«Shuro manic pixie dream-girled Falin!» or maybe, just maybe, consider the fact that Falin was Toshiro’s first ever crush (he literally says he has never liked someone that much before), and he has a hard time expressing his feelings. Maybe think about how talking to the person you’re in love with can be intimidating. Maybe consider that part of the reason he fell for Falin was because she was kind and gentle, and liked bugs, an interest Toshiro has but was forced to grow out of because of social norms in his homeland. Maybe consider the possibility that Toshiro proposed so suddenly because he thought he might never meet another woman like Falin and didn’t want to miss his chance before he returned home. Maybe consider that while similar, Laios and Falin are also different, and Toshiro being annoyed with Laios while crushing on Falin isn’t hypocritical (Falin is more withdrawn, while Laios is extroverted and more eccentric). Maybe consider that before you portray him as a scumbag?
can we get stepdaddy toji who shares you with his other older friends bc he’s been bragging abt how tight you are 🙈🙈
Tags: stepcest! I didn’t know who else to add so there’s only Shiu (and Toji obv) in here sorryyy :< Toji doesn’t really do the fucking idk if that’s what you wanted sorry again 😞
Eeek i luv dis ask so much 😭 when stepdaddy Toji told his old, wise friend Shiu his little girl was so tight and warm, he was so confused because… what? It took him a few months before he asked Toji to introduce him to you.
When he finally did, Shiu couldn’t get his hands off of you! He was sloppily fucking you, thrusting his hips back and forth and really getting used to the feeling of this sweet, tight girl !
Toji made him use a condom, because no one could feel his baby doll raw if it wasn’t him.
“You’re doing so good for this man, aren’t you, princess? Barely met him today and you’re already squeezing him tight…” Toji teases, his big manly hands cupping your tits from behind.
“Daddy, stop teasing…!” You whine, pouting as tears form in your eyes, a gasp falling from your glossy lips when you feel Shiu’s cock grazing that gummy spot.
“Yeah, stop teasing this sweet girl,” Shiu laughs, shifting his hand to rub your poor clit, eliciting gasp after gasp from you.
You reach behind you to hold onto your stepdad’s big arms for balance, your body bouncing with every fuck of Shiu’s hips.
“Shit, sweetheart, you’re so tight…” Shiu groans and throws his head back, sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Isn’t she?” Toji’s voice is low and deep next to your ear, his lips pressing kisses on your shoulder and neck as his fingers twist and pull at your sensitive, hardened nipples. You shake your head in embarrassment, whimpering as you place your forearm over your eyes.
“Ca-can’t, daddy, can’t do it!” You cry, knots in your stomach tying themselves.
“Aww, poor baby… Shiu, you’re being too rough on my sweet girl,” Toji grunts, feeling his cock harden at the sight of your tears and sound of your strained voice.
Shiu, instead of going softer, actually goes rougher. Your boobs bounce at the impact, your walls clenching around Shiu’s dick, your juices painting it.
“Wahh, daddy, ‘s too muchhhh!” Your eyes screw shut, clinging onto your stepdaddy like your life depended on it.
“Baby, cry to Shiu, not me, ‘m not being mean, right?” Toji shakes his head affectionately. “Told you to be nicer to my baby girl.”
“G’na cum, g’na cum!” You announce in a whine, your stomach right and it’s only in a matter of moments before you’re gushing all over Shiu’s cock.
“Shit, she’s so tight,” Shiu grins lazily, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you come undone.
“Told ya,” Toji’s hand moves away from your tit and tangles itself in your hair, raking it through the strands gently.
“One day there was an anonymous present sitting on my doorstep—Volume One of Capital by Karl Marx, in a brown paper bag. A joke? Serious? And who had sent it? I never found out. Late that night, naked in bed, I leafed through it. The beginning was impenetrable, I couldn’t understand it, but when I came to the part about the lives of the workers—the coal miners, the child laborers—I could feel myself suddenly breathing more slowly. How angry he was. Page after page. Then I turned back to an earlier section, and I came to a phrase that I’d heard before, a strange, upsetting, sort of ugly phrase: this was the section on “commodity fetishism,” “the fetishism of commodities.” I wanted to understand that weird-sounding phrase, but I could tell that, to understand it, your whole life would probably have to change. His explanation was very elusive. He used the example that people say, “Twenty yards of linen are worth two pounds.” People say that about every thing that it has a certain value. This is worth that. This coat, this sweater, this cup of coffee: each thing worth some quantity of money, or some number of other things—one coat, worth three sweaters, or so much money—as if that coat, suddenly appearing on the earth, contained somewhere inside itself an amount of value, like an inner soul, as if the coat were a fetish, a physical object that contains a living spirit. But what really determines the value of a coat? The coat’s price comes from its history, the history of all the people involved in making it and selling it and all the particular relationships they had. And if we buy the coat, we, too, form relationships with all those people, and yet we hide those relationships from our own awareness by pretending we live in a world where coats have no history but just fall down from heaven with prices marked inside. “I like this coat,” we say, “It’s not expensive,” as if that were a fact about the coat and not the end of a story about all the people who made it and sold it, “I like the pictures in this magazine.” A naked woman leans over a fence. A man buys a magazine and stares at her picture. The destinies of these two are linked. The man has paid the woman to take off her clothes, to lean over the fence. The photograph contains its history—the moment the woman unbuttoned her shirt, how she felt, what the photographer said. The price of the magazine is a code that describes the relationships between all these people—the woman, the man, the publisher, the photographer—who commanded, who obeyed. The cup of coffee contains the history of the peasants who picked the beans, how some of them fainted in the heat of the sun, some were beaten, some were kicked. For two days I could see the fetishism of commodities everywhere around me. It was a strange feeling. Then on the third day I lost it, it was gone, I couldn’t see it anymore.”
adding to this, kudos to all the animators and artists that chipped in to make these happen, they're legitimately some of the funniest people at BioWare
(not all have public-facing socials, but they appreciate the love all the same 💜)
