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TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog
“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”
High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”
Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.
Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.
“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”
“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.
High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.
Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”
“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”
Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”
“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.
“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.
He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-
Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.
Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.
Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!
And catch him, High General Windu sure did.
“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”
“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.
“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”
“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.
Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”
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Cannot stop thinking about making a really submissive Bucky cum until he can't anymore 😵💫
I love the thought of working load after load from him and the way that he'd go from being pretty quiet and composed to whimpering and writhing, unsure if he needs more or less of your touch.
Getting him to a stage where he feels empty. He feels like he has nothing left to give you. You've made him watch as you jerk him off with a delightfully lubed hand, squeezing and tugging until his cock is twitching and throbbing and shooting thick, messy stripes of cum against your palm. You don't stop after he's finished though. His release only makes the glide of your hand smoother and the sight of his own pearly cum being worked back over his cock makes him hard again in no time.
"Please." He groans, throwing his head back, exposing his beautiful throat. Your hand tightens around his cock involuntarily and you find yourself almost wishing you had your other hand around his neck. "Please don't make me cum again. I-I can't."
Bless him, his strong thighs are twitching, his muscles tense, trying to force his body to listen to his brain for just a second.
"Sweetheart, I don't think you're empty yet. You gave me so much cum just a few minutes ago." You let yourself give in just a little, leaning over and kissing along the column of his throat, enjoying the light salty perspiration against your lips.
Bucky rolls his hips but it's hard for him to tell if he's trying to lean into your touch or away from it. In truth, he loves feeling like this. He loves having his cum milked from him and having no choice but to enjoy the mind numbing pleasure of your body.
His thighs are streaked with evidence of his own lust and he's almost ashamed that he's still hard. Not just as hard as he was when you started though.
"F-Fuck." The slick sound of your hand pumping him quickly is overwhelming. Your grip is tight on his shaft while you cup his balls, squeezing and teasing them gently, encouraging them to work overtime for you.
"I can't cum again. I can't." Bucky pants, whimpering when he forces his eyes to meet yours again.
"You told me that last time. I'm not sure when you decided it would be a good idea to lie to me but I promise you, it isn't." Your tone would make him tense but he's tense already, trying to hold back an orgasm he truly doesn't need.
"This is the last orgasm I want from you. You can manage it for me, can't you?" You sound so sincere this time, he can't help but agree.
"Good boy. Now cum nice and hard for me. I want to hear how pathetic you sound."
For the next few minutes, there are no sounds except the delightfully wet sound of your hand working lube and cum against his dick and the frantic moans of a man reaching a level of pleasure that verges just nicely on painful.
When he does cum, you let it splash against your palm once more and you notice how little he's able to provide you with. He's entirely empty, legs shaking but babbling how grateful he is for the way you touch him.
Now that he's spent, it feels like your turn to enjoy yourself while he watches and nothing sounds better than touching yourself with the hand that's covered in his cum.
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what's house of leaves?
the short version is, it's a book about a book about a book about a book about a movie that never existed about a house that's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. it is probably the single most famous/notorious existing work of "ergodic fiction", meaning basically fiction which exists in such a complex relationship with its medium that it takes nontrivial effort just to consume, meaning uhhhh a lot of it looks like this,
or worse!
it's like, fifty percent an extremely high-effort mockery of modern academia, it's often doing its active best to be completely incomprehensible to you, its and i cannot emphasize this enough A Space With A Beast In It. its awfully dear to my heart also. or as mark z danielewsky who wrote it puts it:
"I had one woman come up to me in a bookstore and say, 'You know, everyone told me it was a horror book, but when I finished it, I realized that it was a love story.' And she's absolutely right.
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Dip. Dipster. Dippy-dappy-doo-da-day. My King. My Queen. My Liege. Funky little court jester.
Cregan has a thing for big (fat) girls, pass it on.
-chonky anon who definitely knows what she's talking about and definitely isn't projecting- WHO SAID THAT!?
“funky little court jester” thank you so much. my highest regarded title… call me mushroom if you will. ANYWAYS
i actually had a thing in my drafts about this (a small thought i had at 2am that i forgot to elaborate on) so i guess you’re just reading my mind huh. BECAUSE YES. CREGAN HAS A THING FOR BIG GIRLS. “pass it on” AND HERE I AM
cregan would adore every part of you, no matter shape or size. but, he can’t deny the feeling that stirs in him when his wife has some extra flesh on her bones. bodies like yours are desired in the north, critical in keeping yourself warm & a sign of being well fed. plus, your body is ideal for having kids. walk with me here.
your hips, with a cushy layer of flesh that are just perfect for them to bounce on. soft, big tits that look so full with milk for you & cregans pup. the sight of it drives cregan crazy. whenever you interact with kids he feels like a madman, wanting to do nothing more than pull you to your shared chambers and breed you.
and, in case you were wondering, no. your weight is never a problem. cregan can still manhandle you into any position he wants. can still move you around anywhere he needs to, can still help you/lift you from your horse, definitely still throws your legs over his shoulders. & he thinks your chubby cheeks are the cutest
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