#peacetime au

[godlygivenanxiety]

considering trying to write something for the peacetime au… . i’d prefer to read it but with rarepair fandoms being so damn small if there’s something you want to see you’ve just gotta make it yourself 😭 the jilco tag is so barren

true 😭😭😭😭

jilco needs more love, and oh my god please do write, even a oneshot, about it! our tiny fandom needs some sugary stuff now after the crumbs we got 🥺💓💕

i personally would love so much a rewrite of the party we got in the episode, but with powder and silco dancing, something innocent that turns intimate and curious, a whispered conversation as they move together, a sweet moment that flips the switch.... of course, it's just an idea, i'm excited about anything you might write!!!!

[charmwasjess]

It’s always confused me how Sifo-Dyas had visions of a horrible doom future and came up independently with this idea that the only way to prevent it was ordering up a clone army. And yes, I understand “see Order 66/the Republic attacked by an army, decide they need an army TOO” but it just doesn’t logically flow very smoothly. When have the Jedi used an army? Why leap to that as a Plan A?

But it makes a lot more sense if he had visions of the Clone Wars. Visions that specifically included the partnership between the Jedi and the clones. 

So he would have seen brave, intelligent clones working alongside Jedi, collaborating on a thousand different worlds. He would have seen them covering each other’s back, fighting side by side against literal and figurative monsters. He would have seen the Jedi Order fundamentally changing and growing alongside these people, perhaps even the future that never came to pass after winning the war. And the connections during it: Jedi wearing armor, forming bonds of respect and camaraderie, clones attached to “their” Jedi. Family units developing. Friendships, romances, sibling relationships... 

He would have seen Cody throwing Obi-Wan his dropped lightsaber for the dozenth time. And as a lifelong Jedi, he would have deeply understood the significance of that act. The trust.

If Sifo-Dyas truly believed the battle for the end of their world was coming, maybe for him, it wasn’t about just getting an army, it was about making that army. One built on mutual respect and absolute trust. It was seeing those exact people and the connections that would bloom there, and working backwards from that conclusion to make it exist. 

[transingthoseformers]

So, tfp au Predaking!!! I'm ~unsure~ exactly when Shockwave will release him from the cloning tube, but I can tell you it's gonna be so super funny under the natural circumstances of the tfp au. Just. Imagine this. In a time of relative peace, Shockwave tells everyone he has something he would like to show them. Naturally, Soundwave is wary as hell (he might be lenient on his booty call, but that does not mean Shockwave is exempt from jack shit). And the Shocky drags this absolutely massive predacon through a groundbridge. Somehow, even though he has only one optic and no mouth, Shockwave immediately gives you the vibes of a dog who just dropped half of a rabbit down on your feet. Like "see what a good job I did? Do you like it? Did I do good?"

[h-i-raeth]

Oh, by the way.

Chapter two of Easy Peacetime Girl is up.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Prima Nocta

Marcus Acacius x Virgin!F!Reader oneshot

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: DUB CON only due to nature of prima nocta, both parties enthusiastically consent, twist on prima nocta, unspecified age gap, loss of virginity, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex, unrealistic descriptions of first sexual experience, all manners of historical inaccuracies and linguistic anachronisms sorry not sorry, ignores the events of the movie so you can consider this an AU, Marcus is widowed and has a son, shall we call this bfd: Ancient Rome version lmao

Notes: I'm a bit rusty for sure, but I had the absolute best time writing this oneshot. It's a departure from my usual themes to say the least, but once this idea took hold of me it never let go. I know prima nocta is meant to be invoked on the wedding night, but I like the idea of it being the night before so I made it so 🤷🏻‍♀️ Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics as always.

He thought he had gotten away with it. Having lived more than fifty winters in the capital and outlasting eight emperors, he regrets to confess that he is still none the wiser. 

It would have been such a clever manoeuvre. Palming off a generous but very much unwanted gift from the emperors, and marrying off his son in one fell swoop. 

He should have been suspicious of their swift assent to his proposal. In his eagerness to bow out of their audience, it had been convenient to dismiss the flash of malice in their eyes.

And in the snake pits of Roman court, no misstep goes unexploited.

He is not proud that he is caught off guard by the emperor’s closest advisor who intercepts his walk home from the armoury, even less so of his ineloquent response to the missive handed to him.

‘What is this?’

‘Urgent word from the emperors, sir.’

Cold sweat prickles the back of his neck as he stares unseeingly at what is scrawled on the parchment.

‘I cannot,’ he blurts out, indignance rising fast and hot in his chest. ‘I will not.’

‘You think it wise to twice refuse the emperors’ generosity, general?’

General. To him, the culmination of a lifetime of service and sacrifice. To them, an instrument of bloodshed in war, a plaything in peacetime.

Desperate, he tries a different tact. ‘The right of the first night belongs to the emperors. I dare not commit sacrilege.’

‘It is not sacrilege if it is freely bequeathed upon you, general.’

There is no mistaking the warning lilt in the last word, and he has no answer.

‘The hour grows late. You had better not keep the bride waiting,’ says the advisor with an air of finality before retreating into the shadows.

Marcus shudders at the cold that settles into the empty space, fingers stained with ink from the now crumpled dispatch. 

He remembers nothing of the remainder of his short journey to his quarters. As the front door swings open, he realises there is something in the night air that is out of place.

Sea salt.

You are here. 

Would you be demure? Frightened? You are of royal lineage, a lady of the small but proud coastal kingdom strong-armed by Rome into an unequal treaty for its profitable trading posts, in return for the mercy of not being razed to its fertile grounds.

And now, you are lowered to marry a general’s son. 

Worse, lowered to have your virginity taken by his father.

Candlelight spills from the crack underneath the door to his bedchamber. Marcus takes a deep breath, and pushes it open.

You hear him. The swish of fabric, the slide of leather soles on marble.

The general is here.

Your hand in marriage is part of the terms of the treaty, and the missive that sent for you announced your match as the widowed hero general. You had him cast on the wretched journey from your home as one of the domineering, brutish soldiers now garrisoned at your family’s kingdom - only to be told on your arrival that you will be marrying his son instead.

Relief at the news that your future husband would not be decades older than you is instantly snatched away by furtive whispers of prima nocta.

Your future father-in-law will take you first.

The humiliation is bitter on your tongue. You are Rome’s to marry off, hers to give to whomever she pleases -

But she won’t break you.

The door creaks. You stand tall and hold your ground.

He sweeps into the room with an air of well-worn authority, the cloak on his back dark as the shadows that nip at his heels.

The candles flicker when he sheds the heavy robes with a smooth sweep of his arm.

You stare, in a manner that would have had your lady-in-waiting tutting. But you are alone, very much so, with this man not ten paces from you.

General Marcus Acacius. 

He is older, certainly old enough to have a son your age. But you had not imagined him so - strong, for the lack of a more imaginative word. His shoulders are broad under his wine red tunic, and you can see the muscles in his arms flex as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides. From where you stand, you can hardly see any silver in his dark curls.

Marcus unflinchingly assesses you right back. 

No, you are decidedly not demure. Or frightened. Far from it. 

You are defiant, even as you observe him with evident curiosity. Your head held high, a telltale sign of your noble breeding, mouth set in a stern line while your eyes burn bright with a proud fire. 

Judging the silence has gone on long enough, he breaks it with a formal, ‘My lady.’

‘General,’ you answer steadily.

The door slams shut belatedly behind him, and you flinch - the first glimpse of weakness you concede. 

Marcus breathes in, delivering his next sentence with as much composure as he can muster. ‘I expect you have been informed of the - formalities that we are to perform tonight.’

You grind your teeth so hard you are astonished that your jaw doesn’t crack.

Your virtue is just a formality.

Refusing to dignify his question with an answer, you nod once. 

He watches you wordlessly, and you meet his gaze. You thought you would find something else there, not the regret that you see.

Turning away from you, he reaches for the amphora on the table. 

‘Wine?’

‘Yes, please.’

The wine is drunk in silence and moderation. Him at his desk, you perched on the end of the bed.

As you sip, pacing yourself, you observe the general discreetly from across the small distance between you. 

To say that you are disconcerted by his behaviour would be an understatement.

You assumed that he asked for this - for the perverse pursuit of deflowering his son’s bride-to-be while eschewing the unwanted responsibility of a wife. 

Yet, watching him stare pensively into his goblet, lips pursed in a pout that is almost sullen, you are not so certain anymore. 

When you bring your drink to your mouth to find it empty, you clear your throat. ‘I have to wake up early tomorrow morning - for the wedding.’

The general starts before collecting himself, drawing himself up to his full height as he sets down his cup with a heavy clunk. ‘Understandably, my lady.’

Then he moves, charting a course across the room, licking his thumb and index finger to douse the candles dotted around the space.

The thought comes to you unbidden - he has thick fingers. And big hands. 

Your cheeks tingle with heat.

Soon the chamber is cloaked in darkness, save for the candles next to the bed, the warm light pooling in the most inviting manner on the soft surface despite your trepidation. You long to rest your aching feet. 

He comes to a standstill on the other side of the bed, as if waiting for you to take the lead. You cannot decide whether you are thankful for him not imposing on you, or frustrated at him for not taking the lead in what is very much unfamiliar territory.

In the end, the desire to get off your feet wins out, and you gesture at the bed. ‘Shall we…?’

‘Certainly.’ He bends down, you assume to take off his sandals. You do the same, toeing off the soft leather slides the maids had you change into when they dressed you.

Once barefoot, you climb in with as much grace as you can summon, acutely aware that you have an audience. Your knees sink into the mattress, and you’re relieved that it is stuffed with feathers, luxuriously giving under your weight. Shifting primly, you find your back against the headboard, cushioned by equally soft pillows.

The general follows suit, the frame creaking as he eases onto the suddenly too small bed, strong shoulders brushing yours as he settles next to you.

You stare hard at the back of your hands, the only way to stop your gaze from wandering to the span of his fingers splayed wide on sturdy thighs, or lower to the bony ridge of his knees - gods, you must be unwell, since when have you been drawn to knees?

You are still questioning the state of your sanity when the general, who has been nothing but unperturbed and composed since he stepped into the room, stumbles over his words in a manner that is neither, as if he had held the question behind his teeth for too long.

‘Are you - are you absolutely certain - in no doubt - that you are… untouched?’

His question stings like salt in a festering wound. Indignant doesn’t even begin to describe the retort you spit at him. ‘Yes, I am. Are you?’

Peering at you sideways, his eyes widen at your outburst, and fear briefly flits across your heart that you have overstepped.

 But then, he surprises you with a smile. ‘You bite, don’t you?’ 

You let your shoulders sag, too far gone to hold onto your facade. 

‘It’s been a long day, sir,’ you admit. ‘To be frank, I just want to get this over with and forget it ever happened.’

He pauses at your confession, as if weighing his options. Then he shifts, and says, ‘The reason I ask if you were untouched is because, if you were not - we could have just pretended we did this.’

You frown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I did not invoke prima nocta, it was imposed upon me. The emperors are displeased that I turned down the betrothal, this is their way of punishing me for my ungratefulness.’ 

Oh.

As much as you didn’t want this either, your pride suffers to hear him describe it as a punishment.

‘I know…’ you stumble, halting to steel yourself. ‘I know I am nothing like the women here in Rome. I spend too much time in the sun, and my hands are rough from working with horses -’

‘Why do you say that?’ he interrupts you.

You look away. ‘That is why you do not wish to marry me, is it not? And why you do not want this - why you do not want me.’

The general sits up, palms on the mattress to support his weight, the lines on his forehead deepening with a frown. ‘No, that is not the reason. You are young, you deserve a husband who can build a life with you in the years to come. Not a washed-up widower.’

The bitterness in his voice turns your head. 

‘You’re not washed up, from what I hear.’ Somehow, you find the courage to add boldly, ‘Or from what I see.’

Letting your eyes trail unabashedly over his broad frame, a thrill chases through your blood when you notice his Adam’s apple bob with a tight swallow. He’s so close that you know you’re not imagining the heat seeping into your bones.

Silence stretches between you, charged with a consciousness that creeps in and spreads. Two souls from different worlds and stations put in a situation in which neither of you had a hand. This may not be how you imagined giving away your virtue - far from it - yet your stomach twists in anticipation.

You glance upwards, only to find him already watching you.

Something has shifted when you so bravely reached out and tipped the balance with your words. He can tell that you are not one for flippant flattery, and it takes him a moment to collect himself, harder said than done with the blood roaring in his ears.

When he speaks, it comes out in a much lower register than he intends, so much so it sounds like a secret. 

‘You say you just want to get this over with. But I can - I can make it good for you. It doesn’t have to be something you want to forget.’

Your eyes widen and your lips part, and heat blooms almost uncomfortably in his chest. ‘You would do that for me?’

‘I will serve you in whatever way you ask of me tonight, my lady.’

Never have mere words, albeit delivered in such a delicious baritone, moved you so. You came in expecting to have your virtue stripped from you, the same way Rome callously stole you away. Where you thought humiliation and dishonour awaited, this man is offering deliverance and devotion - if only for one night.

Your throat tight with emotion, you nod in lieu of a spoken answer.

Marcus is deliberately slow in his movements, wanting you to feel safe in his presence. ‘How much do you know? So I know what I need to teach you.’

Despite yourself, shyness rears its head and you mumble, ‘I’ve - I’ve heard stories. I know what… happens… between a man and a woman in the bed chamber.’

He nods reassuringly, making you feel less of a fool for the juvenile answer you gave. ‘And has anyone touched you before?’

There’s no mistaking the lurch in your stomach as your heart hammers violently. ‘No. No one. Never.’

The protector in him stirs, summoned to duty, warring with the desire that seethes under his skin like the unholy flames of Vesuvius. He fears it is a quickly losing battle. 

Reading the desire in your endearingly open face, Marcus reaches over you to settle one hand on your hip as he leans close, his breath warm on your cheek.

‘Have you ever kissed a man?’ he rasps. 

You shake your head, eyes fixated on his mouth, framed by a tidy moustache. He is so close that you can see his beard is flecked with silver.

You swear the general is leaning into you, and every inch of you is on tenterhooks, enraptured by his proximity -

‘You should save it for your husband.’

You barely forestall the whine of protest that teeters on the tip of your tongue, pinching your lips together, but his lopsided smile tells you that he knows. 

‘I can kiss you elsewhere though.’

‘Oh,’ you inhale shakily when he dips to mouth at the side of your neck, landing on your pulse point in a suckle. Your whole body arches off the bed, hands gripping the sheets, head spinning at all the sensations that are new to you - the burn of his stubble, the cool trail his lips leave behind -

Then the palm on your hip pulls you into him, sprawling you against the wide cage of his body, your breasts pressed against his broad chest. The dress they put you in is thin, and the fabric rubs against your pebbling nipples as his kisses travel daringly low.

‘Am I going too fast?’ he pauses, voice strained.

Breathlessly, you shake your head.

‘If you want me to stop, or wait, you say the word. Understood?’

‘Yes, general.’

Two words he hears daily from his men, and yet from your lips, they unleash a dangerously feral side of him.

More. Is the only coherent thought that remains. 

Impatient hands reposition you so that you are astride him, and he groans when you slot flush in his lap. He watches your eyes widen at what you feel between your legs. Your dress rides up, and his blood rushes south at the bare expanse of your inner thighs on his skin. 

‘I want to see you,’ he speaks plainly, palms squeezing the dip of your waist. ‘May I undress you? Please?’

All decorum flees you, and you might have chanted yes, yes, yes to his question.

Dropping your chin, you watch his thick fingers nimbly undo the knot holding the front of your dress together. The silk capitulates like water, tumbling down in delicate drapes around your waist, baring you to his heated gaze.

‘You are beautiful,’ he declares with a solemnity that steals your breath.

And it is easy to believe him, the way his dazed eyes trail over your breasts, before his hands follow. Calloused palms, which you are sure have held many a sword in triumph, now cup your tender flesh in reverence. 

Your head lolls to the side as he teases you, but when he rolls his hips upwards, your eyes snap to the pained expression on his face. You’ve heard ladies in court whispering over wine about length and girth, but nothing could prepare you for the thrill of feeling a man’s undeniable desire for you.

Instinct guides you, moving your hips so that you are grinding against his length, seeking relief from what is building deep within you.

‘Do what feels good,’ the general murmurs encouragingly, palms on the small of your back to let you take control.

And just like that, you are thrown back to one summer’s day in your youth. You were bathing in a rock pool, under the spray of a waterfall in perfect solitude when you accidentally slipped forwards on the smooth stone surface. The unexpected sensation between your legs ripped through you like lightning on a clear day. And you chased that feeling, hips undulating until you shuddered and cried out. Knees trembling in the aftermath, you never dared to seek it out again, but neither did you forget.

And now, years later, you finally know what had transpired. Pleasure. And this time, under the general’s hooded gaze, you pursue it with single-minded determination.

Marcus wishes you knew how beautiful you are in this very moment. Breasts swaying in tandem while you rock back and forth on his clothed length, eyes glazed, every whimper from your swollen lips making him throb harder for you.

‘Good girl,’ he rasps, throat tight. ‘Take your pleasure. Take what you need.’

And when he sucks your nipple into his mouth, you wail, tipping forward at an angle that unexpectedly takes you apart.

The waves that wash over you are more intense than you remember, and you are sure that has to do with the man holding your hips to his as you buck, and the warm swirl of his tongue against your breasts, sucking and nipping as you come down from your high.

‘That was not your first time,’ he states as a matter of fact when the white noise in your ears finally fades.

‘It happened once, a long time ago, and I didn’t understand then -’

‘And now you do.’

‘Yes, general.’

This time, he lets loose a moan at your words. ‘I can feel your wetness through your dress.’

Confused, you look down, and your cheeks burn when you spot the dark patch on the delicate fabric. ‘Oh, I -’

‘It’s natural,’ he assures you. ‘The wetness makes it easier for -’

It dawns on you when you feel his hardness twitch under you. Oh. 

‘It - you feel -’ you stutter, struggling to comprehend how the girth of what you are sitting on could possibly fit inside you.

Taking your hand, Marcus presses a chaste kiss to your palm, eyes warm and open. 

‘We will take it slow. I will use my fingers first, to prepare you for me,’ he explains patiently. ‘I promised I would make it good for you, did I not?’

‘You did.’ 

And you have complete faith in him.

Your knees knock into each other hopelessly when he slides you off his lap, and he has to bodily prop you up against the pillows. Sinking into the soft feathers, you watch him kneel between your parted legs, and you feel so safe even as he towers over you. 

‘May I disrobe you?’

You bite your bottom lip, and nod. 

Except it’s not a disrobing, it’s nothing near as civil as that. The general rips the rest of your dress clean down the middle, rendering you completely bare beneath him.

Marcus knows should be ashamed of his brash behaviour. But how could he when you react so viscerally, jaw slack as your chest heaves in unmitigated desire? 

His gaze shamelessly trail over every curve and dimple, from the breasts he has tasted to where your knees are demurely closed, and knowing that he is the first - the only - to have laid eyes on you makes him impossibly hard. 

It matters not that you are not his to keep. This will always be his. 

‘You are exquisite,’ he professes, voice tight. 

You duck your head, more shy of his compliments than being nude before him. ‘You don’t have to.’

Sliding a finger under your chin and tilting your head until you meet his gaze, he assures you, ‘I mean every word.’

Then he moves down the bed until he can rest his weight on his elbows, and you startle when rough palms glide over the outside of your thighs, stopping at your knees. 

He pauses to give you time. ‘Are you certain you wish to continue?’

Your answer is a confident yes.

Then, as if opening the shell of Venus, he delicately pries your knees apart, and his breath hitches as you are revealed to him.

He is aware that he’s staring like an imbecile, words failing him. As the silence stretches on, you become self-conscious.

‘General,’ you demur, moving to cover yourself.

Shaking his head, he finally says, ‘Forgive me, but you are perfect.’

Then he looks up at you with such intensity that has you struggling to catch your breath, and without breaking eye contact, he bows his head - 

And closes his lips over you there. 

You are wholly unprepared - no one has ever gossiped about this in court. Your hips buck violently off the bed, but Marcus holds you down with reassuring hands, suckling on the pearl between your thighs with gentle laps of his tongue.

‘Oh, oh, oh,’ you stuttter, torn between watching the man wreak the most devastating pleasure on you and averting your gaze.

You’ve only ever known worship to be pious, and yet, this most vulgar adulation is the closest you’ve been to the gods.

His beautiful curls brush the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, catching the candle light as he moves, and the crook of his nose - so proud even with the scar on its bridge - draws patterns on your skin as he stakes his claim where no one has ever touched you. 

You quickly realise that what you felt just now in the general’s lap was insignificant and thin in comparison. This pleasure is all-consuming, something divine that has you weak and trembling all over. All you hear are slick, wet sounds of tongues and lips, and your own whimpers between garbled groans.

Marcus feasts on you, unapologetically. Flattening his tongue, he tastes you in broad sweeps, moaning into your sweet cunt as you writhe above him, your needy mewls driving him to the edge of madness. You taste like fig - the earthiness of the purple peel, ripe sweetness of the pink flesh.

Then your hands wind into his hair, pulling him closer, ankles hooking over his shoulders. He groans harder, the sound rattling in his ribs as you soak his beard. Surrendering any last vestiges of shyness, you rock against his tongue, nails scratching his scalp as you whine louder into the night air. 

Moans that will echo long after you’re gone.

The thought alone hardens his resolve to mark you unequivocally. You’re close, your pliant body quivering and breaths coming in shallow gasps now. He peers up at you, but your eyes are sealed shut and upturned at the gods, your breasts heaving.

Gently, he eases one finger inside you, and he grunts at how easily he slides in. You barely react, and so he pushes back in with two, coaxing a cry from you. Your cunt clenches as he gently thrusts his digits in and out, stretching your tight walls. 

‘Oh gods. Oh gods,’ you pant violently.

You’re close, so close. He wants to warn you of what is to come, but it feels like sacrilege to tarnish the moment with words. When he feels you begin to quiver, he laves at your clit harder, burying his fingers inside you to the knuckle, until he feels you crest and break. 

‘Gods, oh gods - Marcus!’

The cry of his name catches him off guard. He nearly loses control right there and then, as you ride out your high on his fingers, but by some miracle he holds out through gritted teeth. He devotes his attention to kissing his way up your body, from the slick inside of your thighs, to the side of your hip, making you jump when he sucks on your sensitive breasts.

You stare at his mouth with wild, dark eyes, and him at yours, but he vowed to leave your first kiss to your husband. Girding his self-restraint, he asks, ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, Marcus.’

His cock twitches at the sound of his name on your lips. He wants to hear you say it in all manners of ways - whisper it, gasp it, scream it. And by the cheekiness in your smile, it’s clear that you know what he’s thinking.

Your eyes drop to where his hardness is pressed against you. ‘Will you teach me how to please you, general?’

He swallows a groan, the animal in him rattling the bars of its cage. He replies diplomatically, ‘I will teach you how to teach your husband.’

In one smooth tug, he shucks off his tunic, then his loincloth, and he tries not to be self-conscious under your watchful gaze. Pulling you against him, skin on naked skin, he smears kisses along the side of your neck, smiling at your answering shudder. In return, you run your lips and scrape your teeth over his collarbone. 

Taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, he slides it all the way down his chest and wraps your fingers firmly around his throbbing cock, his pained moan in your ear.

Eyes wide, you marvel at the size of him in your grip. ‘You are so big.’

Marcus curses through clenched teeth. ‘You are an insolent girl.’

With a wicked glint in your eyes, you correct yourself, ‘You are so big, general.’

If he wasn’t so aroused, he would have chuckled at your cheek. Instead, he growls, ‘Such insubordination.’

Tilting your head to one side, you grin. ‘And how would you discipline me, sir?’

He lets the silence linger for a beat, allowing anticipation to build as one big hand splays over your ass, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear. ‘I would deny you my cock, my lady. Let your sweet cunt weep for me, empty, not knowing how good it would feel to have me deep inside you.’

You are unsure if you are more shocked at the explicitness of his words, or at the gush of wetness that has you pressing your thighs together. If you had to wager a guess, he is just as affected as you by the way his length pulses in your grasp.

Marcus smiles as he takes in the way your body reacts to him. ‘But how can I deny such a lovely, desperate creature such as yourself?’

A sob escapes you. ‘Please, Marcus - I’m yours to take.’

With that, all self-restraint abandons him, and his lips crash into yours. At the back of his mind, he knows you deserve a better first kiss, something gentle and sweet. But to your credit, you seem to take it in stride, winding your arms around his neck with a deep groan as he deepens the kiss. Opening up your mouth, he sweeps his tongue against yours, making sure you taste yourself and the pleasure that he had wrung from you.

When he reluctantly pulls back for air, you hum, ‘I thought you said I should save that for my husband.’

He all but snarls, ‘Damn your husband.’

The possessiveness in his tone sends you reeling, and his resolve wears even thinner when your cunt brushes against him, so wet and soft, begging for him. 

‘I cannot wait any longer,’ he declares.

You bite your lip beseechingly. ‘Please, Marcus, I cannot either.’

He braces himself above you on strong arms, until all you can see is him, backlit by the soft candlelight. Beholding his beauty - the wisps of gray at his temples, the scar lining his cheekbone - your breath catches at the tenderness in his eyes as he stares down at you.

Holding the base of his cock, Marcus notches himself at the entrance of your cunt, trembling as he holds himself back. 

‘I will go slow,’ he assures you. ‘If it hurts, you tell me to stop. Understood?’

Your mouth dry, you can only nod. 

Holding your gaze, Marcus rolls his hips ever so slowly, jaw slack when he breaches you, inch by tortuous inch.

He is barely inside you and you already feel so unfathomably full.

‘Marcus,’ you gasp when it gets impossibly tight, nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He stops, and whispers encouragingly, ‘You are doing so well for me, taking me so beautifully. Just breathe.’

In between his patient, languid kisses, you unfurl, and Marcus gently pulls back, before pushing into you, deeper this time.

When you cry out, he shushes you, brushing the wet corners of your eyes with his lips. ‘Does it hurt?’

You shake your head. ‘No, it’s just - so much.’ 

‘I know, I can feel how tight you are gripping me,’ he mumbles into your neck, throbbing inside you while he holds himself still as you adjust. ‘Brave, sweet girl.’

When you find your voice again, you give him cheek. ‘I am a woman now, general.’

He smiles at you - a warm curl that crinkles the corners of his eyes endearingly - and claims your lips again. Feeling the tension seep out of your body, he thrusts shallowly so you can learn the movement of his hips. When he hits a spot that makes your jaw drop and your hips buck, he pulls all the way back, and drives himself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

And with that, you become a part of his soul, and his yours. His chest swells with the fiercest possessiveness and the greatest honour all at once, despite knowing that the circumstances that brought you together will inevitably tear you asunder at the break of dawn.

‘Marcus!’ you choke on a sob, throwing your head back, your walls clutching his cock in a merciless grip.

‘There she is,’ he grunts, mouth scraping the shell of your ear. ‘Say my name like that.’

And you do, over and over again, as he fucks into you. His pants land harshly in the crook of your neck with every thrust, hands greedily squeezing all the skin he can find - the curve of your ass, the dimple in your waist, your thigh to hitch it over his hip.

Looking down at you, eyes drunk and unfocused as you stare back at him, each squeeze of your wet cunt around him, every breath from your lips feels sacred.

He is seized by a sudden need to know. ‘How does it feel?’

Your eyes soften, and he shudders when you cup the side of his face to bring his nose to yours. ‘Divine.’

Marcus loses himself in you, in the wet squelch of your cunt around his length, the way your tightness takes every thrust. Words of praise that he doesn’t even hear tumble from his lips and onto every inch of skin he can reach as you cling to him, scraping your nails down his back and digging into the meat of his ass.

Pitching forward to press a hard kiss to you, he says, ‘I want you to fall apart for me again.’

‘Please, Marcus, please.’

Pushing himself up to his knees, still buried deep inside you, he spreads your thighs obscenely wide over his hips, and he moans at the sight of your cunt so full of him. With hooded eyes, he sucks on two of his thick fingers and brings them between your legs, carefully drawing circles on your clit, knowing that you are already sensitive from cumming twice for him before.

Your face twists in agony as he builds you towards another climax, patiently weaving the web of pleasure that wounds you tighter and tighter until your spine feels like it will snap in two. ‘Marcus, oh - don’t stop, don’t stop, oh gods -’

He bares his teeth as he feels you start to clench around him. ‘That’s it, that’s it. Cum on my cock, let me feel you, give it to me.’ 

Your peak crashes into you relentlessly, and as you are swept away, you can only wail and thrash, while Marcus curses and stutters unintelligibly above you as he spins out of control.

He had every intention to pull out, but it is as if some higher power is determined to foil his plans. With a guttural roar, his hips snap flush against yours, big palms grasp you so hard by the waist that you squeal, and he spills into you in hot gushes, once - twice - and again until he is spent.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He doesn’t know if he said that aloud or if it was a trick of the mind. All he knows is that he eventually collapses bonelessly onto you, skin fused together with sweat and cum as your breaths become one in the crisp night air.

It is him who breaks the stillness, his old bones creaking when he stirs to relieve an ache in his back. His softened cock slides out of you, prompting you to whine in protest. He grunts when he looks down to see his cum dribble out of your cunt, leaving a pearly trail on the inside of your thighs.

When he meets your eyes, there is no awkwardness in the silence. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to spill my seed inside you. That was reckless.’

Your heart skips a beat at his admission, and you can’t hide the pride in your voice. ‘Do I make you reckless, general?’

He tries and fails to be stern in his answer, the tenderness with which he brushes his nose on your cheek giving him away. ‘I know better than to encourage your insolence with an answer.’

You are far from discouraged though, quite the opposite. Knowing you have this man - who commands armies of thousands - at your mercy is a siren’s call.

Peering at him from under your eyelashes, you curl one leg around his waist. ‘Do you want to be reckless again?’

He huffs, but a smile breaks through. ‘Have you ever been told that you are a cocktease?’

You hum teasingly. ‘I have never heard that word before, but I like it.’

‘You do?’ he breathes against your lips. ‘You like being my cocktease?’

‘Yours, general.’

Marcus is astounded when he feels himself harden again, and he moans as you press open-mouthed kisses down his neck. ‘What spell have you cast on this old man, my little cocktease?’

You grin, letting him ease you onto your back so he can settle between your thighs again. ‘The kind that lasts until dawn.’

Eventually, morning must break, sure as the moon turns and the sun rises. In the golden rays of day, you will wed his son in ironic, virginal white, showered in rose petals. He will look on from the side in his finest ceremonial robes of red, as you walk away from him and into your new life as someone else’s wife.

But in the velvety folds of this night and many more to come, safely ensconced in the deepest corners of his memories, in lands far away, in war and in peace, there he keeps you - where you are not.

More notes: Thank you for reading! As usual, comments/reblogs/asks would be very much appreciated 🥰 I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I loved writing it!

[mollysunder]

All the concept art of young Silco really drives home how thoroughly Vander destroyed him. It's like night and day where young Silco is relaxed, healthy, handsome, and genuinely happy, older Silco is rigid, guarded, scarred, and his condition is actively deteriorating. Even though Vander failed to drown Silco, he really did kill him in every way that mattered.

It's even worse when you think about Silco and Vander through a shipping lens as the concept art and the peacetime au does. When you do, you see Vander committed a horrific act of violence on his partner, and the community took Vander's side years after the fact.

[h-i-raeth]

Files For This Week:

The Sum Of Our Parts (AFTG, Andriel, Unwind AU, Ch 1 - 7 on AO3 here)

Time And Hearts Will Wear Us Thin (hanahaki deconstrucion fic) (Stranger things, queerplatonic Stobin with several side ships, Ch 1-5 on AO3 here)

The Shadow Of Dust(Disconnected Scenes) (Stranger Things, His Dark Materials AU, unpublished + looking destined to be Long. )

For There’s No Guarantee That We’ll Ever Come Home (Stranger Things, Barb survives the demogorgon but is stuck in the upside down until Steve, Eddie, and Robin find themselves trapped there at the end of season 4)

No Easy Peacetime Girl Here To Be Found (Stranger things, Barb is assumed dead until El rejoins the Hawkins Crew in S2, heavy canon divergence spiraling from pre-S3)

Snippet (From Time and Hearts)

“Did I do something to offend Robin?”

“Huh?”

Steve turns his gaze away from Max. Dustin and Lucas are on the couch, where they’ve been bullied into sleeping, but they’d agreed to take shifts watching Max, and Steve can’t sleep right now anyway. 

It’s good to have Lucas back. It makes his headcount more complete, and asshole jocks are something Steve can do something about, if it comes to that. But now Max is marked for death.

Or, she already was, he guesses, but now they know it, and time is running out.

And there’s nothing that Steve can do about that.

“Robin. What’s her issue?” It’s Nancy. Sharing her bedroom with Robin must not have gone quite as smoothly as Steve had hoped. Or maybe Nancy was referring to something that had happened earlier. “I thought there’d be some tension since she’s your new girlfriend, but--”

“Robin’s not my girlfriend.”

“What?”

“We’re just friends. Platonic, with a capital P.”

“Does she know that?”

“Obviously.” And however Robin expressed her defensiveness of Steve, he doubts she’d claimed otherwise.

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (if you want folks to find you to send asks) or new post w/ rules attached (if you want to start your own chain), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, let me know!

Friends @fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike @obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979 @eriquin | Requests @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes @not-orpheus @1attheedge @preetsramblings @whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @sapphireraeburn @skyderman

[the-elusive-soleil]

My new favorite Halenthir idea:

Haleth does battle, meets Caranthir, feels some feelings, heads west per canon and eventually reaches Brethil...and becomes acquainted with Finrod Nom Felagund as he tries to talk his kinsman into letting the Haladin settle in the area.

At some point, Haleth and Finrod are talking and he compliments her on her mastery of elvish languages, and she's like "oh yeah, the lord of Thargelion and his people taught us". (Note: this is not the AU where Caranthir only teaches them Quenya.) And Finrod's like, "hey, that's my annoying grumpy cousin!"

And they chat about Caranthir a bit, because Haleth also thinks Caranthir is annoying and grumpy and is willing to joke back and forth with Finrod on the subject, but she's not willing to go along with it once she feels that Caranthir is being insulted/mocked. And somewhere along the line Finrod clocks that "oh, there's something going on here".

Which is confirmed when, at one point, she mentions that Caranthir wanted her to stay and as good as proposed marriage.

She's about to reel off her usual list of rationalizations for why she couldn't possibly have, but Finrod gets there first with "oh, but of course it was for the best in the end that you left him, elves and Men are just too [dramatic gesture] metaphysically different to ever be together, it's always destined to end in tragedy", and basically tries to Athrabeth her.

Except that Haleth doesn't particularly care to be Athrabethed. Like, yes, she made the choice to do what needed to be done for her people instead of what she maybekindasorta wanted, but that was her choice. She's not really into this smarmy know-it-all elf patiently explaining to her like she's a child that she can't have Caranthir because ~*Fate*~ said so.

And, well, her people have a safe home now. Her sister-in-law will make a good enough peacetime leader until her nephew is grown up.

So she gathers the Haladin, explains what she's going to do. Most of them, naturally, opt to stay in Brethil, but a few adventurous or Thingol-averse sorts join her on the trip she ends up making back to Thargelion.

Where she marches up to Caranthir and essentially says, "I'm going to marry you to spite your irritating blond cousin."

Which is the best reason Caranthir has ever heard of for doing anything.

(They're married for like seventy years and ridiculously happy and in this one, Caranthir's brothers find out fairly early on because he won't stop sending smug letters to Finrod every year with updates on his marriage to his amazing adaneth wife and sketched peredhel baby pictures and so forth.)

[scho17]

@hibiscusseaart

Ren Nohara

Ren and Kks doodles + me yapping ab this AU bc the brain rot has me in a chokehold

close ups so yall dont have to zoom in

I JUST REALIZED THIS WOULD MEAN THAT NARUTO IS TECHNICALLY ALSO THE HATAKE CLAN HEIR URAGHHHH

I NEED TO DRAW HIM WITH ALL THE NINKEN SO SO BADDDDDD

KAKASHI SHARING CLAN LORE BC HE HAS PACK TO CARRY ON HIS CLANS HISTORY AND TRADITIONS BC IT ISN'T JUST HIM ANYMORE SAVE ME SAVE ME

Hatake 'the line ends with me' Kakashi BUT NOT ANYMORE BABY HELL YEAH!! having a spouse and child will do that to you

Now does he really gaf ab tradition? Honestly, probably not but the idea of him not being alone in terms of family/clan is what he deserves (along with a lot of therapy).

HE MAY STILL BE MENTALLY ILL BUT NOT AS BADLY AS THE FIRST TIME AROUND 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Also, the consequences of Naruto having two parents who are both some of the most elite shinobi in Konoha is probably one of the best 'fuck off' deterrents he could have in terms of curbing harassment over his being the nine-tails container.

ALSO ALSO, "I'm gonna be Hokage!" oh and he's wearing those little blue goggles and carrying around the weight of a dead boy's dream without really knowing just how heavy that burden is but still carrying it all the same in the way only optimistic children can. Oh bitch I'm throwing up everywhere. Like yes he's going to bring peace to the shinobi world but he is also giving both his dad's the worst type of heart ache. Seeing doubles because he's so much like Obito but blonde and four times as stubborn.

kkrn trying so hard not to see ghosts in their kid but he's literally a mash up of Minato, Kushina, and Obito. Minato's kindness, Kushina's vitality, and Obito's pure will to be good.

Not saying that ghosts are all they see cause it's very much not. Naruto is still Naruto but sometimes there's that outline of an old memory that just doesn't fade. A little like deja vu I guess. Kakashi and Ren are so glad it's peacetime because even the thought of dandelion blonde beneath a too-big boulder makes breathing that much harder.

I imagine he gets trained an insane amount because both Kakashi and Ren want him to be able to defend himself. Even while it's peacetime, they're shinobi, there's always a risk. So long as Naruto is on active duty he'll always be in danger. With both of his guardians growing up/serving in the third war when they were barely older than Naruto it's practically a given.

Not that I think Naruto would complain about being able to learn jutsu/shinobi skills. He'd probably be stoked about it until he has to spend like four hours straight throwing shuriken and reading survival guides about edible plants. He complains about it. Loudly. mb lil bro half of ninja training is literally just ingraining reflexes and learning the land.

mmm academy-era Naruto going to the memorial stone and ranting about his day to it in the way he's seen both Ren and Kakashi do in the past. That's so cute and sad like "and then Shikamaru slept the whole time but it was supposed to be a GROUP project! Can you believe that!" and Obito is in the bushes nodding his head along like the good uncle he is. (He literally tried to murder Naruto when he was less than an hour old.)

Naruto just talks and talks and talks. About everything and nothing and its probably like the least depressing one-sided conversation Obito has ever heard in front of his grave (looking at you Kakashi, Ren).

I imagine that Naruto kind've treats the stone/Obito's memory fondly. Both Ren and Kakashi talk about him in warm tones and with growing up hearing stories of him it's hard not to feel like he knows him. He's not there, obviously, but if Naruto closes his eyes and imagines that scowling boy in his parent's team photo while he talks it almost feels real. (Honey, you've got a big storm coming.)

To their family, Obito is forever thirteen. He's passionate and has a short fuse. He loves sweets and has eyes and hair darker than the night, he's a sucker for a sob story and helps old ladies with their groceries. Naruto finds it hard not to see a friend in a ghost he's never met.

AA and then post Uchiha Massacre, Naruto just stares at the stone and wonders that if Obito were still here would he be gone too? Man I need to see what's going on in Obito's head during that.

On an unrelated note i wonder where the fuck Jiraiya is in all this. Bro is just out and about doing fuck all as two fourteen year olds take care of his godson and he's running from responsibility😭 i bet he sends guilt money. Ren literally doesn't give a single shit because even if Jiraiya did try for custody he would literally be getting his hands chopped off. No way in hell is Ren letting a pervert like that raise a kid that's a recipe for disaster. The money is nice but Ren could not give less of a fuck ab that mans guilt. Like "oh, you feel bad for not owning up to your God Father title that Minato, my late sensei, entrusted to you? Good."

I need to see Ren and Genma + Anko and Kurenai friendship. They would be a horrible terrible no good amazing friend group. Terrifying when together. Four horsemen of the apocalypse when they have an idea and put their mind to it.

Anyway, what are our opinions on ANBU Ren and Ren meeting 'Sukea' bc that all i've been able to think ab today. Okay, I'm done yapping thanks for listening.

[mychlapci]

Broody Carriers!! There's this fic on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/58022971#main (I'm on mobile so I'm not sure it'll work, it's called Brooding Brain and is a Jazz/Prowl fic.) and it scratches my brain so good. Just what I needed to add to my personal headcanons regarding carriers.

Personally, I prefer mechs laying eggs over live birth. Makes more sense in my brain and some species, like chickens, get broody when it's time to lay some eggs. Prefect to add to my egg-laying carriers. And because my favorite pairing is TFA Megop (as you might have noticed from some other asks you've gotten lately, I'm just going to refer to myself as Rozie Anon from now on) most of the word vomit I'm throwing at you is based on them.

So, Optimus is usually the one to get sparked, so I'm gonna focus on his brooding state. (Imagine this is some vague peacetime au and Megop is already established as conjunxes.)

At the beginning when he first gets sparked - once he's gotten over the shock and subsequent urge to murder his conjux - things are going pretty smoothly for the first trimester. His body is reconfiguring itself to better support the bitties and is putting on weight due to the cravings of various material. From hard metals like iron and titanium to soft, precious, metals like gold and silver. Energon prepared in different ways like extravagant, well-crafted and nutritious, 5-course meals or just the raw crystal to munch on. (I like to imagine he has a small hoard of various, common to hard-to-find, non-perishables. Gold and silver nuggets, coins, and chains, crystals either energon or otherwise, even shed armor pieces that would have normally been smelt down. It's like a little dragon hoard :3c)

His hips have widened with his growing belly and his thighs are thicker to accommodate for the shift in weight. He has the same pregnant thought process of "Oh Primus, I'm getting fat, I'm fat! My conjux is never going to want to touch me again!" Megatron has to reassure him that he's just a beautiful as before and honestly to him, he looks even more so, if that was even possible.

Second trimester comes around and Optimus is starting to get achy. He's starting to get more and more moody and, well, broody, as time goes on. He's crafted a wonderful little nest which Megatron pitched in for finding the right size frame, mattress, and buying a shit-ton of material for it. (He's a warlord, it's fine, he's got the funds to spare, anything for his wifey.) Optimus starts complaining his back and feet ache, his protoform has gotten more sensitive, and his titties are finally swelling. Megatron pulls out all the stops for him, back rubs and foot baths, massages (that often turn into back-blowing sex), milking his swollen titties, and just generally spoiling his wife rotten.

Optimus finds that it's getting harder and harder to concentrate, he's reluctant to leave the nest, and he starts getting more snippy and aggressive with anyone other than Megatron. He once snapped at Strika for something minor and then began apologizing profusely, only for her to laugh and say that she knew he didn't mean it, he's brooding and can't control himself. In fact she says Lugnut's brooding state was worse when they had their bitties. He's really more of a hissing kitten compared to Lugnut.

By the time he's in his third trimester and his due date is coming up, all his higher brain functions are shutting down quickly and his core temperature has risen. He rarely ever leaves the nest anymore and can really only get out one word answers for things like "fuel", "energon", "cuddles?", and "spark". The only time where Optimus is more or less cognizant at this point is when they're spark-merging. Spark-merging for a Carrier, especially with the sire of the sparklings, is one of the main ways to properly stabilize the sparks. It takes a lot of strain on the Carrier's spark to support the clutch (for Optimus, a clutch of five), and sharing sparks with the sire or another mech with a close relationship helps lift that stress. It's also a good bonding experience for the bitties even before they hatch.

Optimus is still getting railed and milked even while broody though. With his higher brain functions shut down, all there is left is instinct, and he's become Horny As Fuck. Being horny and broody at the same time makes him insatiable. Megatron is the only one who can properly satisfy him because he's the only one who can get close enough to him without the threat of getting mauled. He was basically getting fucked 24/7 before, but now Megatron has to tie Optimus up and set a sex machine on him so he can take a break.

Finally, his bitties are ready to be laid. The eggs are bigger than expected so it's a tight squeeze and long labor. Megatron is by his side the whole time, coxxing Optimus through the whole process with Ratchet as the mid-wife (the only other person that was able to get close to him). And once the eggs are out, Optimus immediately sets upon laying on them, all his vents open to dump as much heat as possible on them. Eggs need to be kept at a very specific temperature, which is why incubators were created, but it would take a few months before Optimus would be coherent enough to allow them to be moved to an incubator.

After those months are up and Optimus has started coming back to his senses, Megatron is able to convince him to move the eggs to the incubator. And once they're safe and secure, it doesn't take long for Optimus to regain his composure. He's still a little moody and occasionally takes an egg or two out of the incubator to place in his pouch (I like to think they also have a marsupial-esque pouch to carry the bitties while their either still in their eggs or still small enough to fit, the pouch can get up to forging temperatures for eggs), but is otherwise back to normal.

Until Megatron knock him up again.

ohhh inch resting... broody carriers are certainly fun, and i draw extreme satisfaction from imagining a tuckered out Optimus all splayed out over his precious eggs... He's all hazy and hyper-protective of his clutch, not even Megatron could tear him away from them. It's best to leave the happy little carrier alone...

[godlygivenanxiety]

did you see that picture in the arcane artbook of peacetime au jinx and silco interacting! we’ve been given a scrap of content

you mean the picture of silco, powder and vander????? YEAH I SAW!!!! she's being silly and he totally knows it and doesn't mind 😭😭😭😭 you bet ur ass she plays harmless pranks on him all the time and he just pretends to be annoyed bc she can't see in his face how whipped he is, everything she does is cute on some level to him 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[wlwanakin]

hi keaton! thoughts on anakin and obi-wan’s relationship if anakin left the order for padmé and the kids? the mess and fallout is so interesting to me and no one ever talks about it

i’ve been thinking abt this a LOT bc i chronically keep writing stuff where obi-wan and anakin don’t talk anymore lol and a falling out feels like such an inevitability with most “fix it” scenarios that people just straight up don’t consider?? and i do find that annoying. any scenario where anakin leaves the order for padmé (and the twins) would cause a rift (of varying size, depending on the circumstances) and i don’t think it’s an unfixable one but i do think that to get to that idealistic uncle obi-wan point everyone loves it’d take years and a lot of working through things and a lot of Talking About It, which obi-wan is generally not super fond of as he processes approximately one emotion a year, so it’d be a laborious process and he is not going to be attending the twins’ first birthday party.

throughout the war obi-wan is aware of anakin and padmé’s relationship and he’s fine letting them have it, and honestly i think that might make things worse if anakin found out bc it’s instance #2517485857 of obi-wan refusing to vocalize support for him, and also would not soften the general disapproval for anakin Choosing To Leave. and that is a bit explosive! as most things are with anakin really. bc obi-wan did let anakin have that but he is also extremely steadfast in his belief that anakin Needs the jedi, that they’re his family etc and obviously there’s the responsibility aspect of it all and i’m sure he’d make that known and that’s gotta be an infuriating thing to hear from someone you’ve always yearned for familial affection from but never gotten a sufficient amount of it from. and i do think anakin’s rots novel mindset of “my wife and kids are my family, not you guys” would cross over, along with the resentment buildup, and…well! they certainly wouldn’t be parting amicably.

i think the specifics of how long the fallout lasts, how severe it is etc really depends on the specifics of the scenario. like if we’re talking an au where the clone war is still raging there’s a much bigger sense of abandoning duty and i think it’s also harder to process the moral ills of your closely held religion when you’re smack in the middle of them and you kinda have to push all your growing disillusionment aside and keep clocking into The War every day and i think that might lead to a worse and longer-lasting relationship rift, just because too much shit is happening at once and no one has processed anything and why would they wanna process more things. a peacetime scenario would probably fare only slightly better, though i think how much better highly depends on how obvious the moral rot of the order becomes to obi-wan due to whatever circumstances led into ambiguous happy au, and frankly if he doesn’t let himself process his own disillusionment then anakin’s is going to continue to be incomprehensible and that disconnect will continue to make his perception be “you abandoned your religious moral obligation” which is not gonna fare well!! obviously!!! especially if obi-wan’s loyalty to the order remains to such a degree that he expects the twins to be brought to the temple.

in General i think anakin leaving would leave to an explosive fight where obi-wan tries to talk him out of it, and maybe they do stay in contact in whatever strained limited way they can or maybe they don’t but it can’t really be The Same. they do love each other and i do think that deep down they want each other in their lives and that is the main reason i don’t think a fallout between them would be permanent but like i said at the start it would be laborious to get to a point where they’re actually close again. they have to Communicate Their Feelings, they have to close decades old wounds, obi-wan has to admit his wrongs and express affection in a way that is actually remotely normal, anakin has to actually sit down and process things that happened to him, entire worldviews must come into question, like it’s not really gonna be fun for either of them (esp for obi-wan). and i really think this is the kind of thing that has to take years bc anakin needs time to heal from his Everything and obi-wan needs time to come to terms with the fact that hey maybe his worldview was not correct? maybe the order he gave his life to is not entirely noble? and neither of these things are things that come easy. and while those things are happening it’d probably be better for them to not talk bc any talking they do would probably be incredibly unkind lmao

[brotherwtf]

i love you so much for constantly giving us new buck + bucky content based on all our prompts <3 but i want to know what your own personal favourite clegan tropes/kinks/au ideas are! what would you like to see more of in clegan fics/fanart etc?

oh my gosh!! thank you so much!! I honestly love to write for y'all's prompts, but here's some of my favorite stuff I like to see!!

I LOVE Dom/sub dynamics between John and Gale (I'm privy to Dom Gale, but honestly if a dynamic is written well I'm eating it the fuck up)

absolutely going bonkers for praise (all that that entails), give me Gale calling John a good boy, give me John telling Gale he's going so well during sex, give it to me all of the time I fucking love it

love some feminization when it's done really well, have John call Gale his girl, a good girl, MAKE GALE WEAR SKIRTS OML, but also when they feminize John? yep yep but that big beefy man in a skirt

I love when they're so sweet with each other, domesticity and living together will make me weep every time :(( absolutely love when they call each other pet names and endearments (JOHN CALLING GALE DOLL? KILL ME)

for fics my favorite genres are post war, canon, and any au stuff. I love the "forbiddeness" of it all, love how they'll try to be with each other no matter how much society tries to force them apart

I personally love reading fics from John's perspective (maybe bcs me and him are both in love with Gale Cleven), but I just love to see big and loud John Egan fall for quiet and sassy Gale Cleven, one of my favorite things to read

I write a shit ton of aus, I think I have more aus than actual canon content on this blog, but my fave aus I've ever written are my wedding au, firefighter/detective au, and all of my modern au stuff hehe and honestly for fanart I'd love to see more au stuff! I feel like I haven't even scratched the surface on clegan fanartists bcs I don't see that many, if you draw fanart lmk!!

here's some of my personal favorite fics!! some have what I've listed above and honestly these fics changed my damn life

Close and Yet Closer - Anonymous

Tough and Sweet (Like You and Me) - @johnslittlespoon

Born To Ride - @bucking-mustangs-with-wings

my man, my doll - @stereobone

peacetime like a liminal space - mercess on AO3

thank you so much for this ask! it really let me reflect on what I'd like to see, I really appreciate it!! sending all of my love to you 💕💕

[the-fandom-menace-proships]

Peacetime au where Powder is dancing in front of the juke box to the same song her mother danced to and Silco's just smitten all over her across the bar.

[h-i-raeth]

I'm a sucker for people getting to live and how the narrative resolves around that. Could I get Barb Lives Side A for WIP Wednesday?

From WIP Wednesday

There are a few things that might have tipped the scales of Barbara Holland’s death.

It might have been the radio, music playing low but audible from where Barb sits to dangle her feet into the pool. It might have been the pool’s heaters, disorienting the creature that hunted her.

But mostly, it was that Barb was a girl scout. She knows how to dress a wound. There’s blood in the water, and blood on the deck, but it’s not soaking through the bandage.

[scribbles97]

What's this? A new WIP?

The barest of bare bones idea that popped into my head this morning... we're ignoring the fact that I'm still meant to be finishing my other Lucy AU okay?

“I don’t like it, Luce, not one bit. You retired from the USAF years ago, you owe them nothing.”

“That was in peacetime, Jeff, when there wasn’t a rush to get their planes back in the air or risk being taken out by enemy fire.”

“They have other engineers.”

“None that can put an engine together in under half an hour.”

“Why, Luce? What could possibly make you want to go out there? The boy--”

“Are all safe on home territory, except for Scott.”