#and could not get over the insane control scheme. what the hell was that.

[crowcryptid]

Currently attempting to play all the Armored Core games and could NOT use the original controls for the first one. They suck. A lot.

I redid the bindings to move with the dpad, turn/look with ABXY, and boost + weapon stuff is on the triggers and bumpers.

Its playable. Kind of clunky but I went through like 10 missions with it.

Anyway. I just got mouse and keyboard controls sorta working and its SO much better. Still fighting with it a bit cause retroarch is being weird with some stuff but with some work it will be perfect.

I used this to add mouse input -> Link

Movement is bound to WASD. ABXY are just some keys that can be easily reached with my left hand. My mouse has 2 side buttons so I have triggers and bumpers on the mouse and of course looking around is controlled by mouse movement like any modern game.

[alekthefox]

This is about my post about a future fanfic where Aventurine beats Dr Ratio in chess. What you're reading now however is canonical proof+my theories on Veritas' opinion on Aventurine's intelligence.

@resagini You're right absolutely, however Dr. Ratio already knows Aventurine is extremely intelligent! (I'm not sure if you were implying he doesn't realise it in canon... But if that's not the case... then for those people you mentioned in the last few tags here's a little info :)

Penacony spoilers underneath, with receipts.

First of all why he wears the bust:

(Source of image: Honkai Star Rail wiki, under Dr. Ratio, voice-overs.)

He has never ever been seen wearing it when with Ave. Aventurine even teases him about it in Penacony story with the line of (I love the stupid pun, the word "bust" fits both of them):

This also means Aventurine has seen it before this. I'm unsure the time placement of Final Victor light cone as of right now. But it is possible Veritas changed his mind multiple times. Since Penacony though he's not worn it when with Aventurine. It is also possible he wears it when the two of them are with others who Ratio finds to be blubbering fools.

Note: Aventurine is a high rank P45, and a Stoneheart, within the STRATEGIC Investment Department. Whyyyy, pray tell, do people think of him so lowly????

Then there's Dr. Ratio in the Aventurine showcase saying they're not exactly friends and he's not so bad to work with unlike those insufferable fools. (And I adore the callout he gets from Aventurine and how flustered he gets urgh this man <3)

Official video

Friends quote: 0:50

Veritas admitting Aventurine is in control then getting flustered when the two are described to have "mutual understanding" ("wait... mutual? What did he say about me???? 🥺"): 5:30

YESSSS YOU CAN PUT ITALIC ON EMOJIS!

And I would love to remind everyone of the lines:

Yep. Dr. Ratio knew Aventurine's plan, or the majority of it. (PEOPLE PISS ME OFF WHEN LISTING THAT BETRAYAL AS A REASON THIS SHIP IS TOXIC.) That means Dr. Ratio knew that this extremely layered, thoroughly thought through (i did NOT just use those three words like it's normal what the hell) scheme, all came from Aventurine's mind (literally nobody else would think of this bullshit, from the self-destruction to the breaking of a cornerstone to the THREE cornerstones in use in the same place without the people, in possession of the Family etc etc). I believe extremely little parts of the Penacony situation was luck. Aventurine is lucky, yes, insanely. But he uses his luck as an advantage, not main weapon. He uses it as a mask, he is a gambler to many eyes. The doctor knows this. He doesn't believe in luck but in probability, a controlled and calculable version of luck. He didn't trust his luck, but his mind. So Ratio played his part.

Another thing is that during Penacony you can retrace, during story, Aventurine and Ratio's steps. Literally. Playing as Acheron you can examine the footprints and it's stated that whoever was walking there are equals.

Despite Aventurine having full power over Ratio through the IPC authority and the cornerstone power and having him always follow his lead (begrudgingly or not), they walk side by side.

Even with Ratio being much taller and therefore faster, they walk side by side. (An easy excuse that doesn't involve feelings that both could use to avoid this respect.) Even with Ratio thinking a lot of people are morons, he walks side by side with Aventurine, without his statue mask. Even with Dr. Ratio's many accomplishments proving he's above quite a number of individuals.

In both opinions on who is greater, they choose this.

Link to wiki page

There is so so so so much more but I do think these instances alone are enough to prove my point.

[exorcqism]

hi babagril 🤭 sooo my request is gojo poundin the shit out of y/n (or my name 🗣️) after y/n being a absolute teasing him and being a brat.

u could either write gojo or geto… or both cs uk i don’t mind

„𝐈𝐍 𝐏���𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂”

: ̗̀➛ 18+ CONTENT!!! MDNI

: ̗̀➛ afab!reader, public sex, nun too heavy. threesome. not proofread so i apologize in advance for any mistakes if they’re made.

: ̗̀➛ art creds by;; currently unknown. dividers are not mine, if you own these, you may claim them in comments.

: ̗̀➛ WORD COUNT;; 670

* dark mode recommended

* do not copy this plot. i’m perfectly fine with inspirations but give creds. if this plot his stolen in any way, the post will be taken down and you will be blocked.

𝐃𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ✉️🖇️;; again,, first time writing for these characters. i hope this don’t suck 😭 HOPE YOU LIKEEEE and reblog to support meeee and if you want more :D

you were being impatient. you, gojo, and geto have been out all day messing around…more like gojo and geto were messing around. you just tagged along because you didn’t wanna be left alone at home while gojo claims to be out doing “extensional work”.

the three of you were currently out for lunch. geto squinted at the non-sorcerers. his little ponytail swung behind him as he grabbed the set of chopsticks and began playing with his food.

“there’s a bunch of monkeys, over there. i don’t wanna be near those things.” you heard him grumble under his breath before he’d take a glance at you and smirk. “don’t worry, you’re an exception.” that’s when he began spraying his disinfectant deodorant….to keep the monkey smell away.

“what the hell…” you thought as you laughed off geto’s comment, not exactly knowing what you should say after. gojo’s hand gently pressed down onto the table as he stood up.

“going to the bathroom, be right back.” he announced. that’s when you took the opportunity to try to go with him and satisfy your needs. you were going through an insane heat. it didn’t help that you were ovulating.

“uh…me too!” you suddenly say before grabbing gojo by the arm and dragging gojo to the bathroom, leaving the non-sorcerer hater at the table alone.

he didn’t seem to mind.

the two of you get to the bathroom, and you being you, you stopped gojo before he could get into the stall, telling him your scheme.

twenty minutes later, the two of you were on the bathroom floor, naked. gojo was holding your thighs down while his tongue was moving against your folds at some unknown speed, making you moan loudly. your hips bucked, pushing his face more into you.

your fingers gripped onto his icy white hair. you were trying your best to be quiet, considering you were in a public setting but the way gojo’s tongue was moving was driving you insane.

before anything could go any further, the bathroom door opened. there stood geto with the widest of eyes, completely in shock of what he was looking at.

but your imagine enticed him. seeing your movements against his best friend’s face as he opened the door. it was hypnotic. the male made a face before he commanded you to move off of gojo after he decided that he’d join in on such acts. of course you listened. he removed his clothes also.

“you’re so obedient…i thought you were incompetent but i think you could be useful.” he said as he pinned you down against the cold tiled flooring of the bathroom. he’d put your legs up over his shoulders, before he’d force his length into you. it all happened so sudden. your breath hitched as you tried to control your moans but it was physically impossible.

while geto was slamming himself into you, his thrusts getting slightly more intense by the moment, gojo quieted your noises of pleasure with his own length. as if it were muscle memory, your hand wrapped around his shaft and your tongue swirled around against his tip, which flushed a red color filled with sensitivity.

you were being constantly praised by the two men as they fucked you roughly. all three of your moans and airy breaths filled the room, not really caring if anyone on the outside heard anything. what mattered was that you all were getting some sort of pleasure out of this. your eyes rolled back, unable to see what was in front of you clearly.

soon enough, puddles of a warm substance fell onto your stomach and some going down your throat.

both geto and gojo stood up, cleaning themselves before putting their clothes back on.

“that was fun, wasn’t it?” geto smirked at you. embarrassed, you quickly got up and cleaned yourself also and put your clothes on.

“i thought it was fun.” gojo beamed with a goofy smile. geto narrowed his eyes before nudging the other.

“i wasn’t asking you.”

𝐄𝐍𝐃.

⋆｡࿇ ·࣭࣪̇˖ 𖦹°༅༚

[sunderwight]

contemplating a scenario where Aziraphale and Crowley cross into a universe where they never had a chance to interact much

and it was because neither of them got stationed on earth after the Eden thing

so Aziraphale is just this miserable soldier/warrior guy who has spent countless years doing drills and dealing with heavenly politics, prepping for Armageddon because there's nothing else for him to do, accumulating an extensive knowledge and weapons and battle formations that he's honestly just not all that enthused about but what else is he supposed to do?

meanwhile Crowley is a duke of hell whose only choice was to rise through the ranks to try and escape the torment by controlling his own little slice of it, orchestrating calamities and catastrophes because he could at least be distant enough from the reality of what he was involved in to not have to see it actually inflict suffering

but then here comes these other versions of them. who on the surface seem much more pathetic! like Aziraphale has gone soft and fussy and seems very preoccupied with earthly things, and only even just remembers how to hold a sword, and seems to do whatever he can to get out of fighting or smiting any foes

and Crowley isn't a duke, he isn't anybody really, he's just some guy who evades Hell's cruelty mostly by avoiding it altogether. no demons tremble in fear of him, his big schemes are all small potatoes things like messing up wifi and civil engineering projects

plus, worst of all, they're consorting with the enemy!

(they are both jealous and fascinated but, thanks to their backgrounds, they know they're not supposed to be so it's a whole thing)

so then somehow or another, Evil Establishment Aziraphale and Crowley end up stuck together in a situation and despite everything, they bond over their shared distress at what these other versions of them are doing to their self-images and reputations. their shared inability to believe that could have EVER been them. their incredulity, followed by tentative speculations, and then sort of nervously musing on what it must have been like. alone on earth with no one beings like them for company, really. maybe that's it, they just went insane on earth? they should probably be glad to have avoided that fate in their own universe, then

Grand Duke Crowley admitting that he wanted to be stationed on earth for a long time though, because it would mean he wasn't in Hell

Commander Aziraphale venturing that when he thinks about it, he supposes it does seem like those other versions... well like they've experienced a lot of things

Not that Commander Aziraphale wants to experience anything like that, of course! No, certainly not

Although if he did, Duke Crowley wouldn't blame him...

Anyway it ends up with the two of them doing a full Gabriel and Beelzebub romance speed run and going off together after having known one another for less than a year, while Original Flavor Aziraphale and Crowley watch this happen and are flabbergasted that apparently even counting their own selves they're taking an obscenely long time to pull the trigger on this relationship business...

[colinlegameboy]

Yammering About Star Wars: Dark Forces Remastered

When I was very young, I loved playing Star Wars: Dark Forces. I did so constantly, to the point of looking up modded levels and asking my dad to download those for me to play.

I also was genuinely terrible at it, to the point of always having the invincibility and all-weapons cheats on. But I was a kid, I didn't care. I just loved shooting stormtroopers with several different laser guns.

Fast forward many years and I learn that not only was there a PS1 release of Dark Forces, but it was available to purchase on PSN. Obviously I had to get it. But uh... It wasn't worth doing so. The controls were batshit, it being a PS1 FPS released before people knew what a console FPS's controls were supposed to be. Square to shoot? Ew. I forget how far I got (I think I actually got pretty far, me loving the game so much), but I know I didn't beat it.

Fast forward again to 2024. I'm listening to the Dropped Frames podcast, and they're listing early 2024 game releases when they drop this bombshell- Star Wars Dark Forces Remastered, releasing February 28th. I had not heard of this being a thing, but I of course immediately wishlisted it, extremely excited for the chance to properly play through one of my childhood favorites with a control scheme I could actually get a handle on. In the leadup to release, I legit salivated over the chance to play it with modern FPS controls.

When I did finally get to play it, it was in fact everything I had hoped for. It was Star Wars Dark Forces with modern FPS controls. Aaaaaaaaaand nothing else. Which isn't bad! Far from it! But I definitely think if it weren't for my above average in-game sense of direction (and ability to read the map), I would have spent way too much time running in circles. In fact, there were a few times I still had to look up what the hell I was supposed to be doing, lest I still end up running in circles.

And about the controls- They do work, but if you want it to feel like a modern FPS, you need to slightly adjust the vertical look, and crank the horizontal. I don't know if it's because of the stiffness of the original release or what, but anything below near-max for horizontal camera sensitivity feels annoyingly sluggish.

Those are my only real gripes, though, despite it likely being due to very thick rose colored glasses. I am so happy to finally say I cleared this, but I also really wish I could play more. Perhaps someone will find a way to convert all those fan mod levels to be played in the remaster, but that's probably an insane amount of work. More likely, the GOATs at Nightdive will get to work on remasters of Jedi Knight and Mysteries of the Sith, which I also want to properly play with modern FPS controls. Hope to see those soon.

[infinitelycomplexpuzzles]

Headcanon: How Beelzebub Organizes His Minions

So, all the Princes of Hell have their own way of doing things, that probably goes without saying. Lucifer runs his level of hell like a feudal kingdom, Mammon runs his like a corporation, Satan runs his like a warrior society.

Beelzebub, in turn, runs his like the mob or the yakuza. He runs it with lots of competing power centers, all of whom are by design fighting each other and pitting against one another, and who alternate between seeking Beelzebub's approval and work against him.

The core of this is the Order of the Fly.

Think of it a bit like being made in the mafia; to join the Order, you have to be recommended by someone else and approved by Beelzebub himself. Of course, you could also kill a member of the Order and then survive the reprisal, which is also a good way to get in.

One thing that makes Beelzebub stand out compared to the other Princes is that Beelzebub's way of doing things allows for a lot of advancement for people with skills and ambition. If you're in Lucifer's realm, everything is about birth and status. If you're in Mammon's, you're stuck in a corporate structure. Beelzebub doesn't care how you get to the top; all that matters is that you can and do get there.

Furthermore, Beelzebub actively promotes those who scheme against him; he finds that kind of ambition to be interesting and fun, and he likes people who can provide entertainment to him.

Of course, in that light, the Order of the Fly is more an acknowledgement by Beelzebub himself; it's a sign that you're somebody. And it's a sign that you have authority. Once you get into the club, you can freely wage war against another other member, even Beelzebub himself. Granted, this means anyone can wage war on you too. And that means that the lower stratum of the Order is constantly changing, as new members rise and fall.

In contrast, the higher stratum, made up of all kinds of syndicates and families and organizations of various demons, doesn't change often. It can, but generally speaking these power centers take up new order members and there's a lot of competition for the ones that show promise.

And again, Beelzebub actively encourages them to fight each other and fight him. Ambitious, insane, and cunning individuals are more than welcomed.

It should also be pointed out that there's a reason that Beelzebub maintains control over all these dangerous factions. Indeed, most of them fear him more than they are ambitious; the guy who openly challenges them to challenge him, who once overthrew Lucifer by himself, is not someone anyone wants to underestimate. Sometimes, he'll actively help people who want to oppose him just to see what they'll do.

And it should be pointed out this is like if your local mob was run by a total lunatic. A guy who will randomly mint a new member to the Order of the Fly, someone totally unworthy of it, just to watch people fall over themselves to recruit them because they assume there has to be some reason Beelzebub did that. He's so chaotic that he keeps them on his toes.

But again, compared to the rest of Hell, Beelzebub's organization offers the biggest opportunities for advancement and power.

If you really want to understand how these organizations work, think of Goodfellas. Beelzebub is the one who will randomly go 'funny? funny how?' just to fuck with people.

[thewcllingtons]

The last thing Jaime expected to hear is Diego giving him control of the company. It's something he spent years plotting and scheming over. To lend him control after almost wanting to ki.ll him for what he did with Marianna almost gave him internal whip last. ❝ Are you sure?! Please don't feel obligated because of the whole... paternity thing. I don't want to step on your toes. ❞ He knew how big of a deal it was to run such a show. Jaime never thought he'd be considered in his lifetime. He felt content with the position he currently had. He never felt jealous or strived for more. Maybe that's why Diego offered it to him in the first place. ❝ I'd bet my life on it at this point. She seemed irrationally crazy about it, and maybe that was her way of trying to make you happy? She has the baby and you get what you wanted out of it? I don't know. Women are weird man... Instead of just being forthcoming about shit, they throw a thousand hints and hope that we get it... It's such a waste of time. ❞ At least they could both gripe about women together. Hearing that Manuel might take another woman as his wife made his jaw drop. ❝ Two? How can it juggle two when he can hardly keep the first one? ❞ Jaime wasn't calling Catalina out for being unfaithful. It was just obvious they had to work on their marriage and the other male seemed not to even attempt to try with all of his public flings he had going on. ❝ One and done isn't too bad. ❞

Life is insane. Jaime should've hated the man in front of him for making his life hell, but he couldn't find it in his heart to hate him. The were brothers through and through. There is nothing that could happen that would cause Jaime to hate him. ❝ Same here. We don't have too many people we can trust. I'm sorry for not bringing it to you... I thought you wouldn't believe me, but what's done is done. I promise. If anyone says some crazy shit to me that pertains to you, you're the first person I'll call. ❞ And he meant it. Jaime didn't think about the ramifications that would come if the kid looked more like him than Marianna. ❝ We'll cross that bridge once we get there... What? More kids? I'll be honest, Juiletta did bring it up. When I told her about everything, she got pretty upset because she said she should be having my kids first and foremost. She's been iffy about it since... Well, she refuses to get back with me, but I have hope we'll get back together soon. ❞ // @kiillerqueen

❝ My wife is obviously smarter than I pictured her to be. I know you've just expressed that you don't have any plans on taking my position , but that doesn't change the fact that as of right now your's and Marianna's son will be in line to take over once I make the choice to retire or something were to happen to me. Not that I have any desire on something happening to me , but if it does I want you to take my place until he will be old enough. ❞ Even if there hadn't been a child involved Diego had all intentions on making it clear that Jamie was the one to take over. Diego trusts Jamie with his life even after being betrayed by the male by impregnating his wife. ❝ You think her father is behind the whole hounding for her to give him a grandchild? Do you think he waited until she become pregnant to hand me over everything? I know , I know but what if I told you that he is taking a second wife ... ❞ Diego knows he should have kept such information on the down low since it had yet been announced by the other male. Yet he knew that he could tell Jamie without concern of it getting around. ❝ She is not getting more than one out of me and I have all intentions on allowing her to know. ❞ Male spoke with seriousness in his tone about the subject of giving his wife their own child when or if she asks for a second child. Even after the exchange of words about twenty minutes before the two males were still able to keep their relationship the same. ❝ After the shit that I've made you go through because of my mind being somewhere else , I have to admit that I don't deserve your kindness. We may not have been born to the same parents but you've always been the brother I never had but wanted. ❞ It is pretty evident that the two males even fight like brothers just to make up in the end. ❝ You're not wrong about hoping that he looks like her. Any of us can't be risking them questioning who the father is. ❞ The idea does cause the male to become nervous about the possibility that there will be some resemblance of Jamie in the child. ❝ Still at the end of the day he is going to be your son. You think that you're going to have anymore on your actual free will? ❞ //@thewcllingtons

[m-s-justice]

Once again, I show up to the Cod:z tag with a fucking essay. Once again it's about Dempsey. Sorry for Demposting :'(

The whole point of this is just to focus exclusively on a point made very briefly in my previous one. The whole Dempsey-Player dynamic (and a little bit of Treyarch mixed in for spice) is just so strange.

Three main questions I’ll try my best to answer, and a few more open-ended ones to chew on.

What are the lines?

What causes the lines?

Player control and the extent of it?

what the fuck is up with the lampshading seriously is this gag a joke or an actual part of his character now???

1.

The first question is easy. Pretty much all of his lines referring to the Player are, to put it lightly, incredibly rude. He frequently insults and even outright threatens us. In Shangri La, he says that he’ll appear in your living room and that he’ll have “words with you”. The most polite is when he’s being passive-aggressive. “Why do my guns feel so light? HINT. HINT.”

2.

So what causes him to speak up? That’s also pretty easy: anytime his ability to kill is threatened, when the Player isn't doing well,  or when they make him do something he doesn’t want to(though the last is much more rare). The majority of his lines are ‘out of ammo’ lines but he does have a few of him demanding headshots or blaming you for his lack of points(which he’s right for doing but also fuck him he’s a rude bitch and I’m going to force him to walk into a horde). In Classified, he’s particularly sassy: “Wait, this isn’t the secret song. What the hell do I need this for?” “I suppose you want me to comment on this thing, right? Hey you made me pick it up, pal! Well guess what! Fuck this thing in partiular.”

He’s clearly not enthused about the whole “being controlled by an untouchable entity”, but he also is strangely flippant about it. Fatuous, almost. It’s actually kind of concerning how nonchalant he is about it. But that could have a little something to do with the next point

3.

How much control does the Player really have? In the grand scheme of things? Not very. In cutscenes, Dempsey is in full control, we have no input over what he does. In game, we only have control over his body, and even then, not complete control. Dempsey can talk all he wants and he can still have minor control over himself with idle animations and the like. This is compounded by the linear story-telling. There is only one major story EE in every map and the outcome never changes. This is pretty much expected as COD is a FPS, not a choice driven game. The most Player influence we ever got was in BO2 with Maxis vs Richtofen, but even then Treyarch said "Fuck Richtofen" and made the Maxis route canon. So no matter what, Dempsey will still so the only thing he can(progress the story via the EE)

Despite this, one would imagine that he’d be more concerned about his total lack of autonomy while in a combat zone, yeah?

4.

But this could be dismissed as a running joke; Treyarch giving Dempsey a neat, ultimately harmless and insignificant quirk. Except.

Except there’s an in-universe explanation for it. It’s a side effect from the 115 testing for Ultimis and after getting his soul extracted, Primis starts acting similar to his Ultimis counterpart with the same happening to his teammates. But you know, maybe that’s just a one-off thing. "Oh, Dempsey is just insane in canon now. The 115 fucked him up and now he thinks he’s the Player Character."

Except. It’s fucking acknowledged. Characters on the level of gods know that he’s doing it. And try to manipulate him with it. Only two do it, but they are the Shadowman in Revelations and Samantha in Classified.(ok, both Toffens make fun of Demp in Alpha Omega, but he clearly has no idea that it’s rude to talk about someone who is listening.)

“Oh… oh Dempsey… another big tough man without a brain… always a good soldier… always the American savage… and always so eager to kill my puppets! Who are you always talking to? I always hear you doing it. Even when the others aren’t around. You are like a talking doll! Speaking to people who aren’t there! Maybe Teddy DID break you! But you can stop him! It could be so easy! Just pull the trigger, and… POP! No more Teddy! What is it you want? Do you want to stop fighting? Do you want to go home? Do you want your memories back? What he took from you? Kill him for me, and I can give you EVERYTHING!”

Wow that’s a lot to unpack, but for now I’ll only focus on what’s actually relevant to my point. Samantha fucking knows that Dempsey is talking to ‘someone’. Comparing him to a doll and contemplating that Richtofen actually managed to ‘break’ him. The latter bit of the statement lines up with the in canon reason, but still. (the doll bit is an admittedly apt comparison, considering that’s exactly what we’re doing with him, but I feel like that was unintentional on Treyarch’s behalf.) Of course to others he comes off as absolutely insane, but to us who are there, it’s a really odd thing to point out. Samantha could’ve easily utilized Dempsey’s lack of memory and his unrelenting hatred of Richtofen to manipulate him, but instead she mentions ‘people who aren’t there’.

And the Shadowman. He’s kind of a bitch and is very manipulative, but to be manipulative you have to know your audience, so here.

“ ‘Tank’ Dempsey. Do you even have a first name? You know so little about yourself. You used to talk to imaginary forces all the time! Forces you thought controlled your destiny. Or have you forgotten that? Of course you have! It’s all Monty’s fault!”

A lot shorter than Samantha’s schtick, but still telling enough. For Primis, who hadn’t even been experimented on, by sheer virtue of being Dempsey the Player(and probably Treyarch, too, considering the whole ‘controlled your destiny’ bit) is immediately brought up in an attempt to exploit him. Which is so strange. It implies something much deeper than what is really there.

But above all, the one link between every line regarding Dempsey and his connections is the fact that the Player(and Treyarch) are either fake or just ignore him.(though, considering his treatment over the series, yeah kinda.)

“Speaking to people who aren’t there”

“You used to talk to imaginary forces all the time!”

“Dempsey, whoever you’re talking to I don’t think they are listening.”

Which is so strange. Why bring it up in the first place, if his calling is responded to with only silence? Why try to manipulate him with it, if Dempsey is so clearly unaffected by his circumstances regarding his lack of control? The important-non importance this facet of his character is given just confuses me. Maybe they were going to do something with it, eventually, but y’know. He just gets killed off.(I’m entirely bitter about this)

End of Post(me complaining)

The whole thing is just sitting in between being a joke given justification and a Chekhov's Gun. And I really wish Treyarch let Dempsey pick it up. If not for some serious plot point or justification, then just to do something with it. It’s been given the spotlight from characters of great importance and knowledge, so why not do something with it?

I hope I don't come across as someone ungrateful or unnessecarily scrutinizing, but the vibes are off man. Takeo's obsession with honor and the Emperor got utilized and made into character development, as did Nikolai's drinking and nth Wife gag. Richtofen got his madness explained and could be viewed as perhaps not redeemable, but definitely pitiable.

Dempsey is just ruthlessly mocked at ever convenience and while thrown into focus few times by some big names, it's nevery really made into anything more. I dunno where they were going with this, but man. Dempsey as a character was so underutilized. For a fan favorite, he gets a whole lot of nothing.

Ah, but that's for another post. This one is already far too long.

[forcebewitht]

Force's Disney Geek Master Theory: Why Twisted Wonderland Is Called Twisted Wonderland

We have all grown to know and love various Disney characters over the years, correct? Yet, I believe a lot of us can argue that not many characters have the same effect on us even as adults today as the Villains do within their respective movies. In the game Disney: Twisted Wonderland as we all know and love, the select boys to Overblot are supposed to have the "souls" of their Villain counterparts, right? But...why is it called "Twisted" Wonderland, then? The truth may lie within something that has been right in front of us all along, my friends: the meaning of a mirror. Ready to buckle in for this one? If so, then here we go!

We have seen all of these guys share character traits, looks, etc with their Disney counterparts, correct? Well, what if I were to tell you that things in terms of the "main" guys that we are supposed to pay attention to aren't exactly what they seem? This could be analyzed in a few different ways, honestly, yet the most prominent way is this: the differences in their personalities- they are reversed. Let us take this bit by bit, shall we?

Ah, yes. The Queen Of Hearts. The ranting, raging, bundle of red, black, and gold we all know and love. (or else heads would roll, I'm sure) One of the things that everybody knows about her is that she's extremely hellbent on the crazy rules that she makes up and is prone to anger honestly very easily. Yeah, you can connect that to Riddle- but think about it for a second. While that rage and the rule thing is still there, it isn't as prominent with him as it was with her, is it? With the Queen of Hearts, her whole "issue" was that she wished to make everybody listen to her and follow her every command- but Riddle was essentially always following the rules of another- not his own. This seemed to make Riddle a little more calm most of the time in terms of how he handled and oversaw things. It wasn't until he actually Overblotted that the "listen to me and only me" thing came out- buuuuuuttttttt I'll get to that part in a bit.

Next: Leona and Scar. While we honestly didn't get to see a lot of what went on behind the scenes in the Outlands in terms of how Scar even met the hyenas to begin with at all, one thing can honestly be said- Scar worked very hard to get where he was. I mean, it's not like you can get an entire pack of rabid, hungry hyenas onto your side in the course of a single day, or maybe even a week (especially as a lion, no less). No, something to that extreme takes careful planning, wording, and stringing along to ensure that nothing goes wrong along the way. The way Scar spoke to Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed made it seem as though he had known them for a looooonngggg time before this- that's where that behind the scenes planning comes in. And then...you have Leona. Leona, from what we can tell in Chapter 2, planned the idea for the "endgame" alright- but he didn't actually act upon any of the plan for himself. Ruggie did. Even in the Lion King, we see that Scar had no problems whatsoever getting his paws dirty a little within his own scheme to take his "rightful place" at the head of Pride Rock- but Leona quite honestly did not a thing once Ruggie was in motion. See where this is starting to head?

Azul and Ursula. Ursula, the Disney baddie queen of my heart Ursula, the Sea Witch. She was known all around the ocean floor for helping out poor little merfolk in secret, wasn't she? Yet, nobody ever really seemed to catch wind of the whole "her turning those who didn't quite fit the bill into polyps" thing, did they? That was one of the things that made her such a honest threat to Ariel herself- because Ursula was cunning. She did things behind the scenes, and sure- we could catch onto it out in the audience (annnddd maybe Sebastian and Flounder as well), but nobody else really seemed to, right? Azul is the complete opposite in this standpoint. He instills direct fear into his "workers" and those even beyond and within his dorm. Like- basically most knew that this dude was bad news to begin with. Azul, mostly, seemed to hide his cunning facade behind a fake yet still seemingly "soft and genuine" smile and act. But all in all, he didn't really attempt to "hide" anything- hell, he even proclaimed his entire plan of what everyone with those things on their heads were gonna do for him in the open! At least when Ursula sang as Vanessa, she was in an almost perfectly enclosed room with nobody else around.

Jamil and Jafar. This comparison here, given what occurs in the movie Aladdin, is honestly one of the biggest possible indicators of this reoccuring theme I shall clarify in a bit. Jafar, while being sneaky, was known for being a more "out there" Disney Villain in terms of his personality alongside that of his partner Iago in the film. He would smile in a sinister way, he would crack jokes out in the open, and let us not forget his crazed yet oddly interesting laughter. Jamil? He's the exact opposite. Given his past and what he has had to dealt with growing up with Kalim, he is much more reserved and barely releases a chuckle or cracks a smile at all. His personality is a lot more repressed than that of Jafar himself throughout the film. Jamil has been so used to having to hold himself back thanks to his parents in favor of Kalim's family, he doesn't seem to know how to "let go" whatsoever. Yet Jafar, while still maintaining that sneaky side of him as well, has no problems whatsoever letting a little hang loose whenever he so chooses to.

Vil and the Evil Queen. This one honestly may be a bit more self explanatory than the others- but the difference between these two is their expressions of themselves. The Evil Queen was the very first animated counted Disney Villain within Disney's history- yet, she barely had any lines throughout the film at all. Her ranges of expression were almost little to none thanks to the era in which the movie was released in- but she always looked like she was pissed, huh? Vil is the exact opposite of her in this sense. He is able to fully express himself through his various facial expressions, theatrical abilities, musical experiences, fashion style, and even how he behaves. Vil is able to do so much more than the Evil Queen did or could do within that time period, that it's almost a little staggering if you fully picture it.

Idia and Hades. Now, now. We haven't honestly seen too much of the flaming blue boy yet in TWST, but one thing is apparent here right off the bat- in terms of his personality? He is the exact opposite of Hades. Idia is much like Jamil but to a more "geek" degree- he's extremely introverted, shy, a bit snippy, yet mainly keeps to himself and his gaming tech. Hades is most often renowned as the Disney Villain with the most personality- and the best humor. Hades has no problem whatsoever being "out there" with his crazy puns, sassy remarks, anger, and even mocking behavior. I mean, please, guys- I haven't been this choked up since I got a hunk of moussaka caught in my throat!

Finally, Malleus and Maleficent. Ooooohoooooooo boy. We have to count out the live action movie Maleficent for this one (sorry horned queen fans). One thing that basically everybody even with their toe in the water in that of Disney movies kind of knows this fact- Maleficent is c r u el. She's got a bizarre set of dark powers and an even blacker heart than that. Hell, we basically had to "soften her up" a little bit in Maleficent thanks to just how seemingly irredeemable her character is in that of Sleeping Beauty. I mean, c'mon now- cursing an infant? And we get no explanation for that in the original? C'mon, now. Anyways, Malleus? As we all can tell by now, this dude is the compleeettteeeeeee opposite. Sure, he has those repressed bits here and there too, but it is evident that this dude has a heart crying out for the MC and it is big, bold, and golden to the core once you look past how he looks. He sent the MC a card for winter break, for crying out loud. Yeah, let me know the next time you see Maleficent do that smh.

Now, I have avoided using a certain word up until this point to see if anybody could catch on to what exactly is happening here. Did you figure it out? Reverse. The boys that either have Overblotted already or intend to Overblot soon stop holding out on us, Chapter 6 have had the exact opposite personalities compared to that of their Villain counterpart- until one prime point in their "character arcs". Their Overblot.

Riddle wished to have all bow before him and obey his rules.

Leona led his entire dorm into ruin and nearly sanded away the entire school in the process.

Azul let himself finally free of his personal shackles entirely and "took what was his".

Jamil finally let himself go and opened up more in his personality, almost seeming to be driven insane in the process.

Vil wanted to become the most beautiful one of all and would kill anyone within the way of that goal without any hesitation whatsoever.

The moment that the boys' Overblotted, that was the exact moment when the "soul" of their Disney Villain counterpart took control. Keeping that idea in mind, that should mean that this will happen in the upcoming chapters and their Overblots:

Idia will show off all of the personality, powers, and intelligence that he has been keeping down within this introverted self of his.

Malleus will become so broken by being left out and alone in the cold for the final time that he will turn into a completely cruel Fae and possibly nearly kill either the MC or the representation of Prince Philip within that Chapter in the process.

(Hello, my dear Readers! Guess who is trying to get back into her bigger pieces of writing? This gal right here~ feel free to drop a comment and tell me what you think of this theory- I'd love to hear your thoughts! 💕)

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Tattoos and Tulips

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Tattoo Parlor/Flower Shop

Aelin, while apprenticing at Elide's Tattoo Parlor, meets a very handsome, very charismatic Florist's Assistant.

Parlors and Petals - Part 2

Written for Rowaelin Month 2021. Day 13: Tattoo Parlor/Flower Shop

Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Warnings: Language

2040 words

*******

Aelin was in her own little world; her earbuds blaring music at obscene levels, loud enough to drown out Manon and her muttering over obnoxious clients who thought they knew more about tattooing than her because they’d watched a couple of YouTube videos.

Aelin went back to sketching her latest design. She’d been apprenticing at Anneith’s Ink for almost a year now, still forever grateful that Elide had taken her under her wing. The parlor was Elide’s baby, and she prided herself in having talented, kick-ass, female artists in her shop.

There was Manon, the silver-it-was-almost-white haired woman so cutthroat that Aelin often referred to her as The Witch. The first time the nickname had slipped out, Aelin hadn’t meant for Manon to hear it, but she had and offered Aelin a sharp grin in response. It was terrifying, but the start of an unexpected but solid friendship.

There was Asterin, the wild but equally fierce piercer. She had control of the back room and was very protective over her steel. She and Manon had joined the shop at the same time. While Manon, Elide, or Aelin tattooed each other or Asterin for practice or for fun, Asterin did the same with piercings for the other ladies.

Then there was Elide, the sharp, cunning woman who could make a man start blubbering with a single raised eyebrow. Despite her sweet demeanor, Elide was tough as nails and had no problem showing it. Aelin always found it amusing whenever they went out somewhere with jackets or long sleeves only for Elide to remove her layers and reveal a tapestry of art, and watch as people’s eyes widen or whisper to their friends, because at first glance Elide didn’t look like the type of person to be fully tatted-up. Those people didn’t realize she owned and operated one of the most successful tattoo parlors in the city.

Finally, there was Aelin. Though newest to the shop, her wildfire personality and penchant for adrenaline-inducing and insane schemes made her a perfect addition to the team. Every day at the shop was brand new and Aelin loved it.

She was adding some shading to her drawing when she felt a tap on her shoulder, startling her and making her jump to face a smirking Elide.

“Ae,” Elide called, tapping her ear to indicate Aelin’s earbuds.

Aelin pulled one out and shook her head at the shorter girl. “Gods, El. You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Elide snorted but waited as Aelin took out the second earbud.

“What’s up, El?” She took in Elide with her well-worn leather jacket and her bag slung across her body, and raised a brow. “Going somewhere?” Aelin asked with a smirk.

Elide rolled her eyes as the blonde wiggled her eyebrows, fully aware of where Elide was headed. “Yes. And you can stop it with those,” she pointed to Aelin’s still-wiggling brows, causing Aelin to snort but cease the teasing. “I’m stepping over to Lorcan’s, wanna come?”

Aelin swung her feet off the table she’d been using as a footrest, closing her sketchpad, and nodded. “Yeah, sounds great. I’ve been sitting for way too long” She stood up and stretched, hearing the satisfying crack of her bones as she twisted out the stiffness in her joints from being hunched over for so long.

“Cool,” Elide waited for Aelin to get her jacket before the two ladies waved goodbye to Manon who was sitting at the counter, waiting for her next client to arrive.

As they stepped outside and began walking down the block to Hand Picked by Hellas, Aelin commented, “You know, it takes a certain kind of man to wear a lavender florist’s apron and still look intimidating as hell, and as much as it pains me to admit, Lorcan pulls it off.”

Elide laughed, rolling her eyes, “Oh, believe me, I pull it off for him.” She winked.

Aelin faked gaged, “Gross, El. Just gross.”

The brunette simply laughed again as they pushed the door to the shop open, causing the small bell above it to chime. Aelin paused a moment to look around the bright shop. It was empty save for them—Lorcan must be in the back somewhere—one wall was filled with a colorful rainbow of cut flowers arranged by size and color, while the back of the shop was a veritable maze of greenery.

Aelin wouldn’t admit it to Lorcan—she’d be struck dead before she voluntarily gave him a compliment—but the shop was beautiful.

For some reason, something she couldn’t quite remember, she and Lorcan did not get off on the right foot. From then on it was a string of well-placed insults, mockery, and begrudging respect masked in distaste. Their mutual understanding being that they both loved Elide, and knew the other would do anything for her.

“Lor?” Elide called into the empty shop.

Aelin heard someone curse and then limbs stumbling through the back storage, probably maneuvering the masses of boxes and planters. As she surveyed the wall of flowers, Aelin thought she heard two voices instead of just Lorcan’s. Had he hired someone? Elide hadn’t mentioned him getting a new employee, and Aelin figured that her friend would hear all kinds of complaints from Lorcan if he had hired someone new.

She turned toward the voices as they rounded the door and Aelin’s attention immediately skipped over the stoic, dark-haired man who only had eyes for Elide who’d propped herself up onto the counter, and landed on the man who followed a step behind. He was tall, barely shorter than Lorcan which was saying something because Lorcan was tall, with silver hair and piercing green eyes, and an intricate tattoo peeking over the collar of his shirt. Beneath the lavender apron advertising the botanical shop, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows showing off his muscular arms that Aelin thought had to be illegal as his tattoo seemingly continued down his forearm, gracefully moving as he turned his arms.

Dragging her eyes back up to his face, she bit her lip as he crossed his arms, causing his muscles to flex deliciously. When she found his eyes, they were twinkling with amusement and a smirk played on his lips as he watched her check him out.

Maybe she should feel embarrassed to be caught ogling him so outright, but by the way he was smirking and the way his own eyes trailed down to her boots then slowly back up to her face, she figured her appreciation wasn’t unwelcome. Or one-sided.

Apparently, they’d been stuck in their own little exchange because Lorcan rapped his knuckles on the counter and Aelin jerked her eyes towards the sound. Lorcan and Elide were staring between Aelin and the green-eyed man with matching looks of amusement, through Lorcan’s was twinged with disgust.

“If you two are done eye-fucking each other,” Lorcan said drily, raising a brow.

Elide snorted and whacked him on the arm. Aelin felt her face heat at being called out so bluntly and saw the man roll his eyes from her periphery.

“Aelin,” Elide said, leaning into the counter near Lorcan, “this is Rowan, a friend of Lorcan’s from college.” she faced Rowan, “Rowan, this is Aelin, one of my best friends and an apprentice at my shop.”

Aelin turned back towards Rowan. Rowan. She’d never met anyone with that name and she decided no one was more fitting of the name than the man standing in front of her. She rolled her eyes at Lorcan’s previous comment and held her hand out to Rowan, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rowan.”

She smiled coyly at him as he took her hand and shook it. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he paused, pulling her hand closer, “Aelin.”

Elide cleared her throat, clearly trying to hide a grin, “Okay, well, uh, Lorcan,” she flashed him a grin, “I need a fresh bouquet for a new piece I’m working on.”

He smirked, walking around the counter, “Sure thing, babe.” He led Elide towards the flower wall and Aelin barely caught Elide giving Lorcan’s ass a light smack before turning back to Rowan.

“So, Rowan,” Aelin said, leaning her elbow on the counter as she watched him do the same on the other side. “You must’ve just started working here. I come in with Elide often enough that I definitely would’ve remembered you.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, causing some of the ends to stand on end. She liked it. It made him look ruffled.

“I had my first shift yesterday,” he rolled his eyes, most likely thinking about having to work for hours with Lorcan. “I’ve known Lorcan for years but I’ve never seen him so agitated as when it came to the proper way to propagate a plant.” Rowan’s deadpan impression of Lorcan made Aelin snort. Loudly.

Rowan grinned, obviously pleased at her response.

“I take it your life’s passion isn’t botany?” She asked.

Rowan’s lips twitched up and he leaned in closer. “Nah,” he glanced around the shop, “I just moved to town, and Lorcan offered to give me a couple of shifts before I start work in a couple of weeks. I gotta give it to him, this place is something to be proud of.”

Aelin hummed and took note of Elide and Lorcan against the far wall. “It is impressive.” She leveled a playful look at Rowan, “but if you ever tell him I said that I’ll deny it.”

He grinned and shook his head before nodding towards Elide who was holding a growing bouquet of flowers, waiting with a hand outstretched to take each new one Lorcan pulled for her. “How long have you been working with Elide?”

“Almost a year.” She answered with a grin, “soon I’ll be Aelin Galathynius, Tattoo Artist, and not Aelin Galathynius, Tattoo Apprentice.” She smirked, “then I’ll get to charge a lot more and make better tips.”

He chuckled. Despite her jokes, it was obvious she loved the job.

Aelin leaned in closer, happy to see him do the same. Now, they were almost nose to nose. She glanced over to Eide and Lorcan who seemed to have forgotten there were other people in the store. “How long do you think it’ll take before they remember we’re here?” She whispered conspiratorially.

Rowan smirked and watched the couple for a minute before looking back at her with a gleam in his eye. “Either after they’ve made out by the flowers or when they inevitably knock over one of the ferns in the back from trying to getting it on against one of the planters.”

Aelin snorted again, “My money’s on after Elide smacks Lorcan’s ass again. Then he’ll remember he’s got an audience. Although, she would do that regardless of who was around.”

Rowan’s answering grin sent shivers down her spine in the best way. He cleared his throat before asking, “How often are you at Anneith’s?”

Aelin gave him a sly smile, “Why, Rowan? You trying to check up on me?”

He shrugged, still grinning, “Maybe I just want to know the best time to stop in to see a certain blonde tattoo artist.”

Aelin sighed, reigning in her own grin, “I could give you Manon’s hours but you aren’t exactly her type,” Aelin used the excuse to look Rowan up and down again, purposely pausing at his hard, defined chest. “You don’t have enough boob.”

“Good to know,” Rowan snorted and rolled his eyes. Glancing back to where Elide and Lorcan had been and seeing the space unsurprisingly empty, Rowan looked back at Aelin. “And you?”

She smirked. Aelin knew what he was asking, but she’d have a little more fun and make him ask it “And I, what?”

Rowan raised a brow, knowing what she was doing. “Am I your type?”

Aelin’s gaze was locked with Rowan’s as she slowly let a real smile streak across her face. “You, Rowan, are very much my type.”

His mirroring smile was warm and made her toes curl.

Aelin left Hand Picked by Hellas with a phone number, a date, and a fresh bouquet of flowers for a certain tattoo apprentice.

*****

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[younghosfavewhore]

fill me up   2.19

xl [s]

wc; 1.5k 

plot; nctjungwoo!boyfriend x femreader!girlfriend

you and jungwoo fuck raw for the first time.

warnings; fluff?!, MATURE CONTENT, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

"happy birthday!" you exclaim as jungwoo walks into the 127 dorm. a grin plasters onto his face, the one that flashes those pearly white teeth.

you and the boys went to hell and back preparing this surprise for him. the dorm was decorated with him, covering walls and any form of furnishing he could correlate with.

"the member with the best hair" was branded onto a gift bag filled with hair products. "netflix and chill" is inscribed on streamers lining the tv stand. photos of him -be it memes or photoshoots- lined the walls and other stands. you were proud with the scheme you laid out for this. you were happy the boys helped, but you were even more happy that jungwoo seemed to appreciate the effort.

"y/n!" he mutters the grin still prominent on his face.

mark was quick to put jungwoo in a chokehold, "what about us?" he asked with a smile. "we helped, too." you couldn't help but chuckle.

the other boys crowded around him. chanting and cheering him on. "happy 24th! jungwoo-ssi!" they joked. you could only imagine the neighbors frustration at the noise.

throughout the excitement, jungwoo kept his eyes on yours. you could really tell he loved it. he breaks through the boy’s moshpit to get to you across the room. the boys erupt in giggles, teasing you as the tall brunette wraps you in his embrace. his scent was lovely, like he bathed in a million candles.

“thank you...” he whispers into your ear. you wrap your arms around him and you pull his body towards you. 

“you’re welcome.” you smile into the crook of his neck.

“awww!” the other members taunt. you and jungwoo smile before pulling away. 

“can we eat the cake now?” taeil jokes.

“yea, you guys can have your moment after we celebrate.” doyoung smiles.

you nod and lead the way to the kitchen. there were cheesecakes and cakes set up on the counter. 

“wow...” jungwoo’s eyes beam at the food in front of him.

“우리(our) food boy.” mark jokes and the members let out small snickers at the quirky nickname.

“let’s eat!” jungwoo exclaims and everyone scramble for plates and drinks.

-

before you know it, the boys are slumped with their plates in their lap; most of them half asleep in the dorm’s living room. you were just glad to see that they ate well. except, jungwoo was wide awake. you’re standing in the kitchen clearing the dishes and soju bottles off of the counter when he walks up behind you. 

“y/n...” he says, bringing his arms to your waist. he places light kisses on your neck and you smile at the sudden gesture.

“yes?” 

“i love you,” he pauses. “so much.”

“and i love you more.” you refute.

he smiles into your neck and takes your hands. “come on.”

“where are we going?” you smirk, already knowing the answer. 

your question is met with silence as he leads you to his room. you knew where this was going and it got your heart pumping. jaehyun was knocked out on the couch downstairs, so jungwoo had the room to himself. you reach his room and he closes the door behind you.

“jung-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“to show my appreciation,” he pauses, taking your hand again and leading you to the bed. “i want to return the favor.”

“you don’t have to-” he cuts you off again, and if it weren’t for the desire burning in your core you may have been offended. he presses his lips against yours, pushing you back on the bed.

his body hovered over yours, and it was a staggeringly familiar feeling. the kisses moved from your lips to your neck, and soon jungwoo was pressing soft kisses onto your chest. he slides off your shirt. the feeling of his fingertips grazing your skin sends shivers down your spine.

“jungwoo...” his name rolls off your tongue as you whimper.

he reacts more than you expected. he unclasps your bra and places small licks around your nipple. you moan in response as he sucks on your nipple, fondling the other with his fingers. he was driving you insane with his touch already.

he presses kisses onto you again, trailing down your stomach and towards your groin. you want to feel him but his clothes are restricting that. 

“shirt...” you whimper and he smiles in response. he slides off his shirt revealing that heavenly six-pack that only you were lucky enough to get a feel of. 

he sets his hand on your thighs and situates himself between your legs.

“i want to taste you,” he says, looking at you for approval.

you nod. how could you ever say no?

he slips off your pants and admires the view of your wet panties. 

“hot.” he chuckles and runs a finger down the soaked cloth. 

you were never one for teasing, and now was no different. “jungwoo, please...”

he smirks, leans down, and begins placing kisses onto your inner thigh. the kisses trail up and down, teasing at your groin just to travel back up your leg. why did he have to play around so much? moans escape your lips when his mouth finally meets the fabric.

he presses his nose against your panties inhaling. “you smell so good,” he says, lecherously. he’s quick to pull them off and his eyes widen at the sight of your pretty pussy. 

he leans back in, placing one, slow lick from the bottom of your slit up to your clit. you gasp at the sudden action. he places more licks onto your clit, flicking his tongue up and down, sending you into a frenzy all at once. 

“jungwoo,” you moan and repeat his name as if it's the only word you know. “fuck...”

his name must be his weakness, because with that he sticks a finger inside you. your back arches towards him and a smirk plasters on his face. his face meets yours as you make a desperate attempt to kiss him. you can taste yourself on his tongue and moan onto his lips. the feeling of his digit pumping in and out of you, the feeling of your tongues mingling with each other, the feeling of lust taking complete control was too much, it sent you into hysteria.

“c-close-” you mutter, breaking the kiss for only a millisecond.

jungwoo adds another finger, curving them perfectly to hit your sweet spot. with that, you’re sent into orgasm. your pussy clenches and throbs around his finger. jungwoo had eaten you out before, but never like this. your jaw is left slacked and you want more. 

before you even have time to process, jungwoo slips his fingers out of you, licks them clean, and slips out of his pants. his hard dick falls out and all you can anticipate is the feeling of him filling you up. he reaches to the nightstand to grab a condom and you stop him. he gives you a confused look, understandably. you and jungwoo have never had unprotected sex, but you needed the full experience, you couldn’t let this chance go to waste.

“i’ve been taking the pill. fuck me... raw.” you confess your zeal and he shoots you a smile.

without hesitating, he positions himself at your entrance and slides his girth into you. your jaw hangs open and your brows furrow. jungwoo’s eyes roll back and he bites his lip. the look of him fucking you bare was one you never thought you’d get to see.

he inhales a sharp breath until he bottoms out, his head is hanging down and his hair is covering his eyes. you wrap your arms around him and lift yourself up, craving the feeling of him pumping into you. it’s almost as though he’s reading your mind, jungwoo begins to pound into you. the feeling of your tight, wet pussy around his thick cock was too much for him not to give into. it wasn’t until now, that lewd, wet sounds fill the air, that you remember the boys downstairs. but the feeling was too good to stop. they had heard you by now, what more is there to lose?

“i’m so close,” he coos, and you could tell. his strokes were getting messy, and he would ram into your sweet spot every few pumps. “where do you want it?” his voice was low and groans escaped his lips.

you don’t hesitate to answer, “inside me,” you cry out, “fill me up, jungwoo.” you emphasize his name and he speeds his thrusts.

he cums inside of you, the thick, white, sticky liquid filling you up. he lifts from your embrace to sit back and watch his cum-covered dick slide in and out of you. the overstimulation was killing him but the sight of his cum dripping out of you made it worth it. he gives a final stroke before pulling out and catching his breath. 

“i love you.” you repeat the sentiment and place a kiss on his cheek. 

“i love you more.” he smiles. “i’ll get you a towel.” 

the innocent smile on his face didn’t match up with the way he just fucked you, but that was his charm. and you loved that about him. you loved everything about him.

[odos-bucket]

In Which Each of Bruce’s Kids Come Out to Him

and then he comes out to them

Dick

They’re working on opposite sides of the coffee table in one of the manor’s more habitable sitting room’s. It’s become a regular part of their weekday routine: Bruce finishes up whatever office work he has to do, while Dick does his homework, and talks about his day. Usually there are snacks involved. A parenting book Bruce had read recommended trying to get their work done together. It’s a good way to keep connected with their increasingly busy schedules.

“So anyways…” Dick’s story is starting to slow down a little bit, and the shift in tone has Bruce glancing up from his paperwork. “I should probably tell you, since, well, everyone knows at school now.” His voice is still conversational, and relaxed, but a little distracted.

Bruce shifts him his full attention.

“See, what happened was Cameron Josephs in my third period biology class came to school with nail polish on today, which I noticed with my clever detective skills, and promptly dismissed as unimportant, and everyone else noticed with their nosy pre-teen skills, and promptly lost their shi- I mean, minds over. And that was Mrs. Horton’s class, and she has absolutely no control over her students, so it sort of became this whole big thing. Kids were making fun of him, and other kids were yelling at them to knock it off, and he was just trying to do his work, but the rest of the class got into a big fight. And then Brad Cormick- he’s on my basketball team- made a homophobic joke, and we were sitting at the same table, and I could tell that he wanted me to laugh at it. So I told him to shut up, and said that I was bisexual, not that any of it really had anything to do with anything else that was going on, but it did get him to shut up, which was good. Except that I think it may have been because I have more friends than Cameron does, which is totally unfair, and everyone should just be nice to everyone else no matter what, but also I guess not really the point… The point is, yeah, I’m bi. Oh, also frog dissection got moved to tomorrow because one kid threw up.”

Dick takes a deep breath (finally) and a long sip of his juice, before immediately returning to doodling athletic stick figures in the margins of his algebra homework.

Bruce studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what kind of response is expected of him, what would be helpful for Dick to hear. He’s really not very good at this kind of thing.

He’s saved from the risk of putting his foot in his mouth when the science class story continues.

“Are frogs really that gross? I don’t think they are. But I guess our basement is filled with guano, so maybe my tolerance is heightened by regular exposure to the substance most frequently equated with insanity.”

Dick hadn’t seemed nervous before coming out, or relieved after. And if he’s not going to make it into a big deal then neither is Bruce, even if a part of him feels pleasantly warmed by the casual show of trust.

Jason

Bruce loves picking up his kids from school. It’s not something that his schedule allows him to do very often, and Jason- as Dick had been before him- always seems pleasantly surprised to see him. It’s a little thing in the grand scheme, but it’s just nice, normal. And he would never say it out loud- he’s not sure why, he knows he should- but he cherishes the little bit of extra time spent with his boys.

But today Jason isn’t happy to see him.

Bruce pulls up to the curb, and only has to scan the crowd of teenagers for a few seconds before spotting him. He’s on a bench with another student, their shoulders pressed together despite wide swaths of free space available on either side of them. Jason’s pointing out something in a textbook, while the other boy plays with his free hand.

Bruce pulls slightly to the side to let another car drive around him, figuring he’ll give Jason a few minutes to finish up, and notice that Bruce is there, rather than call out and risk embarrassing him.

It’s not even a full minute before they make eye contact across the lot, and immediately something in Jason’s expression changes. His eyes go wide and startled, his posture suddenly tightened. In one fast motion he shuts his book with both hands, muttering something to his friend as he practically throws himself off the bench.

Now feeling on high alert, Bruce sweeps an intense gaze over the school yard for anything that could have upset his son. He doesn’t manage to spot anything before Jason arrives at the car and pulls himself into the backseat (where he never sits, unless the front is already occupied). He starts talking before Bruce can ask what’s wrong.

“That wasn’t what it looked like!”

Bruce frowns, and looks over both Jason and the area in front of the school in an attempt to identify something that isn’t like how it looks.

“He just-“ Jason flinches, seemingly realizing something wrong with whatever he’d been about to say, and cuts himself off with a sharp breath. “I mean-“

Feeling lost is by no means a new part of parenthood for Bruce, and he’s sure it’s something he’ll experience many more times going forward. But, god, he really hates not understanding what’s going on, not knowing what to do, and he doubts that he’ll ever get used to it.

“Jason,” he tries. “Slow down.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason answers automatically. “Sorry.”

It’s been over a year since Jason’s called him ‘sir’ and the sudden reintroduction of the honorific sends a cold chill down Bruce’s spine. For a second they just stare at each other, with what Bruce is pretty sure are matching expressions of partially concealed horror.

“Jason,” he says more quietly.

“I know,” Jason interrupts. “I’m sorry. Please-“ He stops himself, covering his mouth before he can finish the thought, and then just as quickly lowering the hand back to his lap.

Another silence follows, short but harrowing. Then finally Bruce makes a rare admission

“I have no idea what’s happening right now.”

Jason stares at him, and the wider his eyes get the younger he looks, and the more Bruce wants to scoop him up into his arms. But he just waits, and tries not to look too expectant.

“I-I was holding hands with Derek,” Jason breaths out.

“…Alright?” He’s heard that name before. Jason doesn’t have as many friends at school as Dick had, so they’re a little easier to keep track of, even if Bruce has only ever met any of them in passing. “Is this someone you’re worried I’ll embarrass you in front of?” He asks after a brief pause.

Jason keeps staring at him, expression crinkling as his breathing grows erratic.

Bruce finds himself automatically exaggerating his own inhales and exhales, resting the side of one hand against his sternum, to remind Jason of some of their breathing exercises.

“That’s it, chum,” he says as he sees it slowly begin to work. “Everything’s okay.” For all he knows- or doesn’t know- right now it might not even be true, but dammit for his kid he will make everything okay.

“Everything’s okay,” Jason obediently echoes.

Bruce takes his hand off his chest, and starts to reach towards him. But Jason flinches away from him, not as violently as he had back when they were still new to each others’ lives, but it’s enough to make Bruce feel sick. He can practically feel the wrongness of it squeezing his heart into shards as he slowly withdraws his arm back into the front seat. He had truly thought that they had gotten past this.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” he says softly, a small concession to the part of himself that wants to beg his son’s forgiveness for whatever he’s done to make him afraid. “I’m so sorry.”

Jason’s not looking at him anymore. His head is down, and his gaze is fixed on his knees.

Bruce hesitates.

“I’ll never hurt you.” It’s a reassurance he had thought they were past the point of needing, but if they aren’t he’ll say it as many times as he has to. “Never.”

“Are you mad?”

“Is there something particular that I’m supposed to be mad about?” Bruce asks carefully.

“... That I was holding hands with a guy,” Jason elaborates, after a steadying breath.

Oh, Bruce is an idiot. What kind of detective is he if he can’t even- He cuts himself off, realizing he can’t wait too long to respond to that.

“Of course not. That’s what this is about?”

“I never meant for you to find out,” is the response he gets. And doesn’t that just hurt like hell to hear?

“That you like boys?” Bruce confirms.

“And girls, both. But I didn’t know what you’d think, so I figured if I couldn’t be sure it was better to keep it to myself.”

Bruce closes his eyes, taking a second to calm his own breathing.

“I never want you to feel like that,” he says. “About anything. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. I love you, Jaylad, that isn’t contingent on anything.”

I wish I could have protected you from whatever it was that made you feel like this was something you had to hide. He doesn’t say it.

Jason is finally looking at him again, gaze thoughtful and careful. A long moment passes, before he surprises- and momentarily terrifies- Bruce by getting out of the car. But before he can react to that, Jason’s climbing into the passenger seat, and after a second of hesitation, leaning into Bruce’s side.

“Okay,” he says quietly, sounding a little choked up.

Bruce puts an arm around his shoulders. The closeness is a balm after the pain of having his son flinch away from him.

Tim

Tim isn’t supposed to come over today. His parents are in town, and Bruce had made a point of hiding his reluctance when he’d given Robin the week off, chastising himself for the empty nest syndrome he has no right to be experiencing- at least in regards to this particular child.

So he’s surprised when he hears Alfred’s throat clear, and looks up to see both Alfred and Tim lingering in the doorway to his office. It would be odd to see him here at this time of day even if they had been planning to go on patrol; sunset is still a few hours off.

Bruce immediately has a bad feeling. He knows it’s commonplace for the Drakes to disappear unexpectedly partway through whatever length of time they were meant to be spending at home. As Batman it’s made his life easier numerous times. As a parent it’s beyond his comprehension. If he still had his boys at home- but he can’t think about that, not without breaking down, and if Tim’s just been abandoned that’s the last thing he needs.

As he approaches the door, Alfred’s pointed look, and Tim’s vacant expression confirm that he’s right to be concerned.

“Tim.” He keeps his voice neutral. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

He picks up on Alfred’s glare a fraction of a second too late to realize that he’s said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry.” There’s something miserable in Tim’s voice, that makes Bruce want to bundle him up in a blanket. Before he can assure him that he has nothing to apologize for, Alfred cuts in.

“I told Master Tim that he’s welcome to stay with us for as long as he needs.”

Bruce nods automatically, looking down at Tim, who’s glassy expression looks a million miles away.

“Tim,” he says gently, eventually drawing the boy’s gaze, but feeling disconcerted by how delayed the response is.

Alfred leaves with a comment about putting a kettle on for tea, closing the door firmly but softly behind him. The sound it makes as it pulls all the way shut still makes Tim twitch.

“Do you want to sit down?” Bruce offers.

Tim stumbles a bit on his way to the couch. He’s so out of it; He won’t be patrolling tonight, even if his schedule’s suddenly open for it. Bruce sits down on the other side.

“Are they gone again?” He asks, trusting fully that the vaguely worded question will be completely understood.

There’s a worrying delay before Tim shakes his head, giving Bruce ample time to wish for Alfred back before he can register the response enough to be surprised by it.

“So...“ he begins uncertainly, before being cut off.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says again. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“You aren’t a bother, Tim.”

The- admittedly somewhat monotone- assurance just gets him a shrug.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He tries.

“Do I have to?” Tim asks after a long silence. “Can’t I just stay here?”

Bruce frowns.

“Of course you can stay here. But I think I really need to know what’s going on.”

Tim stares at him, eyes shining, mouth opening and closing several times before he speaks.

“Can I- Alfred says I can tell you something, and you won’t get mad?”

“Well, that depends on what it is,” Bruce says, thinking back on every time a robin has had something to tell him, but first wanted confirmation that he wouldn’t be angry.

Tim seems to shrink at his words, his breath catching audibly as he curls in on himself. Fuck, Bruce is bad at this.

“What do you have to tell me?” He asks.

“Well now I don’t know if I want to!” It almost comes out as a yell, strained by the sound of held back tears, and Bruce is a little taken aback.

“I’ll probably find out at some point,” he reasons.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tim chokes on something that sounds like a suppressed sob.

No, no, no no. This isn’t supposed to happen. Bruce reaches out for him in an awkward and hastily aborted movement.

“I can’t,” Tim says after a minutes, tears streaking over his pale cheeks. “If you don’t-“ His voice catches. “I need you to let me stay here.”

Bruce’s heart hurts as he scooches a little closer, reaching out to rest a hand- hopefully not too awkwardly- on Tim’s shoulder.

“Of course you can stay here,” he reiterates. “I told you you could stay here. Even if I’m mad at you you can stay here. If you-“ He searches for a moment. “-Took the batmobile out on a joyride, and drove it into the harbor, I’ll be mad at you, but you’ll still have a place here. One will never have anything to do with the other.”

Tim makes a noise that’s over too quickly for Bruce to be able to tell if it had been a laugh, or just more crying.

“Did Jason do that?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Dick,” Bruce corrects.

This time Tim definitely snorts, which has Bruce smiling in spite of himself.

“Did you do something worse than that?” He asks.

It’s meant to be a joke, but Tim makes an unhappy face at the question.

“I- no!” He says, defensive, but confident. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Bruce gives his shoulder a squeeze before releasing it.

“Then why would I be mad at you?”

The humor that had begun to make its way into Tim’s expression disappears again, and Bruce curses himself.

“Mom and Dad were mad,” he says quietly.

Bruce scowls. He tries pretty hard not to let his dislike of Jack and Janet show around Tim- though he’s long suspected the young detective can tell- but it’s harder to hide sometimes than others.

“You said they were still home,” he remembers. “Tim, did they kick you out?” He does his best to keep the anger out of his voice.

And then he finds himself doing his best to keep the anger off of his face when it takes Tim a moment to answer the question.

“I don’t think forever,” he says uncertainly. “Just- They said they needed time to think about it, to d-decide what to do.”

The slight stutter puts him over the age, and fury starts to trickle into Bruce’s voice.

“To think about what?” He demands. Hell, that place is more Tim’s home than it is theirs. They have absolutely no right to ask him to leave! And where the hell do they expect him to go? Bruce forces himself to clench his jaw, and take deep breaths.

“...I’m gay,” Tim finally says.

Bruce stares at him for the second that it takes for the words to register, and connect back to the rest of the conversation.

“That’s it?”

He’s wincing at himself before the question is all the way out of his mouth, immediately convinced that he’s said the wrong thing again. But then, to his immense relief, he realizes that Tim has started laughing. It isn’t deep, or sustained. His voice is still a little weak, and his eyes are still a little red. But he’s definitely laughing, and Bruce realizes vaguely that a robin laughing is still his favorite sound in the world.

“That’s it,” Tim confirms, on the tail end of his laugh.

“Oh, Tim.”

Bruce doesn’t give himself a chance to second guess the motion before he pulls the boy into a hug, satisfied that it was the right course of action when he feels Tim melt against him.

“Of course I’m not mad, of course I’m not mad,” he repeats like a mantra. “I’m sorry I let you think I would be. You’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

A few seconds pass, and he realizes there’s a wet patch at his shoulder where Tim’s face is buried. Bruce freezes, totally unsure of what he’s done wrong this time.

“I’m sorry,” Tim breaths out. “I- thank you. Thank you! I don’t know what I would have done if- I- I don’t want to be alone!”

“Not alone,” Bruce promises. “You’re not alone. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Tim presses closer, and Bruce takes it as a cue to tighten his hold.

Alfred finds them like that a few minutes later, Tim curled up in his arms, while Bruce cycles through reassurances. The look they exchange is enough to confirm that they’re both thinking the same thing: this kid is ours.

Cass

One day Cass hangs a little pride flag up on her door. Later in the week when she catches Bruce glancing at it, she comes up to him, gives the flag a meaningful nod, before just saying, “Girls!” in a happy voice, giving him a hug, and disappearing down the hall.

Damian

Bruce can identify every member of his family by their knock, but Damian’s is particularly distinctive. Not just because it tends to come from a lower part of the door, but because Damian has cultivated a strong knock, the way businessmen cultivate a strong handshake. It’s a very confident and determined sound, that he often finds himself stifling a smile at, knowing that that isn’t at all the intended reaction.

“Come in,” he calls, and there’s no pause before Damian strides into his office, confident as ever. When he speaks however, the undercurrents of his voice tell a different story.

“Father, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” There are a few hesitations, that don’t quite manage to turn into stutters in his voice, ones it’s unlikely anyone outside of their family would notice.

Bruce doesn’t comment on them, just nods for Damian to sit down and continue.

His legs don’t fully reach the floor. Something else that Bruce has learned not to let himself smile at.

“Grayson says…” he begins confidently, before trailing off.

Bruce just raises an eyebrow for him to continue, not feeling like he has enough information to put anything together from at the moment.

“Richard says,” Damian continues more carefully. “He came out to you as bisexual when he was around my age?”

Bruce nods. He has a feeling that he knows where this is going this time.

“He did.”

“He said that you were okay with it?”

Bruce nods again.

“Dick is my son. My love for him isn’t conditional, certainly not on that. There’s nothing wrong with not being straight.”

Damian had broached the topic using Dick as a proxy, so Bruce had followed his lead and assumed that Damian would know to automatically apply the assurance to himself. But Damian’s face just falls into a puzzled frown.

“So why…” he begins, before changing track. “Richard isn’t your biological son.”

Bruce frowns back.

“Damian, you know that doesn’t make a difference to me. I don’t love your siblings any less because they’re not-”

“I know,” Damian cuts in. “It isn’t about loving us differently.” He says it very matter of factly. “I have the ability to carry on your bloodline, whereas they do not.”

“That ability isn’t an obligation,” Bruce says, wondering why his kids never seem to be able to just worry about normal things. “And it’s certainly not something that you need to be thinking about at thirteen years old.”

Damian nods slowly, staring down at the desk with a look of intense concentration, before slowly raising his gaze to Bruce.

“Mother and Grandfather said that you wouldn’t like it, if I wasn’t interested in girls,” he says quietly.

Bruce sighs. of-fucking-course they did. He gets up from his chair, and moves around the desk to kneel in front of Damian.

“Well they’re wrong,” he says simply. “And they had no right to lead you to believe that it would make any difference to me. Just like I don’t love your siblings any less, my love for you is no more conditional. Understand?”

It takes a moment, but Damian nods.

“All right. In which case, I suppose... I’m gay.”

“And I’m proud of you,” Bruce says, before pulling his son into a hug.

Bruce

Bruce looks at his assembled family, and begins to feel a strange sense of trepidation tickling at the edge of his consciousness.

They’re all here. Trying to get the whole family together all at once is like pulling teeth. But he told them it was important, and they all came. There have been plenty of points over the course of the years when that wouldn’t have happened. And even though they’ve all been pretty settled with each other for a while now, he never wants to take for granted having his whole family together- not that he thinks the part of him that only seems to settle when he has all of his children within arm’s reach would let him.

The comfort of having them all be together is overwhelming, but the trepidation is still there, just like it probably always will be any time he manages to round up the courage for anything resembling feelings talk.

They’re all in one of the living rooms, sprawled in a comfortable half circle across various couches and chairs.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you all,” Bruce starts to say.

“Are you dying?” Stephanie asks casually.

Beside her, Cass freezes, looking horrified.

“I’m not dying,” Bruce says quickly.

At the same time Steph rubs a hand up and down Cass’s arm and assures her she was kidding.

“Not like he’d tell us if he was,” Dick says.

He knows it’s meant to be a joke, just like Stephanie’s question had been, but it still sends a chill through him. Mostly because he can’t say for sure that Dick is totally wrong; it’s the kind of thing he easily could have kept to himself. But then he sees the uncertain frown that Damian is giving him, and Cass’s wide, anxious eyes, and decides that he has to be wrong.

“I’m not dying,” he repeats, reaching out for Tim who’s sitting closest to him, and who’s been staring very intently at the floor since the topic came up.

Tim leans into the touch without shifting his position.

“And I would tell you,” he adds seriously, feeling absolutely wracked with guilt over the fact that up until this moment he doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to claim that with any certainty.

“I swear, if there’s anything wrong with me, all of you will know as soon as possible.” By the time it comes out of his mouth, he knows he means it with total certainty.

“I think we’re all pretty tuned into the fact that there’s something wrong with you,” Jason offers, and the tension in the room breaks.

Bruce smiles despite himself. That was agonizing. Compared to that getting on with the conversation he’d previously been so apprehensive to have will be a relief.

“What did you want to tell us?” Duke asks.

“It can be… difficult for me to articulate what it means to me whenever one of you trusts me enough to share something about yourself. I thought that I owed it to all of you to return the favor, and share a… recent discovery of mine.” He stumbles through it as awkwardly as he’d expected to.

“This is weird,” Stephanie stage whispers.

“I’m bisexual,” Bruce admits.

“Bruce!” Dick says excitedly.

“Unacceptable,” Jason cuts in. “We already have enough of that nonsense in this house!”

Tim kicks him in the side.

“Well, seeing as it’s an option, I for one prefer the idea of you pursuing romantic entanglements that bear no risk of resulting in pregnancy.”

“Noted, Damian.”

“I’m happy for you, B,” Tim says. “It can be hard figuring yourself out.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Is that it?” Duke asks. “I mean, not that it’s not a big deal- and I’m happy for you too by the way- it’s just that most of our family meetings involve addressing some kind of crisis.”

“That’s it,” Bruce admits.

“Perhaps- seeing as we’re all here anyways- we could take this opportunity to have dinner together as a family for once,” Alfred offers.

[emeraldiis]

Enough Trust for Us Both

I’ve written a new fic, this time it’s Bucky x Reader! Read it on AO3 here.

Word Count: 3.8k

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Contains: fluff and smut, phone sex

You’re going crazy. You are going absolutely insane, and it’s all Bucky’s fault. Stupid, sexy, oblivious Bucky. Sure, you two have the perfect relationship in all other regards. He’s open with you, trusting you to hold him through the night to calm any nightmares, and he keeps you safe. Four months of him hovering behind you like an overprotective parent may have been annoying to some, but you love it. It makes you feel cared for. And you know he loves you, because he says it about forty times a day. 

There’s just one tiny, itsy bitsy problem. Bucky won’t touch you. Well, that’s not true. He cuddles you, holds your hand, gives you chaste kisses whenever you do something to make him smile. But he won’t touch you. The kisses never go beyond pecks on the lips, and his hands never wander below your waist. And god dammit, you don't understand why. You’re horny, for fuck’s sake.

You know that you’ve been touchy with him lately, but you can’t help it. The sexual frustration increases tenfold when he grabs your hands with his strong ones, or wraps his fingers around your hips to pull you in for a kiss. You swear your panties are constantly damp around him, and more than a few times you’d had to excuse yourself to go change.

But you haven’t made any moves, scared of being too bold. He’s come so far with you, opened up so much, and you’re afraid that being too forward will scare him off. Still, a girl has needs, and you’re not above dropping a few...hints.

Bucky walks into your apartment with heavy footsteps, nearly slamming the door behind him. You jump, whipping around on the couch to face him, and watch as he winces. “I’m sorry, doll. Sometimes I forget how strong this stupid thing is.” He flexes his metal hand, frowning at the silver digits.

You tsk and shake your head, trying hard to ignore the arousal blooming in your stomach. Every part of him is attractive, you just can’t help but stare. From his shaggy hair, to those absolutely sinful thighs that you want to ride into the sunset. “It’s okay, babe,” you sigh wistfully, then look at him with pleading eyes. “I missed you today, can we go cuddle?” If you can’t get any action, then maybe just some good old fashioned affection would calm your nerves. Doubt it.

With a chuckle, Bucky strides over to the back of the couch with those long legs and leans over to kiss your cheek. “Of course, doll. Just let me go shower first, and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

Nearing falling over yourself in your enthusiasm, you give Bucky a winning smile and race to the bedroom, eager to get under the covers and get warm. As you slide into bed, you hear the shower turn on across the hall, and let your mind wander. Bucky’s muscled body fills your head. Tight abs flexing under streams of water, those metal fingers brushing across his skin, soap running down his chest all the way down to his cock. You’ve seen it before, but only once. Bucky had come home run ragged from an intense mission, and had been too tired to argue when you insisted on bathing him yourself. Even with just one glance while he was soft, you could tell Bucky was huge. He was thick, and imagining that inside of you nearly makes you moan out loud.

You’re so caught up in your fantasies that you fail to hear the water stop running, and end up startling again when Bucky enters the room. “Doll, you’re jumpy today,” Bucky says, blue eyes filled with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m great!” You answer a little too quickly, trying to ignore the uncomfortable wetness seeping into your panties. You’re not wearing any pants--you usually don’t, when Bucky’s gone--and you know that Bucky would be able to feel how turned on you are if his hands go anywhere near there. ‘Which they won’t,’ you think to yourself in disappointment.

Bucky eyes you skeptically, thick eyebrows furrowed, while you try not to drool over his still-dripping form. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of red and black checkered pajama pants that are just one size too small. If you squint, you can just barely see the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric, and your eyes nearly roll and you realize that he’s probably not wearing underwear. Before you can work yourself up again, Bucky shakes his head at you, accepting your white lie, and gestures for you to slide over. You eagerly oblige, ready for some quality time with your boyfriend.

Despite your innocent act, you have a devious plan in the works. It had come to you the second he walked out of the shower looking irresistible. You’d decided that two could play at that game, and maybe he just needs you to seduce him. It’s bolder than anything you’d typically try, but maybe Bucky just hasn’t realized how badly you want him yet. Well, you were going to make it obvious for him.

When Bucky eases under the covers next to you, you purr happily and guide him onto his back, head resting comfortably in the pillows. You lie on your stomach and swing one leg over his hips, then throw your arm around his shoulder, effectively splaying yourself out on top of him. Bucky huffs out an amused laugh and wraps his human arm around your back. “Miss me that much, huh?” He says, voice soft and low. The weight of his arm feels nice draped across you like that, but you crave more.

You can’t help the shiver that forces its way down your spine at his deep voice speaking so closely to your ear. “Mhm,” you mumble. “Need to feel you.”

Cold, vibranium fingers card through your hair, and you don’t even try to suppress the moan that bubbles up. If you were going to properly seduce Bucky, you couldn’t hold anything back. “Well, I’m here, doll, feel me all you want.” His human hand grips your shoulder possessively, and the message is clear. ‘You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe.’

At that, your hips rock involuntarily, and you freeze when you realize that the wet spot on your panties has managed to make contact with the bare skin of Bucky’s stomach. That was a little further than you had intended to take this scheme, and you shift away, praying that Bucky hadn’t noticed.

To your dismay, Bucky rockets up from the bed like a cannon, immediately scrambling to the other side of the room like you had burned him. You start to turn away in embarrassment, then notice the wild look in his wide eyes. Bucky’s terrified. But why?

Seeing the bewildered look on your face, Bucky pauses in his frantic movements, then slowly slides down the wall and comes to a rest seated on the floor. His breathing pattern stutters until it settles into the slow and deliberate one his therapist taught him to stifle panic attacks. Regret sinks into your chest like a thick cloud. Christ, you had really messed up this time. “Baby,” you say softly, voice dripping with worry.

Your boyfriend looks up from the carpet, and tries to give you a reassuring smile. “I-I’m, I’m sorry,” he manages. His normally strong voice cracks, and your heart splits. “It’s not you, I just…” He fumbles for the words, and you keep quiet, pulse high while you await his explanation. “Doll, it’s hard enough for me to control myself when you’re all up on me like that, but I’m just a man, and when you-” Bucky shakes his head frantically, eyes dropping back to the floor. “You just can’t be tempting me like, okay, babe?” His head falls into his hands.

Wait, what? Somehow, you’re even more confused. “Bucky, what are you talking about? You don’t have to ‘control yourself,’ I’m your girlfriend. Hell, I’d be upset if you weren’t sexually attracted to me!” Your voice is rising in volume, but you can’t help it. All these months spent taking cold showers, and he wanted to fuck you the whole time? “Jesus, Buck. I was all over you today because I wanted you to lose control. This entire time we’ve been together I just thought, I dunno, that I wasn’t attractive enough for you?” You can’t mask the hurt in your voice.

At that, Bucky’s eyes widen and he raises his head to look back up at you. “Baby doll, no, you’re the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I just...I don’t want to hurt you. If I lose control like that and let myself go, who knows what could happen? I could relapse, I could seriously hurt you. You saw when I came inside today! I almost broke your door without meaning to, I can’t put you at risk just for my own pleasure.”

Anger swells up inside of you again, and you rise from the bed to stalk towards Bucky. When you reach his place on the floor, you sink to your knees and stare daggers at him. “Your own pleasure? What about mine? Bucky, this isn’t just about you. I have needs, too.” Bucky looks away in shame, and the guilty expression in his eyes manages to cool your temper. You gently take his face in your hands and pull him to look at you. Now that you’ve come back to yourself, you feel guilty for being selfish. You chew on your lips anxiously. “Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten mad like that, I know this isn’t easy for you. But Bucky, if you want me, then I’m yours. I know you won’t hurt me, I trust you.”

Bucky pulls away from you, lips screwed up in a pained frown. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just too dangerous.”

You fall back onto your butt, sighing, and try to think. “Okay, well what if we worked up to it?”

That earns you an intrigued look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you start, mind racing as a plan hatches. “What if we started off with something low risk, like phone sex. You could stay at the Avengers tower, I could stay here. How can you hurt me if we’re on different sides of the city?”

“Phone sex?”

Oh, right. Different era. “It’s where we call each other on the phone and get off together. If you really don’t want to try, you can say no, but you deserve pleasure. We’ve both been stressed lately, this can be a good thing.” You try to keep your tone casual, giving Bucky the chance to relax from the brief argument. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, and though he’d never admit it, his cheeks flush just the slightest bit red.

“Okay,” he whispers, brushing back a piece of stray hair from his face and taking a steadying breath.

Your eyes follow the movement of his hand as what he said sinks in. “Really, you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, making an attempt to smile at you. “Just...can we do this slow? It’s been a long time.” He still looks nervous, and you almost want to back off. To tell him to forget it, that you were just being selfish. But it’s not just you that he’s denying pleasure to. Bucky’s suffering, too, and you know that intimacy would be a huge step forward, so you push on.

You grin brightly at him, then stand, offering your hand to help him up, too. After hesitating for a brief moment, Bucky takes your hand and lets you pull him to his feet. He stands, towering over you, and you realize that you’re so tiny compared to him. His worries absolutely held merit; he could crush you so easily, especially with those rippling muscles that you’re always staring at. But you’re not scared of him, you never have been. Bucky has never been anything but gentle towards you, and you know that even The Winter Soldier would not lay a hand on you. Bucky would never allow that to happen, you trust him.

You just wish he could trust himself that much, too.

It’s been weeks since you and Bucky’s conversation, and you’re beginning to think he’s forgotten about it. That, or he’s just pretending that he doesn’t remember in order to avoid a stressful situation. The latter was probably more likely, and you decide not to push it. Maybe you’d been asking for too much. So you put a lid on your desires, and acted like everything was fine for Bucky’s sake, even as disappointment dampened your moods. And when he left for yet another mission, you began to accept that maybe he just wasn’t ready. You can live with that.

Your phone rings, and you hoist yourself off the couch, pausing the movie you’d been watching to trudge over to your phone. When Bucky was away on missions, calls were never anything good. He’d usually send texts to reassure you that things were going well, but he always saved bad news for phone calls. It was a nice gesture, but it just made you associate them with misery.

Steeling yourself, you click ‘answer,’ and force out a cheerful greeting despite the anxiety twisting your stomach.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky’s voice is gruff, and he sounds exhausted. Your hands twitch, wanting to reach for him.

“Hi,” you reply. “Everything going okay?”

A groan floats through the speaker, and you sigh, knowing that your instincts were correct. “I wish, it looks like I’ll have to stay another night in this stupid safe house. We think our cover might’ve been blown and Stark wants to lay low before trying to extract me.” You can hear the apology in Bucky’s tone; he doesn’t need to say it.

You want to scream and throw your phone. Another night away from your lover, spent lying awake worrying that this time he wouldn’t make it home safe. Another night of counting the seconds until he’s back in your arms, and you can kiss away the stress of his mission. You knew what you were signing up for, dating an Avenger, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard sometimes. Still, you need to keep it together. For Bucky. “It’s okay, just stay safe, alright? I need you to come back to me in one piece.”

Bucky mumbles his assent, and you hear shuffling on the other end, presumably him getting more comfortable. You do the same, and make your way back to the couch so you can sit down and talk to him. “At least it’s just me here,” Bucky says. “This would be a hell of a lot more irritating if I had to put up with Sam’s chatter for another day.” 

With a snort, you flop onto the couch and lean back. “Don’t be too hard on him, he means well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbles. He pauses, and you hear a shaky inhale before he speaks again. “What’re you wearing?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Well, this was unexpected. “One of your shirts, why?”

“No pants?”

“You know me, pants are kind of against my moral code.”

Bucky chuckles on the other line while you wonder where this is going. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Another pause. “Which panties do you have on?”

Oh. Oh. Your heart speeds up in excitement as you start to realize what’s going on. “Buck, are you wanting to…?” You don’t finish your sentence, letting your silence speak for itself.

“Um, I think so. If you don’t mind?” Bucky says, voice rising a bit in pitch as it tends to do when he gets nervous. 

You’re quick to reassure him, not wanting to screw this up when you’ve been dreaming about it for months. “Yes, yeah!” You blurt out. “I just wanted to make sure we were both on the same page here.” You tug at your bottom lip with your teeth while you think about how you want this to go. “Hold on, lemme move to the bedroom.”

“Okay.” Bucky’s voice has gotten raspier, and it sends a gush of arousal into your panties. You rush to the bedroom, legs more than a little shaky from excitement.  You hop onto the bed and settle back into the pillows, putting your phone on speaker and setting it beside you on the sheets. “You still haven’t told me which panties you’ve got on,” Bucky prompts, sounding a little unsure.

“The black ones,” you answer. “They’re the ones that have the lacing around my ass.”

Bucky growls his appreciation at your response. “Those are my favorite.” You beam. Now that he’s finally expressing his attraction to you, you feel like the sexiest woman in the world.

“Your turn to tell me what you’re wearing.” Your fingers tug at the hem of your underwear, itching to dive inside and start touching yourself. But you wait patiently, wanting to take things slow like Bucky had asked.

“Just my briefs. The dark blue ones that you said look nice,” Bucky says. He goes quiet, and you remember that phone sex was a foreign concept to him just a few weeks ago. You can picture his uncertain expression. His eyes always narrowed in a cute little squint, and his lips would purse in a way that made you want to kiss him breathless.

Taking the lead, you shimmy your panties down your legs until they’re completely off. “I’m taking my underwear off now. Do you want to touch yourself?”

Bucky inhales sharply. “Yeah.”

“Do it. I will, too.” You bring your fingers down to your dripping pussy, absently wondering if you should’ve laid down a towel before starting. It’s too late now, though. You slide one finger across your folds, humming softly at the pleasure.

There’s rustling on the other end, and you close your eyes to imagine Bucky pulling down his briefs, thick cock springing free. You think about running your tongue up the leaking head, and your core cramps involuntarily.

“Doll…” Bucky breathes. You hear a slick sound--did he always bring lube with him on missions?-- and then a steady rhythm of slow strokes. 

“Does it feel good?” You ask, and bring your thumb up to rub at your clit. A small whimper escapes your throat. There’s no reason to try to stay quiet; this is for Bucky, and you want him to hear that you’re enjoying yourself.

“Y-yeah,” he grits out. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m touching my clit, wishing it was your fingers on me. I wanna touch you so bad.” There’s a whine to your voice, and your fingers speed up.

“I wish I was there,” Bucky says. “Fuck, I bet you look so good right now. I don’t even know how many times I’ve gotten off to the thought of licking that pretty pussy.”

A gasp tears its way from your throat. You never knew Bucky had such a mouth on him, and you briefly think about how many girls he’d talked out of their skirts before the war. You turn your head to the side, burying your nose in Bucky’s shirt and inhale deeply. His scent makes you dizzy with need, and you abandon your clit to dip two fingers into yourself. There’s no need for preparation—you’re soaked—and you easily slide the digits past your opening to reach the most sensitive spots. “I’ve got two fingers inside me now,” you moan. “Wishing they were yours.”

The strokes on the other end speed up, and Bucky curses. “Shit, doll. You’re driving me crazy, here.”

Bucky’s moans are the hottest thing you’ve heard in your entire life. Nights spent fantasizing about how he’d sound in bed didn’t even come close to the real thing. His ragged pants on the other end of the line have you edging closer and closer to your orgasm, and you begin to ramble mindlessly. “Bucky, baby, I need to feel you. I want you here with me, I wanna watch you cum.”

“You know we can’t--”

“I don’t care,” you whine. “I’ll use Stark’s handcuffs to keep you restrained, you can’t hurt me if you’re all tied up. Please, baby, I just need you.” You know that you’re rambling, but you don’t care, it feels too good. Your fingers move faster and faster, chasing your high.

A startled moan echoes through your speaker. “Oh, fuck, stop talking. Please, I can’t--” Bucky’s voice is tight, strangled, but it only encourages you to push him further. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being tied up while I ride you?”

That’s the last straw for Bucky. The rhythm of his strokes stutters, then comes to an abrupt halt as he chokes out a high pitched whine of your name. Hearing his orgasm pushes you into your own, and you claw at the sheets with your free hand. Bucky’s name tumbling from your lips while your hips arch up into your hand, everything clenching and then releasing into bliss.

You lie in silence for a few minutes, your breathing mixing in with Bucky’s as you both come down. Finally, you break the silence, feeling a bit embarrassed now that pleasure’s no longer clouding your judgement. “I-I’m sorry. I got a little carried away.”

“What?” Bucky replies. “No, that was, that was really good. Were you serious about wanting to try restraining me?”

You swallow tightly. To be honest, it was kind of a spur of the moment fantasy, born from reckless pleasure. “Uh, only if you want. I definitely should’ve cleared it with you before bringing it up.”

Bucky is quick to reassure you. “No, doll. At the moment, I only really saw it as a hot fantasy, but now that I’m thinking about it...it could actually work.”

You sit up in bed, not able to believe your ears. God, you aren’t even sure if you’d be able to handle that kind of control over Bucky. You might just melt the second you lay eyes on him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “We’d have to use something that could hold me, but I’d feel better about not hurting you if I was handcuffed.”

A dizzying rush of excitement washes over you. “Fuck, okay. Let’s talk about it more when you get back, yeah? You need to focus on getting home safe.”

“You’re right. Thank you for being patient with me, I know you could easily find some guy you didn’t have to jump through all these hoops for.” Bucky’s laugh is self deprecating, and you shush him.

“Shut up, you’re perfect. I’d jump through as many hoops as it takes to call you mine for the rest of my life.” And you really would. You’re head over heels for this man, and it isn’t just the post-nut bliss talking. “Just come back home to me and I’ll show you just how much I’m willing to do you.” You pause. “For you. Do for you.”

This time, the chuckle that Bucky lets out is genuine, and your heart swells. “Okay, doll. I’ll be home in a day or two and you can do me all you’d like.”

[apricops]

writing prompt: the political climate of [your choice of historical period] expressed in the form of office drama

[Interior - an anachronistic office building, equal parts The Name of The Rose and Parks and Rec. Holy Roman Emperor MAXIMILIAN I is in the background, listening to a PETITIONER. Court musicians nearby are playing something soothing as MAXIMILIAN I visibly tries not to lose his shit.

In the foreground, several people are seated around a table. The table is piled high with semi-organized stacks of papers, labeled “Habsburgs,” “Denmark,” and “???” There is a tired-looking COURT LAWYER who is skimming through a document, seated across from a Fancy-Lad DUCAL ENVOY and an old, gray-bearded, Prussian-looking MARGRAVE, who is half-asleep. The COURT LAWYER skims over a few pages in tense, frustrated silence before finally speaking.]

COURT LAWYER: So King Christian I is his own vassal?

[Cut to the COURT LAWYER doing that talking-to-the-camera-like-The-Office thing, because I have never written a TV script before and am fuzzy on the terminology.]

COURT LAWYER: The Holstien case… is hell. The cadet branches just pop up like… like pimples! One minute it’s Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Beck, then it’s Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg, then—

[Snap cut back to the table, making it clear the COURT LAWYER could have gone on for hours. The DUCAL ENVOY gestures to a document and starts to explain.]

DUCAL ENVOY: That, ah, that’s from a different case. You see, our illustrious house was rewarded for our service against the Ottomans during the Siege of Thessalonica.

[The MARGRAVE snaps awake.]

MARGRAVE: The Ottomans? Where? Drive back the Turk! Get me the garrison commander! Murm, and a stuffed pastry or two…

[Everyone ignores the MARGRAVE, who falls back asleep after a few more rambles.]

COURT LAWYER: Wasn’t the Siege of Thessalonica a total failure and humiliating defeat on our end?

[The DUCAL ENVOY makes a “yeah, but I’m gonna get mine” gesture. The camera tilts to zoom in on MAXIMILIAN I, who pauses to give a you-are-the-first-to-die-in-my-fantasies glare at the DUCAL ENVOY, then puts his normal expression back on and resumes listening to the PETITIONER.]

[The COURT LAWYER sets the document aside and picks up another one, then winces.]

COURT LAWYER: For god’s sake, Schleswig-Holstein-Liga?

DUCAL ENVOY: I think that one’s just a soccer league, actually.

[The PETITIONER leaves. MAXIMILIAN I signals to the court musicians to stop playing. Suddenly, there is a sense silence. MAXIMILIAN I stands up, takes a deep breath, and screams.]

MAXIMILAN I: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[He pauses to breathe in again, then starts to storm offscreen, shouting.]

MAXIMILIAN I: *offscreen* If you rat bastards are going to wave forged documents in my face, at least have the goddamn decency to put in a little effort! The Habsburgs wrote the book on forgeries! Don’t TREAT ME LIKE A CHUMP!

RANDOM RETAINER: The, uh, the emperor will not be seeing any more petitioners today.

[The DUCAL ENVOY stands up and, taking his cue to leave, scoots away, opposite the direction the emperor left.]

[Cut to MAXIMILIAN I doing the talking-to-camera thing. Time has clearly passed, and servants are busy cleaning up rage-smashed furniture.]

MAXIMILIAN I: How come everyone who’s on my side sucks? The dukes, the electors, the rich territories, they’re always busy scheming and trying to fuck me over. But an abbey full of old nuns? Oh, we’re on your side, emperor! Anything you want, emperor! Here, here’s a pair of old sandles, that’ll keep the French from conquering Naples!

MAXIMILIAN I: *heavy, wistful sigh* I bet the Sultan doesn’t have to deal with shit like this. I wish I could be like that… with a harem of women, and not having to take any sass from anyone… this is getting edited out, right?

[Snap cut to interior – Topkapi Palace. Ottoman Sultan BAYEZID II is trying not to look guilty as his mother, GÜLBAHAR HATUN, lectures him.]

GÜLBAHAR HATUN: It’s been months, sweetie. Months!

BAYEZID II: *trying not to get snippy* I know, mother, but things have been crazy at work lately, and—

GÜLBAHAR HATUN: That’s what you say every time! I know you’re the head of the House of Osman, but you’re still my little boy too.

BAYEZID II: I’m sorry, it’s just, I’ve been on campaign, mom. I can’t just drop everything and come visit whenever I want. If we don’t control the Peloponnese, how are we going to have enough naval power to compete with the Venetians?

GÜLBAHAR HATUN: *crossing her arms* You care more about those Venetians than your own mother! The woman who gave birth to you!

[In the background, a HAREM LADY scoots by, trying not to be noticed, dressed in expensive but modest clothing. Cut to her doing the talking-to-camera thing.]

HAREM LADY: Look, I don’t know what those horny Austrians told you I did, but I just copy poetry, alright?

----------------------------------------------

Postscripts:

This was delayed because it started with me going “Schleswig-Holstein? That is a funny name, I’m going to use that for this ask, because it is funny” only to find out that it has been involved in insanely complicated legal disputes for basically eight hundred years. I decided to get around the issue by not dealing with it.

Wiki-ing told me that Gülbar Hatun did, in fact, send letters to Bayezid II complaining that he was always too busy emperor-ing to visit her.

I spent too much time and attention at first trying to get the date-overlap right with things but stopped caring after a bit because it was against the spirit of prompts

[ladynyctophilia]

I love Judy, and I would sell my left kidney for her, but she’s a little shit and can be the queen of spite sometimes, and here’s just ONE example when we first fucking meet her.

Spoilers?

——-

Judy: How about it, V? Raw braindance, ever taken a dip before?

V, the unfortunately confident Merc: Psh! *Waves a hand.* I think I can handle it.

Judy: Okie dokes. *Gestures to the chair, already scheming.* Sit down, settle in, and we’ll get you going.

V, the gonk: Preem.

Judy: *Get’s V all situated, sus as fuck about this merc Evey hired, but smiles like everything is fine and walks back to her desk.* Alright. Gotta create your sensory profile first.

V, still WAY too confident for someone who’s never been in a raw BD: Ok. Hit me. Just promise it won't hurt. *Tries to be funny.*

Judy: It won't...not this time. 😈😈😈

Evelyn: 🙄

Judy: OK. All set. Tossing in a sample BD so you can get to know the editor.

Evelyn, the impatient: Why are we wasting time? Let's just show V my recording.

Judy: *Gives Evelyn a look.* So we aren't risking our necks. (Code for, I don't trust this bitch, let me do my thang.) Will only take a sec. *Pretends to look through her stash of BD’s, but knows EXACTLY which one she’s picking.* I got something here...that should be perfect. 😈

V: What’d you choose?

Evelyn: *Lights a smoke.* Here we go...

Judy: Oh, nothing... just some amateur robbery in Heywood. *Acts all innocent, doing techie things.* I don’t even know where I got it from. 😇

V, the oblivious: Sweet. Boot it up.

Judy: Alright. Here we go, giving you the tailored version first. *Proceeds to put V through a BD hell where the artist is high, gets shot, and dies.*

Evelyn: For fucks sake, Judy. Please don't break my merc.

Judy: *Waves a hand, leaning over V.* What? She said she could handle it.

V, after feeling everything in the sample BD: W-what's the meaning of life? 👁👄👁

Evelyn: Great. 🙄

Judy: Nothing happened, you’re alive and well.

V: That w-was...OK...I...*Is still shaking, not knowing what's real or fake.* Phew......kefttt...*Shakes her head, trying to get it together, but is honestly just trying not to cry in front of these two beautiful strangers.* You could have w-warned me first....I didn’t know how much dying actually hurts.

Judy: *Smiles, pleased with herself.* Trust me, real death hurts muuuch worse. *Goes back to her chair.* Ready to go back in?

V: Wot. 👁👄👁 *Is low key freaking out because this is only the SAMPLE BD; what the hell.*

Judy and Evelyn: *Continues to beat up V via Braindance for the next hour.*

-------

Out of ALL the BD’s this chick probably has stashed away, she picks the robbery one, KNOWING that this is V’s first raw BD and V fucking STRUGGLED. That's mega sus Judy. 😂

Bonus

-----

After V leaves~

Evelyn: So? *Pulls out a cigarette.* What do you think?

Judy: What? *Stands up, annoyed.* You already know my thoughts, Ev. This heist is insane, and I don't think you should be doing it.

Evelyn: *Rolls her eyes,* I'm aware of your opinion. *Breathes in the cig.* I meant V. What do you think?

Judy: You want my honest opinion?

Evelyn: I wouldn’t want anything less.

Judy: *Huffs, sitting back down.* WELL, I think you just straight up hired a fucking gonk. *Scrunches her nose.* You don’t even know this merc, Ev, and you are betting your future on that gonk and her chooms that are only motivated by eddies??? I don’t like it. Not one bit. *Is typing way too hard.* What if someone offers them more eddies? Or they take the relic for themselves? Or they get caught and rat us out? What then? Huh, Ev?

Evelyn: Judy. Relax. *Rests a calming hand on her shoulder.* I have everything under control. The plan will work, and besides...a gonk V might be...her and her associates are the best at what they do. Why do you think I went to the top fixer in Night City?

Judy: It still seems too risky. *Shakes her head, seconds away from exploding, but is only tolerating this conversation because Evelyn is her best friend.* When you fuck with a corp like Arasaka, the city always finds a way to fuck you back harder. That's just how it works for people like us.

Evelyn: By the time Arasaka notices, we will be long gone from Night City, and you can finally focus on creating art rather than cheap thrills in this shitty basement. *Squeezes her shoulder.* Remember. I'm doing this for us.

Judy: I know...*Mumbles, going quiet for a few minutes, thinking it all over, but eventually looks back up with vulnerable eyes.* Ev...you don't have to do this. There's still time to call off the heist. If we waited a few more months...I will eventually have enough eddies to...

Evelyn: Judy, stop. *Pulls her hand away.* My mind is already made up. After this, there will be no more waiting...for either of us. *Brings the cigarette back up to her lips.* We will finally be living the lives we deserve.

Judy: Fine. *Sighs, turning away.* I don't want to argue about this anymore. Ok? Just promise me you will be careful.

Evelyn: Course I will be. I'm always careful. *Winks, dabbing her cigarette in the ashtray.* Also, don’t think I didn’t notice those lingering eyes of yours checking out my “gonk” of a merc. *Smirks.*

Judy: What do you mean? *Pricks up, annoyed.* There was no “checking out.”

Evelyn: *Shrugs.* Calm down. It was just an observation. *Picks up her purse.* Though, I will say, that V does have a cute little ass...and nice titts. *Pauses, undressing V in her head.* And don't get me started on those defined arms and legs of hers...*Sighs* The mercenary life has definitely been favorable for her. I’m jealous.

Judy: *Is back on her computer, clicking through files, trying so fucking hard to ignore Evelyn right now.* Sure, yeah, you going to fuck her now?

Evelyn: Hmph. *Stares at Judy.*

Judy: ...

Evelyn: ...

Judy: *Throws her hands up in the air.* Fine. OK. Yes, your merc has a nice ass. Happy?

Evelyn: You’re precious, Judy. *Chuckles, hand on her hip.* Let's just hope her work is as preem as her ass. *Leaves with a delicate wave of her hand.* See you for breakfast Thursday.

Once the door closes...

Judy: *Groans, face planting on her keyboard.* Fuuuuuuck.

---

(This turned out longer than I had intended. Sorry!!)

[laurore-stormwitch]

of almost failed heists and romantic advice

For the @grishaversebigbang mini bang! First time writing the crows, it’s been a challenge. I had the incredible and emotional honor to see some beautiful art made for this fic by @streckenweise-okay [here] , @j-wirth [here], @davonysus [here]. You are all talented and amazing <3  Summary: an easy undercover job becomes not only a chance to revisit some old friendships with Nina back in town, but also the perfect occasion for a romantic intervention and some dating advice for our favorite Bastard of the Barrel.

ao3 link

Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, a forgotten Rietveld. His figure hid itself in the many names he had been called, in the many tales of sorrow he had inflicted. He did not need a reason, nor to rob or brake, nor to wreak havoc on the filthy streets of Ketterdam. Swift as the sky-splitting dive of a crow on his prey. You would feel him coming, in the tense silence shattered by the rhythmic beating of a raptor-headed cane on bricks. Kaz Brekker, who did not need a reason, or concealed the ones who mattered. The same Kaz Brekker, however, who did not have a valid reason for choosing to bring the three biggest headaches of his life along with him on this wretched job. A sharpshooter with an absurd taste in fashion, a Grisha witch as annoying as his broken leg and a wayward merchant’s son he had spent way too much time babysitting. 

A strike of genius on his part. On top of that, he had chosen an undercover job, like they had the slightest ability not be noticed. Except for Nina; that girl blended everywhere like whisky. She was now strolling back to them with an excited gleam in her eyes, sipping on a glass of wine. She giggled happily. “Relax, Kaz. It’s a party.” 

He cut her a glare from the corner in which he was standing, stiff and broody. 

“Where the hell are the two lovebirds?” 

“At the buffet. Do you know they have a chocolate fountain?”

“If it doesn’t drop gold”, Nina arched a brow at him, “I am fairly sure I don’t care for it.”

They were interrupted by the brilliant flash of color of Jesper’s suit and his brazen laugh. He had an arm thrown around Wylan’s shoulder; the merchling’s  cheeks were flushed and his hair ruffled. He seemed slightly uncomfortable or about to throw up. For all the kruges, how much had Jesper let him drink? At least they did not have a particularly difficult role to play. Nina planted a kiss on Wylan’s cheek.

“This is so fun!”, she exclaimed, delighted by the situation. Kaz glared at her again.

“A job it’s not supposed to be fun.”

“Take your brooding mood out the window, Brekker”, Nina waved a dismissive hand at him. “What would a job be without fun?”

“Terribly dull”, Jesper winked.

“Annoyingly painful”, offered Wylan with a hiccup. They turned to Kaz. 

“Adequately profitable.”

His friends cast their eyes heavenward. Jesper snatched other glasses , pretending not to see Kaz’s threatening look. The party was grand, held in the home of a Council’s member from whom they were supposed to steal some documents held in a safe in his study. The job was easy to say the least, so when they had learned that Nina was in town, she had tagged along. Kaz wanted to wack himself on the head with his cane for this wretched idea; apparently, they had taken this as an excuse to party and reminisce old times more than an occasion to actually help Kaz make some money. Nina surveyed the room. 

“I wish Inej was here”, she whined. Kaz had never been one to pray, so it was not surprised when the Saints ignored his pledge to make Nina drop the argument. Instad, she turned to him with a smug smirk. 

“How is it going between the two of you?”

Kaz tapped his cane on the floor, avoiding the heartrender’s eyes. Maybe she would shut up if he ignored her. Was he not radiating a general air of murderousness and danger, enough to convince his nosy friend to leave him be? Well, not enough. It just made her do something even worse and refer to the other two headaches.

“Kaz is a hopeless cause.”

“He’s not asked her out yet? Not even a romantic snack in between threatening people and skewering them with knives?”

Jesper shrugged his shoulder, nudging Wylan closer. “We offered to do it for him”, he noted.

“You did”, Wylan peered at thim. “I want to keep my head on my neck.”

“Why hasn’t he?”, asked Nina, considering Kaz, still ignoring them.

“I don’t think he’s familiar with the concept of asking someone out. Or even asking someone for anything, mainly bossing people around.”

Kaz adjusted his tie. “I’m standing right beside you.”

“It’s not hard, Kaz. Just buy some flowers and smile.”

Jesper laughed at Nina’s idiotic advice. Were they actually trying to get assassinated right now? Another thought paved the way in his mind. Was it an idiotic advice, though? He could admit that anything not involving schemes or robbery was not an area of expertise for him. And he had been meaning to do something...nice?

“You’re asking Dirtyhands to smile?”, asked Jesper. Nina huffed.

“Can it be that hard?”

“You’ll see. Kaz, smile at me.” 

Kaz had two roads in front of him: for some reason, he chose the insane one and indulged Jesper, curling his lips upward. An uncomfortable silence dawned over them. 

“All the Saints and their suffering”, Nina exclaimed.

“Is he about to murder someone?”, Wylan asked. Nina burst out laughing.

“That is your i-am-asking-you-out smile?”

“It’s terrifying”, considered the merchling.

“Positively daunting”, his boyfriend confirmed.

“For the love of Inej’s Saints drop the smile. Stick with the flowers.” She eyed him from upside down, critical. “And fix that dreadful hair.”

Now the choice laid between leaving them all here or trying to find a way to finish this wretched job. Since the second option included a mouthful reward, he went with it. He eyed the owner descending the stairs with his guards. That was their cue. 

“You all know what to do.”

To their credit, they all snapped to attention when he called them. Nina strode behind the owner, fluffing her hair, while the three of them disappeared silently toward the upper floor. Silently. As silently as they could, Wylan being half drunk and Jesper being...well, Jesper. What one does for some kruge, thought sourly Kaz. He did glance at his reflection in the mirror, trying a half smile as they ascended the stairs. But no one needed to know that. 

***

The safe had scarcely even been fun to crack. Kaz slipped the document in his jacket, scanning the study. Who knows what one could find that people left unguarded. Jesper and Wylan were outside, keeping control on the stairs. The situation seemed under control, so he did have some spare time to search for something precious. He approached a drawer, flicked a pin in the keylock and - 

BOOM

A loud explosion resonated on the floor, rattling the walls. Definitely not a good sign. And definitely a sign that his henchmen raised some hell. Kaz sprinted out, only to find an absolute mayhem had been unleashed, and at the centre of this chaos, sure enough, stood his two royally idiotic friends, covered in dirt and pieces of furniture, gazing at each other with utter shock on their faces like they hadn’t just made a smoke bomb explode. The one that was supposed to be an emergency to cover their escape and was now invading the house. 

“What the hell did you do?!”

Screams rose below them; Jesper scratched some dust from his jacket and rolled his revolvers out, grinning in Wylan’s direction, apparently unfazed by how much they had just screwed up. 

“Wylan got carried away”, he shrugged his shoulders. Wylan flushed violently, jaw dropped in his boyfriend’s direction.

“You pushed me against a wall! I told you I had the smoke bomb in my pocket!”

“Were they making out again on the job?”, Nina rushed in their direction, her gorgeous face lit up with amusement as she struck down one of the guards running up the stairs with a flick of her wrist, a dart bone flying out of her cuff. 

“It’s Jesper’s fault! He’s always trying to...to…”, Jesper arched a brow at Wylan. 

“Yes?”

“Entice me!”

Kaz blew out an exasperated grunt, pushing them toward the background door. “Move!”, he seethed, running to work the lock. Dirtyhands getting killed on a saints forsaken robbery, perfect irony. With a quick look, he realized the damn lock had been reinforced with Fabrikator’s craft. He signaled Jesper, who practically squealed with amusement. 

“Do I get to use my powers?” The hard glare he earned from Kaz seemed to be enough for him to get on with his work. Nina turned, shooting other dart bones toward the stairs. Quick steps and screams were echoing through the buildings, and smoke was clearing. “You might wanna hurry up, Jes!”, she shouted over her shoulder. 

“We might have a problem”, the sharpshooter mumbled, as the lock literally melted on itself, effectively sealing the door closed. “I’m still getting the hold on - “

He was interrupted by another deafening explosion, as Wylan threw another device which detonated on the wooden stairs shredding them into pieces. 

“Do you all have to keep destroying our ways out?!”

“I’m sorry!”, screamed Wylan over the echoing thrum of the bomb, his gaze shifting to a window that opened up to the roof. 

“Do not even think about it”, Kaz pointed his cane at him. 

“Either we take a page from Inej’s book or we get arrested, what do you choose?”, Nina asked grudgingly, starting to climb on a cupboard. Saints, he was going to kill them all. Jesper and Wylan followed suit, making their way out on the roof and helping Kaz up. He shot a murderous look at Nina, who was eyeing him as he not at all gracefully moved up and shut the window closed behind him, swearing to every known Saints in Kerch.

“Since you are so bad at this, you should try to compliment Inej about it and maybe she’ll teach you something.” 

“Start fleeing before I catch you, Zenik.”

Shots began firing from below them, grazing Kaz’s arm. Nina erupted in a grin. 

“Time to run, Brekker.”

And so they did. Extremely far from how Inej would have done it. Loudly, stumbling throughout Ketterdam’s rooftops, helping each other - as much as he hated to admit it, mostly Kaz - on the slippery tiles and the narrow eaves. Ketterdam buildings left little space to breathe, being conveniently close that they could jump from one to the other. Kaz lost track of time, though his bad leg felt like they’ve been running for hours. Jesper stopped abruptly as they neared the docks, crunching on his knees and howling a breathless laugh. 

“That was fun.”

Nina giggled, slouching on the rooftop they had stopped on. “Ease up boys, we lost them ages ago”, she exhaled, closing her eyes toward the moonlight and leaning back. Kaz tentatively seated himself behind her, stretching his leg. 

“If this easy job ends up with me not being able to walk, vengeance will be coming.” 

Wylan and Jesper slumped down on his side, ignoring his dreadful look. Wylan peered at Kaz with a sly smile. 

“Jesper has stolen something fit to celebrate a successful heist.” 

The sharpshooter grinned, pulling out a bottle of cherry wine from nowhere and uncorking it with a whistle of joy. He passed it around as their cheerful chatter filled the night’s quiet. They were crazy. Crazy, reckless, and still idiots. Yet, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his ragtag band of misfits. So he did not protest when Jesper handed him the wine, and he even threw a crooked half smile at him. The night began to wear off with every sip.

“So”, started Jesper at some point, snatching the bottle from him, “about our advice?”

It had to be the wine for Kaz to answer this. “I guess I can try it.”

Wylan huffed and gave him a knowing look.  “Just be yourself, Kaz. Inej likes you like that.”

“Ever the romantic”, Jesper winked at him, making him flush. Again. 

“Aside from that”, Nina propped herself up, turning to him, her lips quirked and her face lit up with happiness, cheeks red from the wine. “I still suggest the flowers. You know her favourites. And you might want to get ahead with those, Brekker'', she added, pointing her finger toward the horizon; over Ketterdam’s rooftops, the moonlight shone on the silent streets, reflecting on the waves that hit the docks. There, against the sky lit up by stars, stood the profile of a sharp ship, a flag Kaz knew by heart flying over the mast, its edges turning his stomach upside down as it entered the harbour. 

“Our Wraith is coming home.”