#they’re so expansive now we rarely have it :(

[spineless-lobster]

I fucking love flying fish they’re so cool, that girl can swim AND glide

[yuwuta]

CAN’T KEEP MY HANDS TO MYSELF (I MEAN I COULD, BUT WHY WOULD I WANT TO?) — JJK BOYS + TOO HOT

featuring. gojo, okkotsu, choso, itadori, fushiguro

content, warnings. playing too hot with the jjk boys—(too hot is a party game in which two people kiss while keeping their hands to themselves; the first person to touch their partner loses), making out, tongue sucking, uhhh slight predator/prey in yuuta’s oops, they’re a bunch of losers to be honest, there’s a word for the thing yuuji does but i don't know it lolol

word count. 1.6k

SATORU GOJO Satoru is prideful, but you also know that he is nothing if not handsy, borderline clingy on his worst days. The concept of personal space is foreign to him, he’s rarely not touching you when you’re in his proximity, and when you aren’t, he closes that gap—so you’re confident that he’ll lose this game. 

And he does. It takes ninety-two seconds for Satoru to put his hands on you; his palms cupping your cheeks, forcing your jaw open for him to lick at your tongue. You yelp in surprise, try to take in your victory, taunt that you’ve won, but Satoru’s playing an entirely different game now. “I know, I lost,” he pushes his thumbs at the corners of your mouth, parting your lips and staring at your open mouth. Briefly, his eyes flicker to yours, drinks in your pliant expression, the soft touch of your fingers around his wrists, the feel of your body sinking below him, and he smiles, “But I want something else right now. Indulge me?” 

You tap at his right wrist and he moves his thumbs away from your lips, stroking against the soft skin of your cheeks instead so you can speak, “You lost, you’re not supposed to make demands.” 

“Take pity on a rookie like me, won’t you?” Satoru hums, tilting his head to kiss your cheek, then closer, just below your bottom lip, “Please, sweets?” 

“Depends on what you want,” you pout, but your words are strained against Satoru’s kisses. He grins, guiding a thumb back to your lips, this time pressing past the barrier of your lips until they’re wrapped around his digit, smile turning cheshire when he feels you sucking, “I have a different game we can play instead.” 

YUUTA OKKOTSU “Ah, ah—” you pull away from Yuuta, much to his dismay, pulling the hem of your shirt from his grasp, “That counts as touching. You’re not supposed to touch, Yuuta.” 

He’s looking at you intensely, gaze bordering on predatory, slow blinking with blown-out pupils. He nods shallowly, moving his hand from where it was to your side, palm pressing into the couch next to your thigh; it lets him that much closer to you, the tip of his nose grazing yours, you can feel his laborious breaths tickle your lips. Yuuta tilts his head ever so slightly and pauses, blinks, waits—for you to make a sound, for you to tell him no again, for you to run. 

You don’t. He shifts his weight and positions his other hand to rest at your side, caging you between his arms, slotting you underneath his gaze. You curl underneath him, backing up until you’re pressed against the arm of the couch, until Yuuta’s crawled to slot his knee between your legs. You crane your neck away, but you’re still within his reach, and now you’ve presented the perfect canvas for him. He dips his head into your collarbone, leaves a deceptively soft kiss there before nosing up the expanse of your exposed skin and sinking his teeth into your neck. 

Yuuta feels you tense underneath him, body going rigid in a moment of surprise, and then slacking with an exhaled moan, like a bitten bunny. Reflexively, your hands find purchase in his hair, and Yuuta nips over the tender skin, and smiles, “Caught you.” 

CHOSO KAMO “You’re nervous,” you conclude, pulling away from the shallow kiss Choso gave you. 

Beside you, he’s flushed, a hand coming up to reach at the back of his neck as he replies, “I don’t know why,” he exhales, “It’s just... weird to not touch you. I have to think about not touching you, and that means I have to think, which tends to make me, you know... nervous.” 

You giggle, leaning in closer to him, careful not to touch; careful to keep your hips raised above his, even as you straddle him, keep your arms and hands at your sides even though the instinct is to wrap them around Choso’s neck. He doesn’t pull back, even though he should; you like that he doesn’t. “You don’t like to think about me?” 

“No—no! Not like that,” he’s too loud for the proximity, sighing in embarrassment shortly after; you’re too close, way too close, and he’s not supposed to touch, but he wants to—Choso doesn’t like this feeling of restraint, of constriction; it’s too close to when he had a hopeless crush on you, to when he was pining and praying you’d spare him the time of day. Isn’t the point of dating that he gets to have you? To touch you, to hold you—to not hold back? 

“Because I like to think about you,” you admit, leaning in even closer, pressing a kiss to the base of Choso’s neck—and he whines, “I think about you a lot, Choso.” 

The sound of his name from your lips is sweet torture, as is the way you trail your kisses up his neck, up his jaw, behind his ear. Choso’s certain he’s going to rip a hole in his jeans with how taut he’s pulling them between his fists. This isn’t fair—nothing about this is fair. “I don’t want to play anymore,” Choso whines, eyes screwing shut when you suck a hickey onto his collar.

“But we’ve only just started,” you giggle against his skin, “And nobody’s won yet.”

Choso bites his lips, his knuckles are sore, his resolve is weak, and you smell good, you feel good—and he can’t do this. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care; he didn’t make you yours to try and stay away from you. So, Choso gives in, unwinds his fists, places one hand on your waist, and the other against your back, pulling you flush against him, and burying his face in your neck. 

“There, I lose,” he grumbles, not caring for your laughter reverberating against his chest, “Now I can touch you as much as I want.” 

YUUJI ITADORI “Th—this isn’t fair,” you tremble, attempting to move away from his kisses, but you’re caged in between Yuuji and the wall. There’s nowhere for you to run, nothing for you to grab purchase onto but Yuuji—nothing to do but lose. 

“I didn’t hear any rules against this,” he feigns innocence, suckling at your skin, “Think it’s fair game.”

You close your eyes, trying to focus on something, anything else, but it’s hard when all you can see, all you can feel is Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji. Kissing up your neck, at your cheek, then your lips, and you find yourself sighing into his touch, balling your hands into fists to avoid the temptation of cupping his face. 

Yuuji moans when he feels your tongue against his, kisses you back fervently, swirling his tongue across yours and into the cavity of your mouth. He inhales all your breaths, makes it impossible for you to do anything but succumb to his kiss, to swallow his moans, to take everything he gives you. You didn’t expect Yuuji to have this much resolve—you’d anticipated a short, cute round of a silly party game, but you should have known better; Yuuji has never lost a challenge before, and you were naive, at best, to think otherwise.

Predictably, it’s you that lets go first, whining when Yuuji sucks on your tongue, hands trembling and reaching to hold him, to cling to him as some kind of recourse, unable to squirm or move anywhere else. That doesn’t stop him—Yuuji only sucks harder, only forces more moans out of you until you’re digging your nails into his shoulders and bending your knees, weak. 

Then he pulls back, leaving you breathless, tilting his head up to kiss your forehead and flashing you a grin that’s equal parts boyish and wicked with intent, “I win.” 

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO It’s the kind of thing he usually turns down; cliché, fruitless, and unnecessarily time-consuming; but it’s you, so he makes the exception. You’re too eager, positioning yourself to sit on your hands, your legs folded under your knees, peering up at him from where he’s sat slack against the couch, and he thinks you look awful cute on your knees for him.

“Okay, ready?” you smile, “Three, two—” but Megumi already knows his plan, already has his lips on yours before you can say “one,” drinking in your surprised yelp and greedily licking against your tongue when you part your lips to kiss him back. He turns his body towards you slightly, taking advantage of his height and position to bully you into chasing him upwards, to push his tongue into your mouth with ease. 

He indulges in the back and forth for a while, sighs into your kisses, groans when you nip at him. It’s when you pull away, that Megumi decides he’s played along long enough; when he can see your chest swell with heaving breaths, see your hands in your lap, neck craned and spit-slick lips that drive him to reach for you. He’s less than gentle, hands finding purchase on your hips, and forcefully pulling you into his lap, ignoring your yelping, choosing to turn them into moans when he sinks his teeth into your neck. Megumi licks, and bites, and bites, and bites, until he’s certain he’s left a mark, until he feels your hands tugging at his hair and giving him permission to splay his palms against your back and buck you forward.  

“I lose,” he hums, soothing over raw bitten skin with open-mouthed kisses, “So, how do you wanna punish me?”

[prentissluvr]

motel shower, 12:00 a.m. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, hurt/comfort, non-sexual nudity, mention of death, feelings of guilt, 629 words. requested ! for my 800 followers event [ open ] .

summary : you help sam shower after he has one of his visions.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

sam’s eyes are closed against the warm water of the shower. or maybe they’re closed against the pounding headache that won’t go away. there’s a slight crease between his brows that make you think it’s mostly the latter. you hate to see him in pain like this, so disoriented and trying not to make his distress apparent to anyone else.

but you’re glad that he’s letting you do this for him. your fingers card through his soaked hair as you massage shampoo into his scalp. you don’t have to worry about soap getting in his eyes with them shut tight like this. gently, you guide him back under the steady stream of water to wash out the shampoo. with soft hands, you wipe any suds away from his eyes, some stuck on his brows and cheeks. 

at first, sam had protested about it all. he begged to leave now, to save the person he saw dying in his mind. one hand on his forehead and the other clutching your jacket, he said, “we have to go now.” and in turn, you begged to just get him washed up, under the guise that the smell of the dirt and blood from the just finished hunt would bother you in the cramped car. you told him that you had a headache coming on.

that was all made up, of course. you had just wanted to see him slightly more comfortable. and until he could sort out the flashes of nightmarish scenes that he saw, you didn’t have anything to go off to find this person anyway.

so it’s such a relief to have him here, soaking up the heat of the water and the softness of your hands as you clean him off. and yet, even then, his tired passivity worries you. it’s so rare that he gives up control like this, even for something so trivial. you suppose that to him, it’s not so trivial at all. in a way, you’re honored and assured that he’s willing to give up his control to you. that he feels safe enough to strip his clothes and close his eyes and let you take care of something that he can do on his own.

the motel bathroom is mostly dark, the door cracked open to let the light of the lamp in the main room in. you don’t want his headache to get any worse.

you massage a bit of conditioner into his hair, knowing that he secretly likes to take care of that aspect of his appearance. he doesn’t care about much else, but you know he uses conditioner while his brother most likely doesn’t bother.

then you take a soapy washcloth to the expanse of his skin, littered with both old scars and fresh scrapes from earlier in the day. his shoulders sag a bit when you smooth over them, pressing down gently to try and pull out some of the tension. his muscles are still tense, but he relaxes a bit for you. you’re slow about it. extra soft and careful about it.

sam relents to your touch. he feels guilty for it. he feels guilty for a lot. for the people he can’t save, the ones in his head and the ones in his heart. he feels guilty for making you care for him like this, though you’re the one who asked to do it. he feels guilty because he knows you’re cold; you’ve never been good at sharing the hot water of a shower.

but he still relents to your touch. to your love. because though he feels guilty about it, he feels loved because of it too. he feels safe and comforted and like he might not be so guilty if you tell him not to be.

[brandwhorestarscream]

part 4? can we get a part 4? holy fuck

i love these stupid pregnant robots . what da hell

big dad alpha trion also just Y_Y is so good.... what an utter papa bear

Here we go anon, as requested! I love stupid pregnant robots too uwu

Previous parts are here: part 1, part 2, part 3

And yes I agree, Alpha Trion is such a big cuddly papa bear 🥺 I'm so glad you see my vision. Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy part 4.

...

“You…” he takes a shaky invent. “Y-You really… wouldn’t mind?” Orion nods in affirmation, and Dee gives his first, weak little smile in days. “Ok,” it comes out in a whispered rush. “Alright… y-yeah, ok… let’s- l-let’s do it.”

It’s a small comfort that the cave is spacious, with many side caverns and walls to duck behind for privacy. Dee can’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing, of being on display. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him, nor does he want to see anyone else… no one but Orion.

They’re both nervous, and unsure of what to do. They sit side by side in a cozy, private little alcove away from the others, side by side with shoulders pressed together and EM fields mingling gently.

Beside him, Orion is warm. An ever comforting presence.

D-16 swallows, and inches his fingers over toward Pax. Their digits brush and he flinches minutely but Orion isn’t bothered. He turns his servo over, pressing the back of his digits into the dirt, leaving his palm open and waiting. Dee slowly, carefully, sliding his hand into his, fingers curling together to hold each other gently.

“...I’m scared.” he admits in a tiny, croaking voice, and Orion squeezes his hand.

“I know,” he leans over to lay his helm on the silver mech’s shoulder. “I am too.”

“How…” Dee shifts his weight. “How do we… I mean-” he covers his face, embarrassed. “H-How should we… start…?”

This is unexplored territory for both of them. They’d never interfaced with anyone properly. They’d never been taught how. And after everything with Sentinel, well… they’re both worried.

Orion looks up at him, optics twinkling. He offers a shaky smile. “Well, uh… i-in the books, we- we would, um-!” he lets out a sudden, anxious sound almost like a breathless laugh. Heat gushes out of his vents and he startles, beginning to stammer. “I- I mean, it’s just- you know, in- in the books we’d- ah, s-sorry, I- hehe…!”

It’s rare to see Orion so flustered he can’t get his words out, and Dee’s spark warms in his chassis.

“In the books, we‘d…?” he jostles his shoulder as Orion’s face visibly discolors in flushed embarrassment. “What? We’d… kiss each other?”

“Y- Yeah!” his best friend’s optics are darting around, looking at anything but him. “That. Can I…? I mean, i-if you’re ok with it?”

When Dee nods, Orion sits up, wringing his servos nervously before leaning forward, reaching out to him. His servo delicately cups one silver cheek, thumb brushing over the soft, beautiful expanse of his face, and his optics soften. A gooey smile spreads on his face, and Dee squirms as his sparkpulse quickens. Orion’s never… looked at him quite like that before. “I’m,” Orion looks just as nervous as he feels. “G-Gonna… kiss you, now. Ok?”

Again, Dee nods, wholly trusting, and lets his optics fall closed, face slack and lips slightly parting in preparation.

Their first kiss is soft, and clumsy, and a bubbling, flying euphoria erupts in his chest with such intensity he actually reels back. D-16’s optics fly open wide when Orion’s mouth connects with his, and it’s every bit as wonderful and magical as he always dreamt it would be. Jazz had once described it as having a nest of scraplets in your tummy, which sounded wholly unenjoyable, but now that he’s living it? He feels like he’s floating: it’s like gravity has released it’s chains on him and he’s free of the shackles. The joy and contentment, the love, that springs forth in his core at that one, simple act is indescribable.

They separate and Orion’s optics flutter: he feels it too, the rising excitement, the rush of emotion; his face splits into a beaming smile and he starts giggling, before grabbing Dee’s face in both hands and kissing him again. Not forceful, just excited, and Dee can feel the way delighted laughter makes his frame tremble. Despite himself, he starts laughing too, and kisses him back, bringing his arms up to clumsily wrap around his neck and pull him closer.

They tumble into the dirt together, giggling and holding onto each other. They're clumsy and inexperienced, and sometimes the kisses are even downright sloppy, but they're both happier than they've been in awhile just to be there with each other. Hands running over each other's bodies, stroking at seams and shyly looking for sensitive spots, they work at steadily building charge as one.

It's not long before Dee is squirming: his insides feel warm and gooey, and there's a throbbing, hungry sensation deep down in his core. His valve feels wet and slippery, his spike feels tight inside it's housing, and they're both pulsing with the desire to be touched.

His interface panel retracts with a soft click, and Orion kisses his neck. “...are you nervous?” The blue mech asks, and D-16 can feel the warm gush of air from his vents.

“...yeah,” he shivers and curls closer to Orion, snaking one leg between his. “But… I wanna do this. I,” he swallows. “I'm ready.”

A blue servo gently cups his face, and Orion gives him the gentlest, softest kiss that makes his spark stutter in his chassis. A punch of heat rolls into his belly, and D-16 whimpers, needy.

With great care, Orion sits up as Dee lays out on his back. He slides his hands up thick silver thighs, intently watching his friend’s face for any sign of discomfort. There is none, and rather, he tries to wiggle closer. Orion gently parts his thighs, maneuvering himself between them, taking a moment to admire D-16’s bared array. He's beautiful, chubby spike bobbing in the air with every shallow inhale and exhale, pulsing softly with yellow biolights, a drop of pearlescent, glowing fluid gathering at the tip and growing larger with each breath. His valve is even cuter, lips round and plush to protect his most intimate area, already visibly wet, pink lubrication collecting like dewdrops all along the rim. He trembles under Orion's gaze, cheeks discolored as he mumbles, “Hey, c-c'mon, don't stare…”

“Sorry-” Orion sounds breathless, struggling to pull his optics away to look up at his face. “I'm sorry, you're just-” his glossa darts out to moisten his derma. “P-Pretty.”

Dee's vocalizer makes an embarrassed squeaking noise, and he covers his face, a bright but undeniably flustered smile spreading on his face. He giggles behind his fingers, and Orion can't help but snicker along with him, leaning down to kiss his forehelm. Pulling back, he rubs his thighs a few more times before delicately moving his servos toward the bared interface array. His fingers just barely brush the other mech's spike, and D-16 gasps, hips jumping. Fluid dribbles down his spike, and his biolights flash fever bright.

“Sorry-!” He's biting one finger, looking down at himself with wide optics. His fans have kicked on full blast. “S- Sensitive!”

Orion smiles, and lowers himself down, sliding into the dirt so he's laying on his belly between his legs. He's never done this before–except for with Sentinel, and that did not count–but he'd read plenty of explicit novels, and in those, starting off with oral was always a safe option. He wraps both servos around Dee's spike, exhaling a breath over it and smiling at the way his hips jerk again. He kisses the tip of his spike then sucks it into his mouth: above him, D-16 helm drops back and he moans up the ceiling above. He tastes salty, and sweet, and Orion hums to himself as he works it to the back of his mouth, glossa swirling around the length to wet it and aid the slide. Dee swiftly unravels, every vent paired with a wheezy moan as Orion works him over.

When the head of his spike bumps the back of his mouth, Orion pulls back, till only the tip is between his lips. He suckles at it, swirling his glossa around the tip, before sucking it back down in. Dee thrashes, hips stuttering and trying to roll into the sensation: Orion sets a pace as well as he can, bobbing his helm up and down, sucking and licking like he's one of those cold, dissolvable treats Ratchet sometimes gives them when they inevitably overheat during the hot season.

“Pax, Pax!” D-16 is swiftly coming undone, servos clawing at the ground, vents fast and shallow as he tries to warn him, “I'm gonna- gonna-!”

He overloads with a wail of Orion's name, a warbling affair that tapers off into wordless moaning. His spike swells in Orion’s mouth and hot fluid gushes onto his tongue, smoky-sweet and nearly scalding. He chokes in surprise, a trickle of it splashing over his bottom lip, but he swiftly gulps the rest down, swallowing more on reflex than anything. It tastes good, he realizes, pulling back to let the spent spike ease out of his mouth. He licks his lips, wiping one hand over his chin to clean up the mess; his glossa is already halfway through licking up the transfluid on his fingers before he even realizes it. 

D-16 looks incredibly relaxed, splayed out on his back and twitching softly, mouth open and panting, optics flickering as he stares up at the ceiling.

“...was it good?” Orion asks hesitantly, hoping he did alright.

Dee responds with a noncommittal noise and a shaky thumbs up. Orion preens, feeling proud of himself. While his partner is still cycling his vents and coming down from the high, Orion sits up again. His interface retracts with an audible ‘schlkk!’ and D-16 twitches.

“Sorry-” Orion tries to stuff his spike back away, but it's uncooperative, straining and hard despite his forceful pushing. Dee’s dazed optics are fixed on him, blinking sleepily. “S-Sorry, it's ok, we can wait, w-we don't have to if you're not ready yet-”

One silver leg lifts and clumsily wraps around him, trying to pull him closer. “‘m ready,” he murmurs, sounding dazed as he reaches both arms out toward Orion. “Please, Pax… I'm ready.” The smile on his face is fragile, but so deep and genuine it makes Orion’s spark feel gooey. “I wanna… do it with you. Touch me… please?”

And there his spark goes, swelling with such tender, affectionate emotion it could only be love. He nods, throat suddenly feeling tight. “Kay- O-Ok!”

He inches closer, hands sliding over his thighs to grab Dee-16 by the hips, pulling him close. He can feel the heat radiating from between his partner's legs, and it makes his spike throb desperately. It's a bit awkward, trying to line up with his valve, and after two unsuccessful attempts he dips his helm, cheeks feeling hot, wrapping one servo around his spike and nearly yelping at the sensation. Primus, he's sensitive! He guides the tip of his spike to the lips of Dee’s valve, and just bumping against the warm, wet entrance has him clenching his denta and willing himself not to overload already.

Beneath him, Dee whimpers, and he catches a glance of his expression. His optics are wide and round, something frightened at the edge of his expression, as if bracing for impact, and Orion knows he's unwillingly thinking about Sentinel.

“...hey,” he uses his free hand to take one of Dee's, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. He pulls his hand up to kiss, nuzzling the back with his nose. “It's ok. It's just the two of us, he can't get you. It's just us.”

D-16 sobs, and Orion leans down to kiss his forehelm. Dee let's go of his hand, instead winding both arms around his neck. “I know,” his expression is watery. “Y-You're not him. You're not,” he presses his face into the underside of Orion’s neck. He takes several deep vents, then says, “...ok. I'm- I'm ready now. You can, um-” he squeaks in embarrassment, unable to voice their word. “G-Go ahead.”

Orion's spike breaches the rim of his valve, and the silver mech keens. Both legs tense on either side of his partner, and his arms tighten around him. Orion sinks in slowly, as slow as he possibly can, gently pushing his spike further and further in. There's little resistance or friction, but it's still an incredibly tight fit. Dee’s valve flutters around him, slippery and warm, and he bites his glossa. Don't cum yet, don't cum yet, don't cum yet-!

Beneath him, D-16 whimpers, and his lips begin pressing clumsy kisses to his neck. Over two sensitive neck cables, then his glossa ghosts over a very particular nerve cluster, and Orion breaks. Overload rockets through him like a surge of electricity and he crumples forward onto his partner, pressing him into the cave floor, spike twitching and suddenly letting off a burst of transfluid before he's even fully sheathed inside his valve. Orion moans and tries to stop it, but he's helpless, hips stuttering in mini thrusts as he spills his load.

“Pax-”

“I'msorry-” he lets out in a rush as he finishes, shame burning at his audials. “I'm so sorry, I- I didn't mean-”

Beneath him, D-16 snorts, to his dismay, then starts laughing. His EM field suddenly flares to life; where it had previously been tucked in and nervous, suddenly it's warm and relaxed and happy.

“Aww, Pax,” Dee gently lifts his helm, optics warm and smile loving, contrasted by Orion's embarrassed pout. All the previous tension has bled out of his frame, and he brings his servos down to gently cradle his partner's face. He kisses the tip of his nose. “S'ok. Really. Don't be upset!”

Orion's brow furrows, cheeks puffing out as he averts his optics. “S'not funny.”

“It's cute,” D-16 insist, before pulling his face close to kiss him. He feels better now, honestly, so much more comfortable. Orion has no experience, same as him. They're figuring it out together, they've not had a chance to build their skills. It's comforting, honestly, knowing that they're stumbling into uncharted territory together. It makes him feel safe. Like an equal. The kiss deepens after a moment, Dee's glossa rubbing at his bottom lip and into his mouth–only to recoil, sputtering. “Primus!” he coughs at Orion's confused look. “Is that what I taste like?!”

“Pfffft-!” That breaks Orion's self-conscious cloud, and suddenly he's laughing, too. “I mean… yeah?”

“Augh!” Dee shakes his helm, sticking his glossa out. “Gross!”

“I liked it.” an impish smirk spreads on Orion’s face, and he moves to kiss him again, but Dee blocks his mouth with one hand.

“No!” He yelps, snickering. “You are not kissing me like that, not til you wash your mouth out!”

“Fiiiine,” he pops an energon cube out of storage, chewing it as fast as he can to freshen his breath. “Better?”

Dee kisses him again, nodding. “Much.” He gently wiggles in place, and a half-moan tumbles out of his lips. Orion's spike is still buried deep inside him, still hard, still throbbing against sensitive nerve clusters. His valve tightens around him, trying to pull him in, and Orion whimpers.

D-16 reclines back against the floor, pulling Orion with him. Their hands entwine, lips tangling together. Their first time interfacing is clumsy, gentle, and rife with overwhelming love and trust. Embracing in the cavern, they make love to each other for the first time, EM fields blending as one and sparks singing in euphoria between them. Pleasure builds between them to a great, soaring crescendo, and they cling to each other, sobbing in ecstasy when imminent overload swallows them both.

D-16 clings to Orion in all aspects: chest to chest, mouth to mouth, fingers grasping tightly to him as his legs lock around his hips, keeping his spike buried deep in his valve. He feels overstimulated in the best way, electric pleasure thrumming through his whole body and he sobs in ecstasy through his first and second and third overload. He can feel Orion’s transfluid filling him up, siphoned into his gestation tank. The transfluid levels creep from red to yellow to green, and his middle begins to feel heavy and warm and full. He imagines the sparkling growing inside of him, body grown from the seeds of a mech he loves and adores so much. An adorable child with his and Orion's features alike, perhaps with his lover’s crooked smile or his little helm horns or the shape of his optics, and the thought is so enticing a fourth overload rolls through his body. All he can do is hang on and moan, trying not to drool.

By the time his gestation tank is topped up, they're both sweaty, sticky, and swollen: Orion collapses on top of him, vents heaving great clouds of steam as D-16 pants and gasps beneath him.

The blue mech rolls off and then, with a final heave of strength, switches their positions. Orion laying in the dirt with D-16 half on top of him. Gazing at each other, dazed, the tips of their noses touch. Orion cracks an exhausted, barely there smile, and Dee returns it, using his last bit of energy to move his head forward, pressing their forehelms together.

“I love you…”

The murmured declaration comes as they snuggle against each other, afterglow lulling them to recharge. It’s like being surrounded in the warm glow of a lantern, cuddled together like that: he’s never felt quite so warm or safe or loved, and laying his helm down on Orion’s chassis, he truly feels that everything will be alright. So long as they have each other, so long as he can bask in this connection forever, nothing could ever be unfixable or impossible. Orion’s arms come up to hold him, one servo bracing gently on his belly, and D-16 turns his helm to press a sleepy kiss against his chassis.

They’re going to be ok.

...

And that's a wrap on part 4! Sorry it took a bit longer than anticipated, I really wanted to nail these two in this scene. Awkward, sweet first-time sex gave me more trouble than I thought it would. I'm out of practice lmao.

Aaaaaanyways, I hope you enjoyed! Same thing as always, I'll get started on part 5 and post it once ya'll lmk you wanna see more. Beat the crap out of my ask box, do the rebloggy thing, comment, you know what to do!

[sammyluvr]

motel shower, 12:00 a.m. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, hurt/comfort, non-sexual nudity, mention of death, feelings of guilt, 629 words. requested ! for my 800 followers event [ closed ] .

summary : you help sam shower after he has one of his visions.

sam’s eyes are closed against the warm water of the shower. or maybe they’re closed against the pounding headache that won’t go away. there’s a slight crease between his brows that make you think it’s mostly the latter. you hate to see him in pain like this, so disoriented and trying not to make his distress apparent to anyone else.

but you’re glad that he’s letting you do this for him. your fingers card through his soaked hair as you massage shampoo into his scalp. you don’t have to worry about soap getting in his eyes with them shut tight like this. gently, you guide him back under the steady stream of water to wash out the shampoo. with soft hands, you wipe any suds away from his eyes, some stuck on his brows and cheeks. 

at first, sam had protested about it all. he begged to leave now, to save the person he saw dying in his mind. one hand on his forehead and the other clutching your jacket, he said, “we have to go now.” and in turn, you begged to just get him washed up, under the guise that the smell of the dirt and blood from the just finished hunt would bother you in the cramped car. you told him that you had a headache coming on.

that was all made up, of course. you had just wanted to see him slightly more comfortable. and until he could sort out the flashes of nightmarish scenes that he saw, you didn’t have anything to go off to find this person anyway.

so it’s such a relief to have him here, soaking up the heat of the water and the softness of your hands as you clean him off. and yet, even then, his tired passivity worries you. it’s so rare that he gives up control like this, even for something so trivial. you suppose that to him, it’s not so trivial at all. in a way, you’re honored and assured that he’s willing to give up his control to you. that he feels safe enough to strip his clothes and close his eyes and let you take care of something that he can do on his own.

the motel bathroom is mostly dark, the door cracked open to let the light of the lamp in the main room in. you don’t want his headache to get any worse.

you massage a bit of conditioner into his hair, knowing that he secretly likes to take care of that aspect of his appearance. he doesn’t care about much else, but you know he uses conditioner while his brother most likely doesn’t bother.

then you take a soapy washcloth to the expanse of his skin, littered with both old scars and fresh scrapes from earlier in the day. his shoulders sag a bit when you smooth over them, pressing down gently to try and pull out some of the tension. his muscles are still tense, but he relaxes a bit for you. you’re slow about it. extra soft and careful about it.

sam relents to your touch. he feels guilty for it. he feels guilty for a lot. for the people he can’t save, the ones in his head and the ones in his heart. he feels guilty for making you care for him like this, though you’re the one who asked to do it. he feels guilty because he knows you’re cold; you’ve never been good at sharing the hot water of a shower.

but he still relents to your touch. to your love. because though he feels guilty about it, he feels loved because of it too. he feels safe and comforted and like he might not be so guilty if you tell him not to be.

[onetoomanyyy]

my splatoon ocs :>

These four are my oldest characters that I still use and think about, even though they’re only like - 2.5 years old loll.. they’re not the most deep and nuanced characters around but they’re fun :)

Robyn, Nikki, Kori and Marin make up Team Robyn (named after its leader), your average run of the mill turf war team. 

Robyn (he/him) is the team’s carefree leader/founder who tries hard to be cool but rarely succeeds. He’s a little dumb, but we love him for it. He’s the only member who doesn’t tend to worry too much about things, but that also means he tends to brush off things that actually do need attention. He takes a lot of selfies. He mains Sploosh-O-Matic.

Nikki (she/her) is Robyn’s adopted younger sister who he escaped the underground with after the events of Octo Expansion. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention they’re octarians since these guys were created during Splatoon 2). Shes sweet and empathetic, but quite anxious and often worries about her place in the team. She prefers to keep her issues to herself so as to not bother other people. She often has her head in the clouds, daydreaming. She mains flingza roller.

Kori (she/her) is my favorite and it shows, as she has by far the most story to her. Shes snarky and sassy and often gets pretty aggresive during battles, but that passion is what makes her such a good asset to the team. She was actually on a different team, Team Cherry, before she met Robyn and Nikki, and needless to say that didn’t end so greatly and made her skeptical of Robyn at first. Originally she just offered to tutor him a bit, but of course she ended up joining in the end. Technically her headgear is the gas mask but I never draw her in it bc it’s hard to draw lol. She thinks S+ and X rankers are too pretentious, but she’s actually just salty that she can’t get out of S-. She mains .52 gal.

Marin (he/him) was the final member to be created and also the final member to join. He used to be on the same team that Kori was, being the second in command before Kori replaced him. This, combined with the fact that the inciting incident for the team breaking up was Kori leaving them, made their first few weeks of him being on the team a little rocky. They still have a bit of a friendly rivalry. Marin is often the most reasonable voice among them and is usually kinda grumpy. He’s always the main strategizer of the team, as the rest of them don’t really care about that kind of thing. He mains hydra splatling.

I have a lot of art of them but it’s all rlly old so this is all you get for now. I’ll probably make another post later explaining Team Cherry and what happened with that :] thx for reading !!

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

OLIVIA COOKE PHOTOGRAPHED BY EVELYN FREJA FOR LA TIMES.

RYAN CONDAL TALKING ABOUT ALICENT HIGHTOWER'S CHARACTER ARC IN S2.

Condal describes Alicent’s journey this season as “an ongoing expansion of the character,” although he admits the episodes “really put Alicent through her paces.”

That was something Cooke felt deeply.

OLIVIA COOKE TALKING ABOUT ALICENT HIGHTOWER IN S2.

“In this season, she’s so adrift,” Cooke says, joking that there are only so many miserable faces she can make.

“She’s losing her power. With Rhaenyra and Alicent, it’s like a butterfly effect, so as Rhaenyra is gaining power, the hourglass is turned over and the power is waning from Alicent, and her influence is waning as well. There’s an imaginary rope between [the two characters] that carries them throughout seasons.”

Cooke says Alicent “gets a massive dose of the reality” when her “psycho sons” take control of the realm.

On a more positive note, Alicent has the opportunity to explore her sexuality this season, coupling up with a character who will, for now, remain unnamed (let’s just say he matches her freak).

It’s a rare expression of freedom for a woman who has lacked agency, which Condal says has “greatly affected who her character is.”

“That was really important because you’ve not seen Alicent experience that in her adult life, and all of a sudden, she has all these teenage, passionate feelings toward someone,” Cooke says.

“I think that makes her feel insane.”

ABOUT FILMING 'HOUSE OF THE DRAGON' S2.

After seven months of production, which wrapped in September, Cooke was “absolutely knackered” — a polite British way of saying the experience had completely depleted her.

“Last season, Emma and I were only in four episodes each, so we’d walk in and be full of beans when everyone else was at death’s door. Then I think we both really felt the enormity of the schedule. And it’s so emotional.”

“Both of us are just either sobbing or screaming all the time. I don’t know if I smile in Season 2.”

Despite the exhaustion, Cooke loves playing Alicent.

She’s a character of “so many subterranean levels of repression and anger and despair and passion,” which is a huge gift.

Has compassion and empathy for her, and she understands why Alicent does manipulative, devious things.

“She’s smarter than all the men as well and she could rule and she’d be really f— good at it.”

“It’s so frustrating that she can’t believe she would be this amazing ruler because she’s so indoctrinated by the patriarchy and by her father.”

“She’s been molded to talk sweetly into the ears of these powerful men, and it’s such a disservice to who she is and what she’s capable of.”

ABOUT HER PERSONAL LIFE.

Before Season 1 premiered, Cooke was worried that her personal life might become too public for comfort.

“I just didn’t want my life to change. It’s such a big TV show, and I hadn’t ever done anything to this scale before. Or if I had, it was a film that comes out and then goes away and doesn’t live in the culture for years and years and years.”

So far, Cooke’s fears have gone mostly unfounded. She’s recognized, sure, but not in a way that disrupts her daily life.

And when it does, fans are generally nice about it, like recently when she was on the London Underground going home and a group of drunken girls started shouting “Alicent” in her direction.

“It’s actually been all right. I think you notice an uptick as the show is about to come out because they’re promoting it more.”

ABOUT ACTING.

She calls herself a “catastrophizer” and admits she can be hard on herself when reflecting on a performance.

ABOUT THEIR UPCOMING PROJECTS.

She wants to “embark on more of the unknown,” something the actor is aiming to do with her production company Chippy Tea, which she formed two years ago.

Her first production, a romance film called “Takes One to Know One,” will shoot in Rome early next year and stars Jamie Bell alongside Cooke.

She also wants to try her hand at directing.

“When I’m on set, I’m always figuring out how things work and almost shadowing the director.”

“I find acting a lot of the time to be so insular. You can get in your own way. I like the collaborative process of making something from the ground up, and I want to do more of that.”

“It’s also taking control of my own destiny a little bit more.”

ABOUT ALICENT HIGHTOWER FOR 'HOUSE OF THE DRAGON' SEASON 3.

As for Alicent, well, she may not be so lucky. But, she wants to play her for as long as possible.

“I really want her to just go off and be in the forest with some chickens,” she says, jokingly.

“But really, there’s some good stuff for her for Season 3, if we get it. Really exciting stuff.”

[blueiscoool]

Steve Silver stands inside his 5,000-square-foot loft in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York. Silver, a painter, moved into the loft in 1979.

A Look Inside New York’s Historic Artist Lofts

The Last of Their Kind.

They used to be printing shops, garment factories and flophouses. Now they’re some of the coolest artist spaces you’ll ever see.

These unique, expansive lofts, rarely seen by the public, are all over New York City.

For decades, they’ve been occupied by painters, sculptors and other artists who moved in when manufacturers started leaving the city in the second half of the 20th century.

“When people think of New York City as a cultural epicenter, these are the artists that they’re envisioning,” said Joshua Charow, a photographer and filmmaker who has spent the past few years documenting the artists and their studios for his book “Loft Law: The Last of New York City’s Original Artist Lofts.”

Artist Claire Ferguson moved into her loft in the city’s Tribeca neighborhood in 1981. At the time, the building in Lower Manhattan had a mix of artists and industrial tenants. “The floor below me was a paintbrush factory,” she told photographer and filmmaker Joshua Charow. “The floor above me put lines on paper before they had offset printing, and they had these huge machines. They had a guillotine that cut through the reams of paper every morning. At 6 a.m., they would turn it on, and it was this noise, aargh!”

JG Thirlwell’s loft in Brooklyn’s Dumbo neighborhood doubles as his home recording studio. “Loft living is not for everyone,” he told Charow. “You’re responsible for everything in here, and not everyone wants a life like that.”

A cat rests inside the Tribeca loft of Ken and Flo Jacobs, experimental filmmakers who moved into the space in 1965. At the time, the monthly rent for the 2,000-square-foot loft was just $70.

For the first half of the 20th century, New York City was a major manufacturing center. Factories were all over, producing everything from ice cream to torpedoes.

But when companies started finding it profitable to move their operations to other parts of the country and the world, many buildings were abandoned. By the 1960s and ‘70s, industrial neighborhoods, including those we now know as SoHo and Tribeca in Lower Manhattan, were largely deserted.

Landlords were desperate to find tenants. A big problem, however, was that the buildings were not zoned for residential use. Many of them didn’t have kitchens or showers, or even electricity or heat.

“The only people that would rent the space were artists,” Charow said. “And that’s because (the buildings) had tall ceilings, so they could make big work. They had big windows to let in lots of light. The spaces were completely raw, in many circumstances.”

Anne Mason sits in front of one of her late husband’s paintings in the loft they lived in together in the Little Italy neighborhood of Lower Manhattan. Frank Mason died in 2009, but his wife preserved his studio and his paintings.

Plants thrive in the natural light of the Midtown loft Bob Petrucci and Ray Bailey call home. It’s on the 16th floor of a building previously used as a necktie factory.

Artists would move into the empty factories and warehouses and make them more livable spaces. It was technically illegal, of course, but everyone was benefiting and the once-abandoned neighborhoods started to thrive again.

By the end of the ’70s, however, loft living had become quite fashionable and some landlords were looking to cash in, pushing out the artists for a wealthier clientele.

The artists pushed back, and in 1982 state lawmakers enacted Article 7-C of the New York Multiple Dwelling Law, which is commonly known as the 1982 Loft Law. This legislation gave protection and rent stabilization to people who had been living in these spaces. It also required landlords to bring the units up to residential code.

When the law was enacted, Charow says in his book, there were tens of thousands of artists living in lofts across the city. Now just a few hundred remain.

Noah Jemison moved to his Williamsburg loft in 1980. He remembers his neighborhood not having as much traffic as it does now. “You could walk down the streets and see nobody,” he told Charow. “It was a place where you could hear yourself think. It was perfect for artists.”

A scan of a 1913 blueprint shows one of the Manhattan buildings Charow photographed. New York City was a major manufacturing center for the first half of the 20th century.

Painter Betsy Kaufman walks inside her Tribeca loft. She uses the front half as her studio. It still has its original wooden floors.

Legislation enacted in 1982 allowed loft residents in New York to establish legal residence and have their living spaces brought up to code. It also stabilized their rent and protected them from eviction.

Charow wanted to document these artists — and their extraordinary lofts — before their numbers dwindled even more. He found a map of the remaining protected buildings and went door to door to see whether their tenants would be willing to share their story with him.

He was often rejected at first. But over time, more doors started to open up as people he met would introduce him to others.

Over the past three years, Charow has photographed 75 artists — 30 of whom are in his book.

“My life has been greatly enriched by meeting some of these artists and learning about their lives and their stories,” Charow said. “It’s had a big impact on just my life, and I can’t imagine how much of an impact this group of people has had on the city as a whole.”

Art created by Carolyn Oberst and Jeff Way adorn the walls of the loft they share in Tribeca. They live on the top two floors of a building they started renting in 1975. “I won’t tell you what it cost, but it was very cheap. We’ll just leave it at that,” Way told Charow. “But that was an incentive to fix it up. It was sweat equity, they called it.”

Ellen Christine makes new hats and restores old ones. She’s one of the last milliners in New York City. “In the 1930s, you could walk down any street, and there would be at least 30 milliners,” she said. “It was just (that) everybody wore hats, you see… So they needed new ones all the time.”

Curtis Mitchell remembers when he first walked into his loft in the Dumbo neighborhood of Brooklyn. The building used to be an ice cream factory. “It looked just like a dream,” he said. “To me, it still is a dream. It’s a fantastic place. Cold as hell in the winter and hot as hell in the summer, but I don’t care.”

One of Charow’s favorite spaces was the Bowery loft of Carmen Cicero, who is now 97 years old but moves with the energy of someone much younger, Charow said. Cicero lives in the loft with his wife, the art historian Mary Abell. Filling the space are hundreds of Cicero’s paintings, some bigger than he is.

“When you dream of what a painter in their loft in New York would be like, it’s Carmen,” Charow said. “And he’s filled with incredible stories. He has such phenomenal stories of his time as an artist here.”

Cicero’s work can be found in the permanent collections of the Whitney Museum of American Art, the Museum of Modern Art and the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

He told Charow the story of how he got his big break: “I had a lot of friends who thought I was a really remarkable painter. One day, they said, ‘Carmen, you’re going to a gallery.’ And they had two guys grab my feet, and two guys grab my arms — they threw me in the car and said, ‘We’re going.’ We went to four or five galleries, and almost every one of them wanted my work — I was lucky.”

Carmen Cicero lives in the Bowery, which has one of the highest concentration of Loft Law-protected buildings in the city. The painter moved to New York in 1971, after his home studio in New Jersey went up in flames

Charow says it has been a thrill to meet these artists and listen to their stories.

“The spaces are beautiful and interesting and historic in their own ways. But without the artists, these spaces lose the significance and the interest to me,” he said. “The artists are the ones who are giving the spaces meaning. Their decades of life and working there is what makes these spaces sort of a sacred thing.”

Through June 29, Charow’s photos are being exhibited at Westwood Gallery NYC, alongside the art of many of the people he photographed.

“I’m really excited that people get to see the paintings and sculptures and and see where they’re made,” he said.

Filmmakers Ken and Flo Jacobs have lived in their top-floor Tribeca loft for more than 50 years. “Once, we staged a live shadow play with a stretched curtain in the loft. Our audience consisted of just two people: Yoko Ono and John Lennon,” Ken told Charow.

Sculptor Marsha Pels lives in what used to be a glass factory in Brooklyn’s Greenpoint neighborhood.

Even though the book is already published, Charow’s project will continue. After he began sharing his photos and videos, more artists started reaching out to him so that they could tell their story.

He now has a list of artists to photograph over the next few months.

“This isn’t just a thing of New York’s past. This is the present,” Charow said. “You can walk down the street and look at a window and you might see (an artist), and they’re still working and they’re still making their paintings and sculptures.

“I think it’s a beautiful part of our city, that this exists. It took a lot of resilience and ingenuity to stay in these spaces.”

Kimiko Fujimura, a painter, moved from Tokyo to New York City more than 50 years ago. She has lived in this Chinatown loft since 1979. It was the top floor of a former bow-and-ribbon factory.

The Lower Manhattan skyline is seen from a loft in Brooklyn.

Joshua Charow’s book, “Loft Law: The Last of New York City’s Original Artist Lofts,” is published by Damiani Books. The exhibition at Westwood Gallery NYCis taking place through July 13.

Photographs by Joshua Charow. Story by Kyle Almond. Published June 16, 2024

[mariacallous]

Rescue crews are still searching Lahaina, Hawaii, for survivors of the catastrophic wildfire that obliterated the town last week on the island of Maui. It’s the deadliest blaze in modern American history, with 99 people confirmed dead, surpassing the 85 that perished in 2018’s Camp Fire in Paradise, California. Crews have only searched a quarter of Lahaina, so the death toll is expected to rise higher still. At least 2,200 structures have been destroyed.

During the 19th century, it made a kind of terrible sense that blazes like the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 could burn swaths of a city almost totally unchecked. Fire and building codes were lacking. So were firefighting forces and robust water infrastructure. By the early 20th century, those things had been upgraded. Cities and towns were safer—for a while. But now expansive urban fires have returned, and they are burning with startling frequency and intensity.

“We thought urban fires had gone away, that San Francisco in 1906 was the last. And now they’ve come back,” says fire historian Stephen Pyne. “It’s like watching polio come back. We fixed this. But you have to maintain the hygiene—you have to keep up the vaccinations.”

And the Lahaina fire shows that they can burn in places where nobody expects a catastrophic wildfire: a modern town on a tropical island in the middle of the Pacific, whose ecosystems only rarely saw wildfire in prehistory.

It’s not the only recent example of fires ravaging surprising places. In 2021, a freak wildfire ignited in late December—way outside of typical fire season—in Boulder, Colorado, burning more than 1,000 buildings. In 2017, the Tubbs Fire ripped through Santa Rosa, California, and its surrounding communities, destroying 5,600 structures and killing 22 people. “Those aren’t fire areas—they’re just the burbs,” says Thomas Cova, who studies wildfire evacuations at the University of Utah. “They’re modern streets, modern sidewalks, manicured lawns. It’s really become, in this changing climate, much more difficult to map where fires are going to occur and what time of year and how bad they might burn.” 

On Maui, as with wildfires all over the world, there isn’t just one factor contributing to the blaze. Overall, climate change is making wildfires worse: A warmer atmosphere can absorb more moisture from the landscape. Climate change is also making droughts more frequent, longer, and more severe, so there’s less moisture to wet the landscape in the first place. 

Add high winds—gusts of up to 80 miles per hour drove the flames a mile a minute across Lahaina—and all it takes is a single spark to ignite a fast-moving blaze. “There’s no firefighting capabilities for structure-to-structure urban fire in winds like that,” says Cova. “Once one structure catches on fire, if the wind’s blowing like that, it becomes like a blowtorch against the neighboring home.”

These winds across Maui were dry as well, helping to suck the remaining moisture out of vegetation to turn it into fuel. That fuel seems to have been invasive grasses that European colonizers brought when they established plantations. When rains are plentiful, these plants grow like mad, then easily dry out once the rain stops. 

“Those fire-prone invasive species fill in any gaps anywhere else—roadsides, in between communities, in between people’s homes, all over the place,” Elizabeth Pickett, co-executive director of the Hawaii Wildfire Management Organization, told WIRED last week. “At this point, 26 percent of our state is covered in these fire-prone grasses.” 

Not only has much of Maui been in a drought, but it’s also at the height of its dry season, so these plants have turned to tinder. “Feral landscapes fuel fires,” says Pyne. “Hot, dry, and windy, with lots of fuel, is the formula for big fires. And that’s what you’ve got here.”

In Hawaii, as in places along the West Coast, more and more people have been moving into the danger zone: the wildland-urban interface, or WUI. This is where nature butts up against human settlements or even intermingles with them. That’s why Paradise burned so quickly and thoroughly, destroying 19,000 structures, as the fire sped through pine needles and other dry leaves piled up around town. In Maui, the invasive grass acts as an accelerant. “Virtually every community in Hawaii is on a wildland-urban interface,” Pickett continued. “So we’re just like a WUI state, because we have developments that are all adjacent to wildland areas or surrounded by wildland areas.”

We don’t have to discover the vaccine against wildfires in such an interface—it’s already known. Massive urban fires waned in the 20th century because of better building codes, and infrastructure is still important today. When high winds kick up, they jostle power lines and can spark fires. Electrical equipment malfunctions were the confirmed causes of the Camp and Tubbs fires, among other recent blazes. While officials are still investigating what ignited the wildfire that consumed Lahaina, there’s speculation that it was also electrical wires. While it’s expensive to bury power lines, such an investment could go a long way toward saving structures and human lives.

And in the modern day, another big factor is managing potential fuels: In places like California, that means clearing dead brush. In Hawaii, it’s those invasive grasses. Because humans are such an unpredictable X factor in sparking fires—with a wayward firework or cigarette—it’s paramount that when people make mistakes, there’s less fuel to burn.

Protecting cities from supercharged wildfires also requires fundamental social shifts. If a tropical town like Lahaina can burn, which other cities are also at risk—and totally unready for it? “Normally we think of preparing for events that are within an envelope of historical, prior events,” says Cova. “This is unprecedented for Lahaina. And so how do you even begin to talk about preparing for things that no one's ever seen, including the people that manage fires?” 

One of the greatest risks of urban wildfires is that residents can get caught between fast-moving fires and the limitations of city infrastructure, like narrow, winding roads or a lack of evacuation routes. People died in their cars trying to get out of Paradise, and it appears the same happened in Lahaina. “We’ve known for a long time—even in hurricanes where you have way-advance warning—that evacuating cars sometimes is essential, but it’s really problematic, because you get congestion right away,” says Ann Bostrom, a risk communication researcher at the University of Washington. “Any city where you have a wildland-urban interface, and then you have any kind of complicated transportation, where you don’t have free egress, that’s problematic.”

Protecting other cities from Lahaina’s fate will require fighting a battle on multiple fronts: managing fuels to re-tame the feral landscape, minimizing ignitions with better electrical infrastructure, and rigorously communicating evacuation plans. “This is the kind of society we’ve created,” says Pyne. “And these are the kinds of fires that society will have to deal with.”

[modern-day-bard]

Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller AU Fanfiction

Content Warning: 18+ This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut. Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 25: Visuals

ao3 | wattpad

word count: 3.6k

Gwen

Twice.

A few minutes later, it’s three times.

I know I’m staring, and he knows it too. In the past few minutes alone, we’ve made eye contact three—well, now four, times. But if I don’t keep it together, everyone else in the room will realize it. Best case scenario, they think I’m disinterested in the budget for the possible expansion to three of our stations on the West Coast. Which would be, I think, completely understandable. Even Julian has stifled a few yawns in the past two hours. Worst case scenario, someone calls me out for eye-fucking my bodyguard in public.

He wore the leather jacket to the office today, my own personal form of torture and he doesn’t even know it. As if I needed any more reasons to have flashbacks all day long.

I don’t think I’ve ever actually enjoyed doing that with a man before. I’ve faked the enthusiasm, given them the doe-eyes, and pretended that there was nothing else I’d rather do. That was the first night in my life that there was literally nothing else I’d rather do. And unlike before, he insisted he take care of me afterwards, and also unlike before, I declined. All I wanted was to make him feel good, to show him that he is deserving of all things positive and pleasurable. Of course it turned me on to see the veins straining in his hands clutching onto the sheets, and to hear him lose his mind from my touch. But the thought of doing anything for myself afterward was somewhere too far away to fathom. As long as Joel enjoyed himself, I did too.

That part I was going to keep to myself for a while. Or at least, far away from Nyah. Or Harper and Landon for that matter. I barely know what I’m feeling, and trying to explain that out loud would just make them more excited before I even know how to handle it. Plus there is the logistical and ethical nightmare of the fact that he is employed by my father, and he is supposed to be protecting me. And he is. He’s just making me feel…a lot while doing so.

“Do we think that’s a realistic timeline?” Carter, one of the junior data analysts, asks Julian. I at least turn my head to feign diligence.

Julian nods slowly, looking through the blueprint in front of him. “It will be tight, but we knew that…” He continues, but I can feel Joel watching me again through the glass. I risk one more glance upward, and the man is smirking at me now. Bastard.

I push my thighs together underneath the table, returning my gaze back to Julian.

One more painful hour later, and we’re done. I was itching to be alone with Joel again, but Julian follows us all the way back to my office, discussing tomorrow’s calendar on the way. When we stop outside my door, I get the urge to ask him. “Do you know what Paul’s schedule is like tomorrow?”

Julian thinks for a moment. “No, but his assistant would be able to answer. Why?”

Because I don’t want to be involved in radio longer than I have to be.

“I had a few questions for him. No biggie. Thanks, Julian.” I give him a smile before walking around to the other side of my desk, and he takes the hint to leave.

Joel hovers by the door.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?” I unbutton my blazer to take a seat, making a show out of crossing my legs.

He smirks at me again, and a rare jolt of nerves runs down my spine as he walks in and closes the door.

“Do you want lunch first, or the bad news first?” He asks.

I sigh. “Bad news, please.”

“Arthur and Janet called during your last meeting. The news is breaking today, probably in just a few hours for online publications. They’re doing a few other celebrity gossip releases at the same time. It will hopefully steer people away from your case.” He watches my face carefully for my reaction, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel anymore. Instead, a new thought pops into my head.

“Do you think the publication will…encourage the stalker in any kind of way?”

Joel mulls it over, running a hand down his face the way he always seems to in times of stress. “I don’t think so, but it’s impossible to know. Some of these guys would be scared back into the shadows after a release like that. Others might…”

He pauses for so long that I’m afraid he won’t finish the thought.

“Might what, Joel?”

“They might derive some sort of pleasure from the whole thing. The article mentions that you moved residences, and I think that’s the worst thing they can put in there. I can see some asshole somewhere being pleased with himself that he’s made a large enough impression for you to leave your home.”

“Wouldn’t he just be focused on finding me again?”

“Probably. But it would start with the feeling of success, that you know who he is now, in his eyes.”

“I wish I knew who he was,” I mumble.

“You and I both.” His rigid posture and agitated tone tells me everything I need to know about what might happen to the stalker if Joel ever found him.

My phone buzzes and I look down to see a text from Nyah, only to notice that it’s past five o’clock.

I raise an eyebrow at Joel. “You’re asking about lunch and it's almost dinner time?”

“You never ate lunch,” he eyes an unopened salad container on my desk. “I brought it to you and it was still untouched when we left for the budget meeting. Thought you could use the reminder.”

I glare at him despite the butterflies in my stomach. “You weren't hired to be a detective.”

“I’ve done several things I wasn’t hired to do.” His eyes are playful, his voice low…

I need to keep it together. In this building, at least. In my new apartment building, however…that’s fair game.

My phone buzzes yet again from Nyah.

“Is it the story?” He asks as if he wasn’t just alluding to our incredibly unprofessional escapades.

“No, it’s Nyah.” I pick it up, swiping the messages open. “She’s asking about Paris. I’m assuming it’s sort of out of the question now that the story will break, though.”

I start to type as Joel asks, “Do you want to go?”

Huh.

I hadn’t actually thought about what I wanted. “It sounds fun. Nyah has wanted to work with Andre Bacri for the longest time. It would be great to get the chance to cheer her on…”

“So, let’s go.”

He says it like we were, in fact, just talking about lunch.

“What?” I chuckle a little, but he’s serious.

“Time away from the city wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. Most stalkers like this most likely won’t have the means to follow you across the world. And, I’m no public relations expert, but a couple of pictures of you out and about as if nothing happened might help the press.”

I blanch at him.

“You—the most overprotective man on the planet—think Paris is a good idea?”

A small smile tugs on his lips. “Not overprotective. Just protective,” he lowers his voice, taking another step toward my desk even though the door is still closed. “If I remember correctly, you yourself told me to guard your body.”

I hate how much of an effect this man has on me. My complexion, my breathing, my thoughts... And I hate how much I don’t want it to stop.

“Do you want to go?” He asks again, reveling in my silence.

“Yes, I would like to go.” I straighten up in my chair, determined not to get further distracted by how impossibly broad his shoulders look at this angle.

“Okay. I’ll run it by Janet to make sure it won’t do any harm.”

“Thanks, Joel.” I say it the way I would to anyone else, leaning over to power up my computer. But his name alone is enough for him to linger a moment longer, eyes drifting a little lower than what could be classified as appropriate.

With his hand on the doorknob, he asks, “Anything else I can do for you, Gwen?”

“Not at the moment, no,” My eyes flick over to him with a challenge, “Maybe later tonight. I’ll let you know.”

“I’m at your service.” He doesn’t miss a beat, which only makes me hate him more.

I start emailing Paul’s assistant before Joel has finished closing the door.

I liked Julian and the rest of the team, but I don’t have an interest in the radio part of the company. Ideally, I would be training directly underneath my father. I did for a summer or two, but in light of recent events, that privilege has been revoked. I know that it’s a long-shot for him to allow me to work for either the Russell Foundation or my mother’s foundation, also in light of recent events. Particularly those that are better kept under wraps. But from what I know, I’m wondering if I can use it as leverage. At the very least, if it’s not my mother’s charity, maybe he will be willing to put me under the Russell Foundation.

That’s where Paul comes in. If I can talk Paul into allowing me to work under him as one of the board members for Russell’s Corporation’s philanthropic side, I can bypass my father altogether. I know that he likes basketball and wasn’t able to score season passes this year, and I also know that my father hardly ever uses his box at Madison Square Garden. I just have to hope Paul isn’t above bribery. With this crowd, it's likely that he isn’t.

After checking a few more things off my list, I take another look at my phone to see several missed messages. Skimming through, Harper had someone over last night and she desperately wanted to reenact how bizarre they behaved. She was promising that only in person would do it justice.

I feel my heart clench, remembering that in a matter of hours all of the stalker information will be public knowledge. Public knowledge that my friends weren’t privy of, and will undoubtedly hear about it from a random source instead of their friend. Part of me wants to believe that whatever celebrity gossip Janet and her team are cooking up will bury my information so deep that my friends won’t hear of it. But I’ve been doing too much wishful thinking lately. They need to hear it from me directly, and soon.

- - -

To my surprise, Joel didn’t fight me when I said I wanted to go to Harper’s apartment. I had prepared a small defensive speech about how we can take a winding way home, not that Rodney and him wouldn’t have planned that anyway, but I didn’t need it. All I said was that I think they need to hear it from me, and he agreed. I was even more surprised when we arrived, he did a sweep of the place, and agreed to wait just outside.

All four of our faces were still dumbfounded even after he closed the door.

“How much did you pay him for that?” Landon jokes, taking a seat by Harper’s large bay window.

“I guess it’s pro bono.” I sit on one of the floor cushions across from them. “So, Harper, tell us about last night.” I gesture for Nyah and her to walk over and join us, but Harper shakes her head.

“I have to show you guys what happened in the bedroom. Well, I guess I can start here.” She’s bouncing up on her tiptoes in excitement.

Nyah takes a seat next to me, leaning into my side. Harper starts in the kitchen, saying that her overnight guest took a look through her fridge before running a hand along the wall, looking for…

“Your wifi, maybe?” Landon offers.

“Or maybe she was just admiring your exposed brick?” asks Nyah skeptically.

“I don’t know but it was weird. She wasn’t shy, but she spent all this time in the front of the apartment, looking at my walls and stuff. I mean, thanks to Lands, I’ve got some killer art so—”

“That’s probably why,” they wink.

“Exactly. But, anyway, we’re on the couch and I thought we were going to get to it, but then she starts asking about all my plants.”

“You do have a lot of plants. More since the last time I was here, actually,” I say. Harper’s apartment was absolutely stunning with its eclectic, bohemian charm. Even the beams above us had vines of some sort running through them, so that question, at least, wasn’t that unusual.

“You need plants in an oasis,” she says like it’s a cardinal rule, “But anyway, we’re kissing and stuff but every time I go to do a little more, she pulls away. So, I’m like okay, she’s not into it. That’s fine. But then she gets up and just walks upstairs without saying anything. Turns on all the lights, and I just hear her walking around up there.”

“Maybe that was her way of saying ‘let’s take it to the bedroom.’” Nyah drops her voice to a sultry level for the last part.

“I followed her, obviously. And she was pacing around like she meant business. I would have thought it was coke or something but I’d been with her most of the night.”

“Remember that guy last year who paced before and after sex?” I muse.

“Oh my god, yes! Except this woman, Layla, was pacing in between rooms. At least that guy kept it to one space. She kept commenting on the apartment, which was nice but I was just super confused.”

“So you guys didn’t hook up?” Landon asks.

“No, we did,” Harper grins, “Come on, that’s what I want to show you.”

The three of us exchange a look before following her up the stairs. The next ten minutes is Harper physically acting out last night’s affairs that went from the hallway, to the bedroom, to the shower. Besides the pacing, and what Harper described as staring into each windowsill, the two of them seemed to have a pretty good time.

“And, she left as soon as we were done.”

“Is that weird too?” Nyah watches Harper flop down on the bed.

“I guess not. Usually it’s guys who want to leave right away, sometimes girls do, but I don’t know. She was quite a bit older, so maybe the rules are different. I just thought the pacing and checking and questions were so weird. But I didn’t even get her number so the mystery will remain unsolved.” Harper sits up, slapping her hands on her legs. I take that as our cue to go back downstairs, but Landon puts their hands up.

“Wait. This might be easier to discuss up here.”

I give them a curious look.

“Speaking of good sex…” their eyes land on me. I wait, wondering if I can play it off.

“You and Elijah…?” I circle one hand over the other, thinking that might be where they’re going with it.

“Well, obviously. But I’m talking about you.”

My gut fully drops now.

“Oo! With who?” Harper turns to lay on her stomach, her feet kicking in the air behind her.

“Who do you think? The bodyguard she can never stop complaining about.”

“What?” I gasp, turning whirling on Nyah. “You told them?”

Nyah’s eyes grow wide and she shakes her head, but before she can say anything, Harper and Landon chime in simultaneously.

“Told us what?”

“There’s something to tell?”

Oh shit.

Nyah didn’t say anything. I should have known.

I sigh, sitting down on the edge of Harper’s bed. “I was going to tell you all sooner. And technically, it wasn’t sex, sex. I called Nye the morning after it happened, but there was some other stuff I found out right after, the reason I had to cancel. And everything became too much and—”

“Gwen, it’s okay.” Landon’s voice is careful now. “I was just teasing. Tell us whatever you want to tell us.”

“I really was going to tell you both, it’s just hard to find time away from him. And he probably doesn't want anyone to know. He told me he’s never been with a client before. I can’t imagine it’s usually encouraged.” I laugh lightly and both Nyah and Landon take a seat in front of me.

“If it’s any consolation, I can just always tell when you’ve had sex. It was a lucky guess that it was Joel.” Landon says softly.

“Lucky guess, and the fact that we all know he’s damn good looking,” Harper smiles, nudging my shoulder. “So, what’s the issue?”

I tell them everything. Even though I know it will worry Harper, and for that reason I’m glad I can’t see her face unless I crane my neck. I tell them about the gifts, the messages, the breaking of the windows, the lie about the fumigation and why I switched apartments, the background checks of my team, the fact that they aren’t allowed to know where I’m staying now. I don’t go into all the details about Joel and me, mostly because I’m too embarrassed to admit I asked him to stay. But I tell them that he did stay in my room at home with me, and that he’s been staying in my new room since we moved in. When I’m done, I take a big breath, and finally feel a relief wash over me that I haven’t felt in a long time. Not all my secrets were out, but having a few less on my shoulders was a good start.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before Nyah speaks up.

“When will the story break?”

I shrug. “Probably in the next hour or two if it hasn’t already.”

She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I knew there were weirdos online but this is a completely different level.”

Harper hugs my shoulders from behind me. “I’m sorry, too.” After a beat she adds, “But I’m also super proud of you for sleeping with Joel.”

All of us burst out into laughter. “What?” I ask, still giggling.

“That’s not what I mean! I mean, I’m proud of you for hooking up with him, sure. But you’re letting him in. Even a little! And I think that’s great.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling. “Yes, well, we’ll see. It’s not exactly an ethical relationship.”

“You told me he tried telling you that and you kept refuting everything he said.” Nyah raises a brow at me, and I whack her lightly.

“Whatever! He was…we were…It made sense at the time.”

“Are you going to do it again?” Landon asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if he’ll want to.”

This time, the three of them are the ones exchanging looks.

“What?”

Landon speaks slowly, delicately. “It’s…the way he looks at you. I get it, all bodyguards have to watch their clients, but—he’s clearly infatuated with you.”

I can feel my heart rate pick up, but I shake my head. “Infatuation doesn’t mean anything.”

“Even if you look at him the same way?” They still say it gently, but it feels like a harsh slap of vulnerability. Like someone had seen the things I conceal even from myself, polished them, and placed them on a table in front of me. I’m not ready to face that reflection just yet.

“I tell you guys I have a stalker and this is what we’re talking about?” I try to laugh it off, and tonight, they let me. They have me go over a few more of the details, and Harper pulls out her phone to go through my comments. The thought of finding someone who writes similar comments to the gift notes is good and all, but there’s too many of them. And the notes were too short to really grasp onto anything.

“What did you do when you thought someone had broken in?” Nyah asks, concern etched on her perfect features.

“I grabbed a bookend and I went out to help Joel.”

“What?” Harper screeches. “You could have been killed!”

“I know, I know. I was just thinking that it could be like four guys against just him and I was picturing him getting hurt, unable to call for help and…” My voice catches slightly on the memory, and I clear my throat as quickly as I can.

Three pairs of shocked eyes are resting on me.

“What?” Unfortunately, my voice still shakes a bit as I ask.

“Like I said,” Landon gives me a small smile, “You look at him the same way.”

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

[morganas-pendragons]

Defensor | O.K.

this one is dedicated to @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories because they're all dedicated to her now

prompt: obi-wan needs a protector from Anakin within the force. seeing as you are his spouse, you're more then happy to give it to him.

set during episode 3 and the beginning of 4 of kenobi

**** 

It’s hard to remember how old he is sometimes. How worn and calloused his skin is underneath your fingertips, the coarseness of the curls you thread through your fingers as he sleeps peacefully at your side for the first time in years. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi has spent the greater majority of his tragic, lonely life dedicating what he can to protecting you. It is his obligation. His commitment. His promise. 

But he so rarely allows you the opportunity to protect him. 

You intend to change that now. 

It comes with the confession from the mouth of the Third Sister in your search to find Leia. Anakin Skywalker lives. You nearly want to run the girl through with your own saber for being so careless with such a confession, but you’re smart enough to know why she’s uttered it. 

She’s trying to break him. Break down all that remains of that shell of a man you love so ardently until even you can’t put the pieces back together. 

When the three of you finally sit safely upon the transport is when he disappears in search of solitude to attempt meditation. You let him. These precious, quiet moments are all of the peace he can get in this lifetime. 

His breath catches in that quiet, carefully controlled way that has come from years of learning to compartmentalize his emotions. That was one thing you’d always resent the Jedi for. Keeping you from properly being able to process things like a human being should. 

When Obi-Wan’s breath catches as Anakin’s force presence through a fractured bond tries to overwhelm him, you are there to be his peace. 

  “My love,” You murmur, running your hand across the expanse of his shoulders. “You cannot keep doing this to yourself. It is simply the worst type of torture to hang onto this.” 

Obi-Wan catches your hand to kiss your fingertips. A feeble attempt at a distraction. “I believed that bond to have been broken on Mustafar,” He said quietly. “I was wrong.” 

It isn’t a lot to go off of but it does tell you one thing: Anakin Skywalker really is his curse. He’s been dead for years, but even now, Obi-Wan Kenobi cannot be rid of him. He lingers everywhere. In his mind. In his heart. In his daughter. 

Poor, sweet Leia is far too innocent and naive to be tainted with the truth of who her real father really is. 

  “Have you slept since we started this?” You ask, to which he shakes his head. “You will.” 

 “Darling-” 

Again you shake your head, holding your hand up to silence his rebuttal. “No, Obi-Wan. You seem to forget that when I married you I also made you the vow you made me.” Wide, vulnerable blue eyes shift upward to meet your own as you cup his face in your hands and run the pads of your thumbs across his cheeks. “It’s my duty and honor to protect you the way you’ve spent so many years protecting me. Allow me this. Please.” 

He almost finds it in him to argue, to attempt some type of logic that justifies his reasoning for believing your argument is false, when he recognizes the silent plea on your tongue. 

Obi-Wan acquiesces to your demand. It’s evident that you’re overjoyed by his submission because the minute he does, your aspect lights up and you’re surging forward to kiss him despite Leia lingering just around the corner with her newly repaired droid. 

A broken moan echoes in the back of his throat as he presses closer. When he does allow himself the ability to be distracted by the warm, pliant form of your mouth, Obi-Wan’s shields unintentionally fall and allow you full ability to step inside. 

That’s where you stand your ground from that point forward. Your Force Presence will always linger there in wait of the one who dares to try and bring him to his knees. 

*** 

  “Only when the eyes are closed can you truly see.” 

  “See what?” 

  “The Way.”

You know exactly what’s wrong as soon as he doubles over in the tunnels. Your husband’s hands scramble for purchase in your robes as debilitating pain echoes through the remains of a former force bond, breath coming in short and panicked as he struggles to keep his grasp on reality. 

  “Obi-Wan,” You say calmly as you turn around and place his hands on your hips while using your own to steady him. “Is he here?” 

Obi-Wan nods. That’s all you need to know. He doesn’t need to say anything else. 

You can see the shadow of his form down the street as you peer out the window. He is all darkness, bathed in the shadows of the night around him and the dark of The Force that clings to his very being. 

That man is not the same one who used to be your son. 

  “My love, you need to take Leia and go-” 

  “No.” 

Obi-Wan’s grasp is tight as he wrenches you backward and presses your shoulder into the wall. “I have already lost every piece of me that remains except you,” He snaps, and you are caught off guard by the bite in his words as you meet his eyes. “And I refuse to do so. Do you understand me? You take Leia and you go. I will be right behind you.” 

Dread floods your veins as you nod. You can’t do anything else. You can’t cry out, you can’t fight him, all you can do is pray to the Maker that he will indeed keep that promise and come home. 

Obi-Wan kisses you like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do before disappearing through the door that will lead him away to do the one thing he’s been fighting this entire time: Fighting Vader. Acknowledging who Vader really is. 

  “You have to help him. You know as well as I do he won’t be fine,” Leia argues as she yanks her hand from your grasp and stands tall in front of you in the tunnel like she’s preparing the rest of her inevitable argument. You’re struck by how much she looks and carries herself like Padmé. “And you might be the only one who can also keep up against that bad man. Please go. Defend him!” 

Defend him. 

A cyan lightsaber ignites the dark of the tunnels. “Cuyir morut'yc, kih solus.” You whisper, to which she nods - like she’s somehow understood what you said even though she didn’t - and continues with Tala down the tunnel. 

When you leave, you don’t look back. 

*** 

It’s difficult to catch Vader off guard. Nearly impossible. What he is not expecting in the midst of forcing Obi-Wan into the fire is the arc of the cyan saber - the mark of the healer, ironically enough - that effectively cuts through every single standing trooper around him. 

The weapon flies back in Obi-Wan’s direction and lands in the hand of someone he swore had died during Knightfall. 

  ‘’Ah, so you have come to defend your sworn husband at last.” 

You roll your eyes and spin your weapon slowly in your hand. “Yeah, well... you did an osik job of it.” You snapped. “Try attacking him again, Vader. I will make you regret every moment of it.” 

Then your saber is cutting through the tank to your right, and the world is one again illuminated by fire. 

  “Y/N!” 

Tala’s presence sprints out of the dark as you bend down to collect your husbands body in your arms. “Get your transport ready, Tala,” You demand. “We need to get him to Jabiim.” Peering around both shoulders and her body, you frown at the lack of Leia’s presence. She’s not anywhere near you. “Where’s Leia?” 

  “She should be at the transport when we arrive. Let’s go, NED!” 

The pair lead the way before you to the escape ship as you cradle Obi-Wan’s body to your chest and begin to follow them. He’s practically burning - both physically and mentally, every part of his Force Presence is ignited by the pain he undoubtedly feels over confronting his former Padawan - in your embrace, but the gentleness of your touch and the quiet nature of your words is enough to bring at least a modicum of comfort. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi submits to your gentle prodding against poorly constructed walls and allows himself to sleep while you defend him. 

Should Vader get in his way again, he knows you will be there to do what he can’t. 

*** 

  “He will be fine, you know. Bacta works wonders for burns.” 

You snort and press your hands against the glass. He’s only just been put in there - even more quickly then usual as the demands of a former medic really do work - and has only just succumbed to the severity of his injuries. 

  “He may be fine physically,” You call out in response, eyes closed and hands pressed to either side of the glass as you slowly sink deeper into The Force. “But mentally, I am his only defense.” 

Tala doesn’t talk again after that. Realizing what you are doing, she leaves you alone with your thoughts and the soft hum of the bacta tank as it works to heal your husband’s burns. 

  “The years have made you weak.” 

You can see him standing there, submerged in his own tank somewhere far away where there is nothing but the comfort of his own rage and the pain he so often conceals beneath a suit of armor. A suit of armor that lives in place of the man who occupies it. 

The armor is more alive then Anakin Skywalker ever was. 

His body is riddled with scars both old and new. The scar tissue is raised in most places and leaves little of the original skin to be seen, and the limbs he lost during the battle on Mustafar are gone too. 

He is more mechanics then man. 

  “You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.” 

Pressing harder, deeper, you wrap the Light around Obi-Wan’s flickering Force Signature and push. 

Vader isn’t expecting that. Where he finds the cracks in his former Master’s chassis, he is instead met with steadfast resistance that screams, “He does not belong to you and The Dark.” 

  “Sh.... my love,” You whisper softly. Obi-Wan’s presence shifts from a startling, sharp gold to a muted, content blue as his thrashing slowly eases and his body becomes limp again. “I have you. Now sleep.” 

While the battle of minds is fought, the war against the dark and the light threatening to consume him happens far, far away while Obi-Wan Kenobi sleeps. 

[geminimoonmadness]

I have a grand trine in my chart with Lilith in pisces in the 10th house (my moon is also in pisces exact conjunct my mc still in the 9th), Venus in Scorpio in the 6th house, and Jupiter in Cancer on the border of my 1st &2nd , falling in my first. I’m not sure what this means for me!! I can’t find much info about it!

A grand trine is essentially a gift from the universe. They are fairly rare, so having this aspect makes you quite lucky. Each sign within this major aspects element will work together to increase productivity. A water grand trine is all about emotion and love. You may predict what people are going to say before they even say it, you live in your feelings & these feels are a response from your environment (bad environment= bad mood, good environment=good mood)

I find with your gift specifically it is aimed at ‘inspiring’ others.

For starters, let’s look at each placement that is a part of your grand trine, these placements energies are extra ‘lucky’, So it’s important to acknowledge them as they are part of your gift on this earth & will help you reach fulfilment.

Lilith Pisces 10th House

Here Lilith’s raw energy manifests itself in the public eye, making you more visible to the world. You subconsciously seek popularity and deep down want to be recognised. Your authenticity brings with it a charm that attracts others. You have a passionate desire to succeed which influences others. You may struggle with a sense of responsibility and difficult decision making.

Venus Scorpio 6th House

You have a NEED (not so much a ‘want’ either but you ‘need’ this in order to have a successful union) for intimacy, authenticity, truth and power/control in your relationships with others. You may become dependent on relationships as the 6th house is where you serve others (servant/chores/marriage vibes). You tend to over analyse things that results in having harsh judgements on yourself which is expressed through feelings/emotions instead of thoughts/words. Your one on one relationships have an effect on your health, wellbeing, routine, jobs, productivity, etc; So ensure that you choose wisely when connecting with others.

Jupiter Cancer 1st House

This placement blesses you with a long life, happy family & nice home. Since your Jupiter is in the 1st house/Ascendant, you’ll fill the space of any room you enter with your energy (Jupiter is expansion) which can also make you be seen by others as optimistic, lucky and honest. You understand the world from an emotional perspective, there is a fear of vulnerability in which you may isolate in order to protect yourself, though this can instead limit the positive results of Jupiter.

Now lastly, we get into the trine aspects that your grand trine is made up of.

Lilith Trine Jupiter

-craves freedom

-embraces individuality

-challenges standards

-defy/resist social norms

-unique individual

- great placement for spiritual development

Lilith Trine Venus

-in your darkest times you still shine

-easy to express your raw beauty, sexuality and desires.

-complimented on your edginess & unique style

-you may do things that others receive backlash for and yet you avoid being shunned and/or confronted by anyone for it. (Even though Jupiter isn’t in this aspect it still has a bit of Jupiter’s ‘Luck’ because of the grand trine)

Venus Trine Jupiter

-idealistic, Optimistic and loving person

-you’re an extrovert in your 1 on 1 relationships but need to learn to not be so generous at times.

-When you commit to following your passions & desires, you will then connect with people who can help & support you along the way.

Each of these trines result in you inspiring others, your Moon being conjunct your MC indicates your emotions are connected to your goals & aspirations, they will gain you recognition and encourage/inspire others. You don’t hide them, they’re on show…So in saying this you could really help inspire others by being an influencer of sorts, a writer, empathy/spiritualist, artist, creator, etc. Just by putting your authentic self out there ✨

Your Grand Trine will be here as a tool to help you on any path you take when you’re listening to you HEART & EMOTIONS.

✨✨✨

I hope this helps shed some insight on the major aspect in your chart 🩵 xo

⚡️Reach out with questions ANYTIME ⚡️

[rottenomelet]

a/n: in celebration of my random douma/kotoha post doing unexpectedly well, i’m posting this little exerpt of some douma/kotoha porn i’ve been writing for a while. thank you all so much for all the love on my douma/kotoha posts 💟

context: this takes places sometime after kotoha has run away from her husband. she is now completely settled into doumas cult, however she is unaware of him being a demon. douma considers kotoha as little more than a pet or a plant.

warnings: doumas kind of an asshole, as we all know, and sometimes has misogynistic thoughts.

Kotoha is… shapely.

Her neck is a long, smooth expanse of white, save for one small mole on her collarbone. Douma can’t stop staring at it, can’t stop his unbeatable urge to kiss that mark. Her shoulders would be just as pale as her neck, if it weren’t for a hint of a flush.

Her breasts are large - there’s no polite way to put it. Douma’s always noticed this. Kotoha is breastfeeding a larger-than-average baby, after all, so swollen tits are expected. Her nipples, probably a pretty shade of pink normally, are rubbed raw and red from Inosuke’s near-constant drinking. They’ve pebbled in the cool air, sensitive too, if her shivers when he flicks one is any sign.

He leans down, kissing each nipple delicately, before taking in the right one hungrily. He nips at that red nipple, suckles it like a baby. She arches her back at the feeling, only pushing her breasts into his face more.

“Douma-sama. They’re really quite sensitive…” She tells him. In response, he grabs a handful of her left breast and tweaks her nipple there.

He won’t lie - he’s obsessed with this humans body. It’s perfect, even in ways it shouldn’t be. Large breasts, wide hips, a nice supple ass - she’s perfectly made for him.

On the rare occurrence that he has been interested in satisfying the pleasures of the flesh, he’s always found himself gravitating to more shapely women. Ones whose curves are apparent, even underneath layers of conservative Japanese clothing. He’s always believed that a woman should be shapely, curvy. Supple in all the right places. Douma’s never understood the fascination with a woman who lacks those mouthwatering qualities.

Mothers tend to gain weight in the spots Douma prefers. Breasts, thighs, hips - all places where a woman should have a little extra meat. Because of this, many of his… sexual partners, willing or not, have been mothers.

Kotoha is no exception.

When that first dribble of milk hits his tongue, Douma almost loses his mind.

It’s sweet and creamy. He’s almost jealous of Inosuke. Douma suckles and nips, uncaring of Kotoha’s little yelps when he does so. He can smell how much she likes it when his teeth run over her sensitive areolas.

He honestly barely has a taste for anything besides human blood and flesh but Kotoha’s milk tastes like a dessert. A treat to Douma for being such a good leader. He can imagine that her milk is her gift to him, her body a thank you for taking care of her so well in the last few months.

A shaky hand patting his back interrupts his commending drink.

“Douma-sama, please ease up a little? I-I don’t want Inosuke to go hungry tomorrow.”

She’s sweet, worrying about her baby even now. He appeases her, giving her tit one last suck before letting go.

His lips travel slowly, slowly south but his hands are a little faster. They quickly trace the outline of her body before settling on her hips. Her hips are wide, most likely from childbirth, yet her waist is small. Stretch marks on the otherwise milky skin of her stomach and thighs.

Her thighs are thick and Douma feels an urge to bury his head between them. Lick the slick that gathers in that heated space between those valleys.

His cool hands trail down to her thighs, caressing them. “I’m going to touch you between your legs now. Is that ok?”

[silverdragon-imagines-blog]

Satori’s Blessing

[Finally finished the follower raffle fic for @wayward-lotus , thank you for being so patient with me. This is pretty much just fluff. And I’ll be putting this on AO3 later on today. I hope you enjoy ^u^]

The group had ended up on a mountain; one Wild seemed to both know and be very excited by, if his bouncing in place and large smile were any indications. It was later in the day by now, and after traveling first through a vast expanse of land and then a disorienting trip through a portal, they had decided that it was as good a time as any to make camp for the night. Wild led the way between three large rocks that made up the pointed tip of the mountain. From the inside, there were three well-trodden paths with a cooking pot on top of a pile of ash.

“This is a good spot to rest for the night; besides, there’s lots more to see up here when it gets dark.”

“Not that I don’t believe you,” Legend spoke, sitting close to the pot and looking up at Wild’s grinning face, “but I don’t believe you.”

Wild laughed, setting up an area to prep the food for dinner in the center of the three rock spires. They all started conversing amongst themselves as Wild finished and passed around dinner as the sun slowly set over the horizon. Wild hummed to himself, putting things away and cleaning up everything left over from dinner.

“So, what’s so great about this mountain? You got super excited when you realized we were here,” Wind questioned.

“Well, besides the ridiculous amount of useful resources here, there’s something special that you can see on rare nights beyond this peak. I have a good feeling about tonight,” Wild explained, setting the now clean cooking pot down with some finality. 

“I’ll admit, there’s a… feeling, I guess,” Hyrule spoke, closing his eyes and setting his hands on the ground, “Something is definitely here. Something with powerful magic.”

“Good or bad?” Four poked Hyrule, the traveler batting Four’s hand away with a chuckle.

“Neutral? I’m not sure, but it isn’t dark magic.”

“Well,” Time spoke up, rumbling voice gaining everyone’s attention, “we’re staying the night anyway, may as well see if we can spot what you mentioned, Champion.”

Wild nodded as he sat against one of the tall rocks and stared at the world beyond. Conversation flowed soon after, talking about other areas with similar magical feelings. Twilight mentioned the Lost Woods of his era, how the skull kid that resided there was mischievous but not an enemy. Sky talked about three dragons' lairs and a sky deity that could have been similar. Four mentioned the Minish, while the others shrugged with little to offer. Soon, the stars shone brightly despite the fire blazing between the group members as they talked long into the night. Then, slowly creeping in, a strange teal mist began to pour into the clearing. Wild sat up with a grin, then stood slowly and motioned for everyone to quiet down. As they noticed the mist, they stood up, following Wild’s lead to stay quiet.

Looking down the path between two rocks, they spotted a glowing blue creature with a face like an owl and two long feathered antennae coming out of the fur on its head. It peered at the group with beady gold eyes but did not seem frightened by the sight of the group. It came closer, repeatedly stopping to cock its head as though thinking or questioning them all. Hyrule was the first to move, stepping next to Wild and getting down on one knee to get closer, extending a hand to the creature. It went right up to him, sniffing curiously at his hand and lightly brushing its face against it. Hyrule smiled wide, Wild slowly taking out his slate to photograph the scene.

“What is that?” Wind whispered the question, and Wild held the slate in a hand as he turned to the Sailor.

“A Blupee. I think they’re drawn to magical locations.”

“They’re beautiful,” Hyrule whispered, petting the top of the Blupee’s head.

The Blupee closed its eyes as the hero petted it, then turned and walked toward the end of the path, where the teal-colored mist was coming from. It turned to them as though waiting. Hyrule took no time to stand and walk forward, the others following closely behind, eyes sparkling in wonder.

When they passed the rocks, the group found themselves overlooking a small pond that Blupees surrounded, with cherry blossoms steadily drifting from the tree at the water's edge. And in the very center of the water, looking up at the group, was what looked, at least in part, to be a horse. But that didn’t do the creature justice. Its body was cloaked in a teal-blue light, with lines and shapes of light blue wrapping around it. Its mane and tail were long, the mane covering and wrapping around the creature’s neck. It had the same antennae that the Blupees did, but its face was not one of an owl’s. Instead, it had long ears that hung at the sides of its face and a long patch of fur that hung from the center of its face that seemed to act as its mouth. It had four golden eyes that shone like stars, watching as the heroes entered its domain. 

“It’s beautiful,” Twilight breathed out at the sight, and several of the Links nodded in agreement.

“What’s that in the middle of the pond?” Wars asked.

“Oh, that’s the Lord of the Mountain. A spirit that protects Mount Satori,” Wild explained, taking a seat at the edge of the water, cross-legged, “Some travelers believe that the Lord is a nature spirit and that they are here to help mend the land after the Calamity.”

“So, the Blupees?” Legend asked, kneeling down near Wild.

“Think of them like Fairies are to the Great Fairies. They’re like helpers.”

A Blupee approached the two by the water, occasionally pausing to watch and tilt its head. Legend watched in turn, tilting his head like it was. When the Blupee got close enough, it stood up on its hind legs, leaning with its forepaws on Legend’s side. Legend watched it, making eye contact with the Blupee, holding still. The Blupee slowly closes its eyes, then opens them, Legend copying the action. That was when a small group of Blupees also approached, practically running and knocking into Legend’s back as they started to climb him.

“Hey!”

Legend didn’t get much time to yell as he ungracefully fell forward onto his face, hair barely brushing the water’s edge. Laughter erupted as the other Links saw Legend's predicament. Wind fell to the ground in a fit of laughter, practically rolling on the ground with the force of it. Wild reached out to scratch a Blupees head, chuckling to himself. 

“They’re pretty cute,” Four spoke, sitting next to the downed Legend and petting another Blupee on the back. The Blupee in question turned to Four and jumped to his lap, nestling in and closing its eyes. 

A few more Blupees were brave, trotting up to Time and Hyrule, pawing at them as though to be picked up. Hyrule smiled, happily bending down to pick them up, and holding them close to his chest as he walked toward the trio by the water. Time merely reached down to pat the Blupee’s head, but the Blupee was not satisfied, jumping up Time’s arm before he could fully pull away. The Blupee took up residence on Time’s shoulder, and Twilight chuckled at his mentor, scratching the Blupee between its antenna.

The remaining group approached the water, Wind kneeling down and dipping a hand into the water. Mere moments after Wind had done this, a low humming noise began. Sky looked up, watching the Lord of the Mountain turn toward the group, watching them unblinkingly. Wild nudged the Blupees off of Legend, helping him sit up in time to watch as the Lord of the Mountain gracefully walked toward them, the water barely shifting with each step. When the Lord of the Mountain was a single step away, the Lord stopped and watched them. The low humming grew louder.

“Heroes across time and space,” a voice echoed, “I, Satori, welcome you to this sacred place. Though you came here unnaturally, know that you will not be harmed, not while I am here.”

“Thank you, Satori,” Time spoke, giving a short bow as the Blupee on his shoulder moved to keep balance, “We will only be staying the night nearby.”

A soft breeze blew, almost like laughter.

“There is no need for formalities here, Hero of Time. You may stay as long as you need and take with you the resources the mountain has to offer you for your journey.”

“It’s very appreciated,” Warriors spoke up, smiling.

Satori nodded, then closed their eyes.

“I wish to bestow upon your group a blessing.” Satori spoke, and the humming quieted, settling over the space like the teal mist around them as Satori’s markings began to glow, “With the powers invested in me, may the wilderness provide you with all that you need, may the moonlight your way at night and the stars shine as a silent comfort. May the road that stretches before you not challenge you and may the ocean waves not toss you from safety. With the powers instilled in my spring, I bless you, heroes, that all these things come to pass.”

The humming ceased, and with a single blink, Satori vanished with all the Blupees that had surrounded them disappearing as though they were never there. In the distance, they could see the sky starting to lighten.

“Let’s just sleep for a while. We can stay here until we’re all fully rested,” Time stated, and none of the heroes disagreed.

They all slept peacefully, without the need for a watch shift as Satori promised them that as long as they were here, they would always be safe.

[twinsimming]

Get To Know You - Sims Style

Thank you to @descendantdragfi and @bioniczombie for tagging me 💙💙💙

What’s your favorite Sims death?

I haven’t had any sims die recently, but I do have one wild story from several years ago.

When my 2nd Gen heir Maya and her sister went off to university, they stayed in the sorority house. The general university shenanigans were taking place (sims not cleaning up after themselves, piles of laundry everywhere, etc.), but I didn’t realize some of their roommates weren’t eating... until it was too late 😬

THREE (3) girls in the dorm died in one night! Two of starvation and the third from thirst (idk how she became a vampire). Since they all died so close together, the Grim Reaper just hung around the dorm until he reaped all of them. I had Maya collect their tombstones and take them back with her to Lucky Palms when the semester ended. Now they’re all resting in the mausoleum, hopefully in peace lol.

Alpha CC or Maxis Match?

Maxis-match with some alpha pieces here and there. Though I feel like the line between what’s considered maxis-match and what’s considered alpha in TS3 is way more blurred that in TS4.

Do you cheat your sims weight?

Rarely. Some of EA’s premades are just so skinny sometimes!

Do you move objects?

All. The. Time. I can’t remember a time where I’ve played or built without it on. It makes it so much easier to squeeze sitting chairs or plants or floor lamps into tight corners and make nice collages of different wall art that overlap each other a little.

Favorite Mod?

Gosh there are so many mods that I absolutely love, and lately the TS3 modding scene has been putting out banger after banger, but my most recent favorite mod is @thesweetsimmer111′s More Toddler Interactions! I love being able to feed toddlers outside of the highchair and actually give them baths. And Savanita’s animations are always so cute!

First Expansion/Game Pack/Stuff Pack?

The Sims 3: Showtime! (crazy, I know lol)

Do you pronounce live mode like aLIVE or LIVing?

ALIVE. Idc if it’s the wrong pronunciation, I’ve committed to it 😤

Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made?

Probably my test sim, Leia. I created her from scratch and use her to test my mods and any CC I download, but lately I’ve been thinking of actually playing out her life. She’s also the adult sim in my Yoga Mod cover photo. Here she is!

Have you made a simself?

I did a few years ago, but I never got around to playing her. I wonder if I still have my simself’s household somewhere...

Which is your favorite EA hair color?

I haven’t used an EA preset hair in 10,000 years, but I guess the black one isn’t too terrible.

Favorite EA hair?

The braids from The Sims 3: Island Paradise!

Favorite life stage?

I feel like Young Adult is a boring answer, so I’ll say Teens lol.

Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay?

Mostly gameplay (and testing mods/cc :p). When I build, it’s usually remodeling the interior of an already existing build. 

Are you a CC creator?

Yes!! I started with TS4 to TS3 conversions, but I’m also a modder now 😁

Do you have any Simblr friends or a Sim Squad?

The Sims 3 community on Tumblr is pretty small, and I feel like we all know, follow, or are in a Discord server with each other (shoutout to the TS3 Creator’s Cave members!!). So, in a way, we’re all in the same squad ✌

Do you have any sims merch?

Unfortunately, no.

Do you have a YouTube for sims?

No.

How has your “Sims style” changed throughout your years of playing?

I used to exclusively play with families and progress through a few generations, but recently, I’ve been playing with more single sims to experience parts of the game I hadn’t really touched on before. I’ve also gotten a lot better at avoiding “same face” syndrome when I give existing sims a makeover or make them from scratch. Getting more comfortable with custom sliders has definitely helped with that too.

Who’s your favorite CC creator?

There are a ton of creators whose content I absolutely love, so I won’t be able to name everyone, but here are a few:

@aroundthesims, @anitmb, @aisquaredchoco, @bioniczombie, @chazybazzy,  @deniisu-sims, @danjaley, @enable--llamas, @echoweaver, @faerielandsims, @franglishetchocolat, @flotheory, @givresims, @grandelama, @greenplumbboblover, @ifcasims, @ilvansims3conversion, @jamiegirlposts, @jazzysimlife, @joojconverts, @justmiha97, @kotajose, @lazyduchess, @martassimsbookcc, @monocodoll, @mspoodle1, @nectar-cellar, @nightospheresims, @ninaaposts, @olomayasims, @omedapixel, @pandelabs, @phoebejaysims, @pixelfrogslegs, @plumbdrops, @poisonfireleafs, @potato-ballad-sims, @potatobuttcheek, @puffkins2000, @rstarsims3, @simbouquet, @simsdeogloria, @sim-songs, @simtanico, @sweetdevil-sims, @tasteslikefridge, @technicallyswagpizza, @teekapoa, @theplumdot​, @thesweetsimmer111, @xiasimla, and @zoeoe-sims!

And that doesn’t even get into all of the talented TS3 creators over on Mod The Sims or NRAAS!

How long have you had Simblr?

Going on 5 years now. At first I was just reblogging other creators’ content so I could put it in my game, but then I started doing my own conversions in late 2019, so this blog became my simblr and I continued reblogging CC on @twinsimmingccfinds.

How do you edit your pictures?

Gimp 🧍‍♀️

What expansion/game pack is your favorite?

The Sims 3: Seasons! I love watching the seasons change, the holidays, the festivals, and the feeling of progression. I also love snow and the winter season in real life, especially when I was younger, so seeing my sims going about their day in a snow covered world is very nostalgic for me.

Most people have probably been tagged by now, but if you haven’t been tagged yet, I just tagged you 😉

[asquared-ohgodnotthehorrors]

I have been infected with an idea and it needs to get out, so here’s my idea for a Pokémon Mystery Dungeon TTRPG campaign I wanna run someday. Also if any of y’all can recommend good systems to play Mystery Dungeon games in, lemme know please.

So, the name of it is “Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Plunderers of Lore.” It’s a pirate/sailor game, which for Mystery Dungeon is a fun route to take while also keeping things open for an RPG, and adds an easier way to make base building feel impactful.

The main idea is that instead of being explorers or a rescue team, the group for this Mystery Dungeon adventure is Treasure Hunters… slash cartographers slash salvagers, basically making the sea safer as long as it makes the crew richer. Mystery Dungeons on the ocean this campaign would take place on would have a high quantity of Mystery Dungeons, often popping up and disappearing out of nowhere. Islands, underwater biomes, and ruins happen, but where they most commonly appear are shipwrecks. The goal of the campaign is to find out why some of the PCs turned from humans into Pokemon (if any of them did), discover the mystery of this new expanse, and get rich!

There’s a small core crew I have in mind:

a Dewott captain that takes on the head of the team sort of role, just generally a good leader and nice guy, a simple approach to the whole “Wigglytuff” role.

A Houndoom first mate who takes on the “bully team”/“Chatot” role, perhaps with a lackey or two. However they’re more harsh than malicious, and are well intentioned enough but rarely show it, often contesting Dewott and the first to think of mutiny in a bad situation. Not the most trustworthy, but reliable if you’re sure he is. Also he’s a fire type and having a fire type second in command in the ocean is funny to me.

Next we have our Bidoof equivalent: a Pidove who desperately wishes to be a Pelipper delivery service Pokémon, but has taken and failed the examination several times each time for a different reason. The personality is self explanatory, with Pokémon I like to go tropey and typical rather than deviate from the formula too hard as that’s what Pokemon is at its core about.

Then a chill Swampert who lugs the boat (Pokédex), a Dhelmise most of the crew don’t really pay attention to who serves a sort of “Lapras” role of being a wise old sage and the oldest member of the crew having come with the ship, and a few other blanks I need to fill. I think having a Klefki lock picker would be fun but that may be better as a one off character not part of the crew than anything.

Now, the last and my favorite crew member is (taking a leaf out of Gates to Infinity, something you never want to hear) a Meloetta. She’s the waifish “along for the ride to life adventure vicariously because she’s too fragile for adventure,” while also being the navigator and morale of the crew. What with having bardic tendencies and being good in a sea shanty and all…

The thing is, she’s secretly this legend on the seas known as “Masquerade” while in her Dancer form, wielding a rapier and donning a fashionable mask. Think a Zoro or Dread Pirate Roberts type character, feared for her single handed plundering of entire ships (mostly through trickery, Sing is better in Mystery Dungeon typically). The joke here is that every NPC cannot see through her paper thin disguise, and I’m leaving it up to the PCs on whether or not they let themselves fall for it. So it can either be “OH MY GOD WHO IS COULD THIS MYSTERIOUS MASQUERADE BE!? ITS SUCH A MYSERY!!!! DUNGEON!!!” or it could be “Dude you have met this girl before that’s Meloetta” “we don’t know their gender” “SHE’S WEARING THE SAME DRESS!” “Dresses aren’t gendered.” And the fact it could potentially be both for the PCs is what’s most hilarious to me.

Now, here’s the fun part: this is just half of the campaign.

For as we resolve the first cut away scene of Masquerade taking a secret from a ship that learned too much, dancing across the waves into the night as we wrap up our first session… we won’t actually cut away from that ship. Not yet.

We’ll see a sleek silhouette, otherworldly flight landing upon the deck of the ship.

Metal on wood.

Glowing red eyes.

Amethyst carapace.

“This is Aqua, reporting to central command, target has vacated last known coordinates.”

“Affirmative. New objective: locate the target’s new coordinates. Observe from afar. Learn as much as possible and report back to base regularly. Understood?”

“It will be done.”

And as Genesect flies off into the night, we fade to black, and we see the title card. As it flashes, we see the alternate title of this story;

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Plunderers of Fate.