This is just a bunch of random crap. Throwaway lines or scenes that will never be used. Photos. Musings. Ask questions if you want.
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Ron groaned, he'd gone and lost his heart to another crazy woman. He'd swear girlies were nothing but two-faced, attention-seeking, self-validating assholes who thrived on nothing more than getting people to bow to their whims. Granted, so were men, but Ron wasn't interested in dicking them.
Holy Mother of Mary on Jesus Christ's cock, what the hell had happened here?
I may be going no where but at least it's not downhill.
Mickey had been preying to Hell for this moment. Pretty-boy Frank had finally fallen hard on a bender of snowballs and lay incapacitated on the couch, his loaded gun laying out on the coffee table. Five years ago he'd plucked Mickey off the streets when she was just a pretty young bird of seventeen. He put her in a city she didn't know and fed her a steady drip of heroine. Turned her out on the streets to earn her fix. For five fucking years she spread her legs and opened her mouth for every random John with bejamin's to spare and a load to dump. Made into nothing more than a trashcan for their urges and anger. Beaten, battered, and fucked about. All for another hit of that fucking heroine that made life suddenly seem not-so-bad.
She held the gun to Frank's head, smiling at the fear in his eyes, knowing what was coming. She pulled the trigger. It was the best bang of her life. The blood splatter was beautiful, a scarlet mess speckled across the cream colored-couch. Frank had never looked better in red. He really should have worn it more often. Mickey took aim at Frank's chest and fired all but the last shot into him, saving the last one for his cock, the flow of blood the last erruption it'd ever give. She watched the man bleed out, heart hammering with the kill but still unsatisfied. There wasn't enough blood in his corpse to match the amount tears she had shed and the cum she'd taken down or up herself. She picked the extra clip up off the table and loaded it. Maybe plugging a few of his friends would do the trick.
Went out walking today at the local park. I find each year I wind up taking far more pictures of nature than people. That probably says something, but whatever. The real point is to get some better lighting than a backlit screen now and then.
Why the hell had they installed a clock to the bomb? Jericho's eyes darted about the room at absolutely nothing. The room he was in was empty, just a discarded office with off-white walls and cheap, thin grey-blue carpet. The only thing decorating the drab and lifeless interior was his own chair-strapped self and the heinous call to arms in front of him. The bomb sat there on the floor, out of reach but in clear view. Taunting him. A mess of wires, plastic explosives, and a clock all set to blow and raise hell. The room Jericho was in was vital for only one reason: being near a major support structure in the building.
When the bomb detonated the downtown office of Teleco would topple and many of the workers in the building would die. Jericho had been given the dubious honor of a front row seat to the demolition for being a little too nosy with the mob. His efforts were reward with duct tape and confinement to the spot. No one was coming. He was going to die. Several people were going to die.
Jericho's heart raced in terror and his skin went clammy with dread. Goosebumps and a cold sweat covered him. The inevitable felt like an eternity away. It would only be five minutes more. But that damned ticking. It clawed at the passage of time. Tearing, warping, and stretching it out to make the experiance so much worse as each interval was marked. Jericho tried to scream, but nothing much came.
They had shoved a rag in his mouth, duct taped it in, leaving his jaw stuffed and stretched open. It was uncomfortable but paled to the raging storm of fear, dread, and consequence that lay havoc to his mental landscape. If only he could consign himself to death! But each second was filled with hope someone might walk in through the door, and each tick a crushing disappointment as no one came.
Jericho tried to wriggle, squirm, anything to move. The chair budged a little. In Jericho's frenzied mind that seemed like something, and that was better than nothing, right? He scootched the chair a few useless inches across the floor before he and the chair toppled to the side with a harsh thud. Wrong. Searing pain shot up his shoulder before fading to a dull ache. He couldn't even swear in his pain. He didn't have to look at the bomb anymore, at least.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick
Jericho closed his eyes. He was going to die. These walls were coming down. Nothing was built to last. The clock steadily ticked, laughing in his face. A reminder death was knocking at the door until he burst in with a thunderous entrance.
You should give so secretly that your left hand should not know the right is doing it. The same should be said for taking. God and the Devil are both close at hand, they were only ever in man.
If you think someone wasted your time then look at yourself and realize it was your own waste for not seizing your own time. You've only yourself to blame.
People will try to pour things into you. They may try and convince you that you need to be the one to hold onto it. They may ask you, plead with you, guilt you, give favors, or force you, anything to get you to believe it is your responsibility to hold onto what they are pouring. But that is all bullshit. The power is yours on what you wish to hold onto or let go of and you will drown if you cannot embrace that and learn to just let go and swim in the noise, to find and taste for what you need and to hold fast when it is found. Someone's got what you crave, somewhere.
Andrew looked himself over in the mirror, his features clean and freshly shaven. He was a total narcissist, he knew it and ownedit! He was a gorgeously chiseled man who loved his body, working out daily in the gym. Broad of chest, slim of waist and firm of beautiful man-buttocks, he posed for himself in the mirror and couldn't help but smile. Absolutely stunning, he complimented himself. He flexed the muscles of his arms and legs, their curvature hardening like a greek statue below his bearded face. Magnificent. Looking at himself was all it took to get him stoked.
His large cock hung limp over his dangling sack, its heft swinging lightly between his legs. With just a few dirty thoughts he stiffened it up until ten fat inches of errect man meat was standing at attention like a hook, ready to catch a pussy. Andrew, you filthy mongrel~. Only one girl could do it for him, the only person even more beautiful than him: his sister. Andrew stroked himself for a moment, rubbing his length. He'd have to wait only a little longer 'till she was home so he could bury himself in her luscious bubble butt. She kept it nice and firm just for her big brother, giving him the best view in the whole wide world while he dicked her in the ass. Andrew set off with anticipation to find where they'd last left the lube.
Hi there! Seeing as I only have personal interest in one particular plot-heavy (though still smutty) scenario I figured I may as well post it. Consider this a WIP since it will involve a fair amount of world building. On that same note, if you're interested and want to pitch some ideas, feel free to toss me a message; not everything here needs to be treated as set in stone.
So what's the big idea?
A typical fantasy "bonding," setup. It's in the very name, even, Valencia here being derived from the word valence. In this case, the bond is between a wielder and a living weapon (sometimes abbreviated LW.) Why not a dragon, a familiar, or some demonic pact? Who knows? Maybe it's because a weapon is a tool and lends a heavy-handed, symbolic, literary bent to a master/servant scenario. Maybe it is because a tool cannot serve its purpose without a guiding hand, and that hand is simply better off using a tool than the hand alone. Maybe I just don't care for dragons (which is, in fact, quite true.) Or maybe I'm looking for an excuse to smash violence and sex together in one story but not necessarily at the same time.
Regardless, the gist of it is thus: there are weapons in this world of abundant magical power and they frequently take a human (or humanoid) form. While anyone can use them as a weapon, their magical abilities and gifts cannot be accessed by a weilder without bonding. As I'm sure anyone from this site would expect, that means sex, and plenty of it in this case. It's the prerequisite to get the ball rolling and keep it going. Literally and figuratively. I enjoy smut, it's a primary motivator, and I expect it to happen frequently throughout whatever story occurs.
But this is also about emotional bonding of the characters, too. Each weapon has their own story to tell, along with wants and desire to that end. The more fufilled and attuned to the wielder a LW feels, the deeper the bond and thus their granted power grows. These powers can range from superhuman speed and strength to elemental control, shapeshifting, teleportation, etc. within reason. I am up for roleplaying as either weapon or wielder, but I only wish to roleplay male characters against female characters (or potentially against a subby, feminine male.) More than one couple may also be the focus of this RP, and at times side characters and goons may need to be rolled.
Of course, with such powerful weapons existing in this world they've shaped the course of society. And so the world building possibilities begin:
A group of mercenaries and Living Weapons that co-exist under their own banner. The original founder was a Living Weapon themselves and formed this organization with the intent to gather fellow Living Weapons together, along with their partners for those that had them. They are first and formost concerned with protecting their own. Because a particularly powerful LW can turn the tides of battle tyrants of all sorts might try to capture or abuse Living Weapons for their own selfish ends. And If not for their own use, then at least as an assurance no one else could use a Living Weapon against them. As a Living Weapon home-turf, the Guild can also serve as a sort of dating grounds for would-be wielders. Adventurers and people of ambition may have an easier time finding the Living Weapon of their dreams, and the LW a suitable wielder/lover. However, any such person seeking a LW must be willing to adhere to Guild law, pledge their loyalty, and give some proof of their allegiance. Generally speaking, the guild prefers to hire out couples under its banner as mercenaries and play neutral in politics. But of course, the world doesn't always play nice. Sometimes an adventure succefully gets in, woos a LW, and then convinces the LW to elope with them for other non-Guild related shenanigans. Being a hotbed of power the Guild has a target on its back from other nations or groups, whether being seen as a rival or a resource to dismantle and exploite. Further, they may have made a few enemies here or there by selling their mercenaries to a militaristic or power-snatching cause.
This could be any sort of rigidly run, millitaristic governmental body, not neccessarily an Empire. The main idea is Living Weapons are conscripted into the military. This is the only life many have ever known. While it is in the Empire's interests to match a weapon with a suitable wielder for power's sake, it is not an option for a Living Weapon to roam unbonded, nor bonded to a commoner or a member of a rival entity. They are frequently paired with any soldier that may only somewhat work. A small few Living Weapons have even experianced the horror of having the military kill a beloved wielder of theirs for treason, or kill their previous wielder as an enemy only to take the living weapon as a conscript. Depending on how we want the roleplay to go, a couple could be for or against the Empire, seeking to either rise in status or glory, or to flee and rebel against the tyranny of it all.
A military academy dedicated to the raising of young generals, be they sons or daughters of nobles or a layperson whose family somehow got ahold of enough coin to send their youth to the school. Along with the typical academics there is an emphasis here on combat. Many of the combat classes are taught by Living Weapons themselves. It's not entirely uncommon for an instructor to dote on a new pupil only for them to wind up in each others hands. Young Living Weapons are also raised here, with grounds specifically built to house them for their lifetime and serve as a boon to attract them and keep them tied to the Academy. Free food, house, and a plethora of younger, mostly well off student-warriors to find love with? For many the deal is too good to pass up, and so the Academy flourishes.
In this setting it is not uncommon for weapons to be passed down from generation to generation, regardless of how well a couple might get along. There's a lot of chances for incest going down this route, as a LW might get passed down to a son or daughter (or later generation) that they sired. Given a LW's long lifespan, this may happen multiple times. Alternatively or additionally, LWs are kept in the clan and encouraged to make as many bonds as they can so that if a member of the clan has a need for a weapon there will always be a LW who can step-up and fufill the roll. Where LWs are concerned, monogamy is generally eschewed and jealousy for them is suppressed for the good of the clan. Still, LWs usually have favorites when it comes to their partners.
These factions do not have to all exist at once in the world, though they certainly can, alongside other entities. They may also recieve proper names within the story's context. The factions can also be a side-piece for a roaming, adventurous couple travelling through the lands on some quest. I expect there to be fantasy races and monsters within this world too, both of the nonsexual and sexual variety (by which I mean something akin to Monster Girl Encyclopedia or male equivalents, this is not an invitation for beastiality.) Magic exists as well but as a general rule it is not as powerful as what can be achieved via the LWs.
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