher.”

Mariana felt Din relax against her. He reached out and took Ad’ika into his own lap. The child had been listening to Skywalker’s every word, but now he looked up at Din’s helmet with a smile. “Buir,” he said carefully. Mariana felt tears come to her eyes. She didn’t know much Mando’a, but this was one of the words she knew Din had spent the most time trying to teach him to say. It meant “father.”

**************

Mariana ate dinner with Skywalker, while Din took his and Ad’ika’s back to their room. They sat at the tiny table, bowls of stew in front of them. Now that they were alone, he took off his helmet and wiped the tears from his face. “I hope you know what that meant to me, ad’ika,” he said shakily. He ran his hand through his hair, then pulled his gloves off and threw them on the ground. The child reached out and wrapped his tiny fingers around one of Din’s. “You do, don’t you?” he whispered. Again, a tiny knowing smile. A thought occurred to Din and it sent a small shiver down his spine. “You haven’t been playing Jedi mind tricks on me all this time, have you?”

The child looked indignant, and Din immediately pushed the thought away. “No, of course not. Forgive me.” He pulled his bowl closer. “Let’s eat.”

By the time Mariana returned, he had replaced the helmet but shed the rest of his armor. He and Ad’ika were on the floor rolling the ball back and forth, and she dropped to the ground beside him to watch the game. “I still can’t believe he called you buir,” she said, twining her fingers through his and laying her head on his shoulder.

“I know,” he replied. “He hasn’t said another word since, but he has that smug look on his face.”

The kid took that opportunity to lose interest in the ball game and toddle over to the bed to get Froggy. Mariana swung her legs across Din’s and he let go of her hand to slide his arms around her. He leaned back against the wall, his helmet connecting with a low thud. “Is it wrong that I feel relieved that Skywalker said there likely aren’t any more of his kind?”

“No. Just like it isn’t wrong that I feel relieved he doesn’t want to whisk him away and start training him.”

Din sighed and hugged her tighter. “I’ve been so worried that I was going to lose him,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “After all this, I … I can’t go back to being alone.”

She lifted his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss against it. “You’re never going to be alone, Din,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He sighed again, deeper this time. “You tried to leave once.”

“That was before I knew how much you meant to me, before I knew I loved you. I’m never going to leave you.” She kissed his hand again and he trembled. Maybe it was time. When she released his hand, he pulled it back and started to reach for the locks on his helmet. Before she noticed, there was a knock on the door, and Skywalker stepped in. Din lowered his hands.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the Jedi said, “but I spoke with Master Yoda.” Din felt his blood run cold. “He couldn’t tell me anything about where your son may have come from. As far as he knows, he was the last of his kind. But he did have some information that may be of interest to you.” Din relaxed, until he heard Skywalker’s next words. “Moff Gideon is in possession of the Darksaber.”