#prepping the bang slot

[lomemarsupial]

Posted by Automated WebJackal

[oneforthemunny]

Hey hello (said in Eddie's voice) 👋🏼

Does janitor!Eddie, embarrassment, and smut tickle your fancy? Ngl he's one of my favorite versions of Eddie ever written.

xo @munson-blurbs

18+ smut

"What's wrong?" Eddie muttered, bangs tickling your own forehead, his brows creased in a frown of concern. He could feel your rigidness, your hesitancy with every kiss. It felt awkward- wrong.

"You alright? What's wrong?" Eddie pushed off his forearms, body still half slotted over yours, hovering over your frame.

Your cheeks burned with heat, gnawing on your bottom lip under his sweet gaze. "Yeah, no, I-I'm fine." You shook your head lightly. "Sorry, just had something on my mind."

Eddie's brows furrowed further. "What's on your mind?" He pressed lightly, his own heart skipping, beating uncomfortably in his own chest. This was all new, to both of you. In a relationship, but not yet established- not fully sure with the other yet.

You squirmed under his gaze, so soft but why did it leave you so vulnerable?

"I-It's nothing." You shook your head, gently grabbing at the hem of his shirt, balled fists trying to lure him back to you. "I'm sorry, let just forget-"

"No," Eddie pushed back gently. "Tell me what's wrong. I can tell you're... Just tell me." Eddie sighed softly. "Is it me? Something I'm doing?"

"No." You shook your head firmly. "No, it's n-not that. You're doing, like, really good." Eddie burned under your praise, chin ducking to his own chest, hidden by a waterfall of dark curls.

"I'm just- I forgot you were coming over." You admitted sheepishly, your heart lurching when Eddie's face fell, slowly sliding off your body to sit between your knees.

"Oh," Eddie muttered, hands covering his crotch lightly. Now didn't feel like the time to be sporting a semi. "I-I can leave. I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel like I'm in your way-"

"-No, Eddie, it's not that." You shook your head again, sitting up softly. "I want you here-I'm glad you are here. I just..." Eddie watched you, eyes scanning your features, like you were a puzzle he was determined to decipher.

"I didn't get to, like, prep the way I usually do when you come over." You muttered, looking down at your comforter. You couldn't meet his gaze, your own body burning with fiery embarrassment.

"What do you mean? I told you you didn't need to cook. I can order something if you're hungry, baby-"

"-No, not prep like that." You were frustrated with yourself, huffing lightly. "I-I just want you to know before we y'know. I-I didn't have time to shave."

You could barely meet Eddie's gaze, his bright, brown eyes still rounded and blinking. "And?" He pushed.

You frowned at him. "So, I didn't shave." You said again.

"Right." Eddie nodded.

A pause of uncomfortable silence that had you shifting lightly. "So I'm going to be hairy." You muttered. "A-And I didn't want you to go down there and be...shocked." Shocked was the one reaction you were hoping for, disgust was what you were expecting.

"Shocked by what?" Eddie's brows furrowed in confusion. You blistered in pure embarrassment. "The hair?"

"Eddie." You hissed lightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know- Just don't go down on me, ok? I'm sorry, I shoulda shaved-"

"- Wait. That's it? Hair?" Eddie's brows raised. "Baby, I thought something was wrong."

You were unsure, shifting a little nervously. "I just, I didn't want you to get freaked out-"

"-By hair?" Eddie scoffed lightly. "You seen how much hair I have?" He grinned, shaking his curls for emphasis. "'M not worried about hair. Promise."

"You're not?" You squeaked, letting him crawl back between your legs, body pressed to yours, pinning you back to the soft comforter.

"By hair? Fuck no." Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes lightly. "Like it, baby, c'mon. Takes a lot more than some hair in my food to scare me away."

You burned again, this time with a rush of blushing excitement, lips pressing to yours hungrily, Eddie's fingers hooking to your jeans. Hot slow kisses down your neck, collarbones, all the way towards your bare core after he'd gotten your stripped. Face buried between your thighs while you tugged at his curls.

[jassy-kpop]

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Predatory Gaze

Warnings⚠️: Werewolf Chan x Bunny Reader, Marking ,Knotting , Mating, piv, Readers POV, Biting, Rut, Rough sex, Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) , Hair pulling, After care.

POV: 1st person

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It was like time froze, my heart was beating fast as I stared directly into that gaze. A gaze that speaks of lust and want, never have I ever been more scared yet turned on. I felt like prey, I mean, I am prey, but it just feels.... different. His gaze is making my skin crawl and wetness fill my panties. I knew who this was, I knew that gaze was too well, it's not the first time i felt his gaze on me. Christopher Bang , nefarious alpha of the woods. He takes what he wants, when he wants it, even if he has to get it by force.

"Well, well, well...look who we have here— a bunny girl, tell me , why are you here, you know you have no business being here." Bang chan said in growls ,it caused me to shiver, but it wasn't in fear, more like excitement, it's not the first time this happened, I know he's in a rut....but to be honest I just want to bother the living hell out of him.

"You know why I'm here, I like annoying the fuck out of you. You should know that by now Christopher" I looked at him from head to toe, my heart's beating fast from adrenaline, I know what price I'd have to pay for using his biological name, but it's worth seeing that scowl on his face.

"You know I don't like it when you use my name like that, you know how it makes me feel." Chan growled, it sent a shiver down my spine and I also felt myself becoming wet, but I wasn't gonna back down, even if his eyes are trained on me, with lust flowing through them, I'll stand my ground against that predatory gaze.

"So? What are you gonna do about it Christopher?" I challenge him.

" You know exactly what I'll do, and you know that I'll fucking ravage you, unless.....that's what you want." He said in a honeyed voice, he knew exactly how to push my buttons, and I loved it.

"Maybe," I said back, looking straight into his eyes, " maybe that is what i want" I teased back, and before I knew it I was being pinned to the ground and my clothes were being ripped off me.

"I'll fucking ruin you bunny girl, I hope you're fucking ready" the eagerness in his eyes were very noticeable and I couldn't help but feel just as excited.

"Yea? Fucking ruin me Chris" I moaned when his kissed me , our tongues battling for dominance, he won, and I couldn't help but whimper when he pulled away. I watched as he started to undress, I felt my mind go blank with each sliver of skin he revealed, and when he removed his boxers I couldn't help but stare in aw at his cock, it was long, thick, vainy, slightly curved and glittering with precum.

"like what you see, Bunny?" Chan teased while slotting himself in between my legs, " I wanted to prep you but, I can't fucking wait anymore, is this okay with you ?" He said lowly while gathering my slick on his cock.

I nodded, and awaited his entry.

"Words baby, I need words." he said, already breathless from the friction being created by him rubbing himself against me.

"I-I'm fine with it," I whispered back while already weaving my hands into his hair.

I moaned when he started to push his tip into me, and it wasn't long until he bottomed out, he let me adjust to his size before thrusting, his thrusts were rough but with each thrust his cock hits my g-spot .

"F-Fuck! Chan!" I moaned in pleasure, my fingers digging into his scalp, causing him to whimper.

"Fuck yes! Moan my name baby" he growled while increasing his speed, the sound of skin clapping filling the air around us.

I started to pull and tug at his hair, and my back arched " Mmhh, fuck, Chan, Channie" my eyes rolled back in pleasure as the pit in my stomach started to tighten.

"God you're so tight, mm fuck" Chand voice started to heighten in pitch as the pleasure was straining his voice .

Chan leaned down and started to leave hickies on me. His thrust now becoming more animalistic as we neared our orgasms.

"G-gonna cum, please, pleeeasse— ahhh" I whined, it felt like he was jackhammering my pussy and I was loving it"

Chan groaned at my begging, "Fuck yes , cum for me, Bunny — fuck!"

I tightened around him as he slotted his knot deep into my core, his warmth filling my insides.

"Mm fuck," we moaned in unison as soon as chan collapsed onto me.

We focused on trying to catch our breath and once Chans knot deflated enough for him to pull out he laid on his back and pulled me on top of him for cuddles.

"That was amazing." I sighed breathlessly.

"Yeah it was," he noticed that I was finna get up so he held me tighter " let's stay like this for awhile and the after this we can shower together and get something to eat. How about that?"

"I'd love that, Chan."

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

@felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @changbunnies @therhythmafterthesummer @seo--changbin @skzms

[byullielle]

belly shots with skz 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

yum! thank you for this one anon, i'll be doing this two ways its either skz doing a shot off your body and vice versa so hold onto a shit ton of suggestive content.

Drinks Are Free // Bf!Skz x Gn!Reader

—Shots by LMFAO, Lil Jon obviously, A variety of body and belly shots courtesy of all 8.

tags: alcohol, est. relationship, body licking and biting, suggestive (bordering on NSFW), swearing, body/belly shot variations

disclaimer: this'll involve alcohol consumption so be on the lookout for that if you're in a vulnerable place, possibly implied/imagined exhibitionism

Rated: MINORS DNI

Takes a shot off your body

bang chan

Salt trail sucker™. Instead of just being on your belly he absolutely insists that it has to run up your entire stomach, because he loves to lick up knowing it makes you clench up a bit. With the shot ready in his hand, the lime wedge between your teeth, he licks up your body without warning.

His tongue is warm compared to your slightly cold exposed stomach, and once he finishes collecting the tiny trails of salt, leaving a stripe of saliva on your stomach he presses a very quick and chaste kiss right above the ending spot before taking a shot.

He bites down the lime, and not a silent bite, oh no, he purposely growls to make you giggle before sucking on the lime between your teeth, he won't bring it with him, not between his teeth–he'll let it stay there while he gulps the juices down. His warm breath against yours, he beams as you lay there with a spit trail and lime in your lips. "Fucking delicious," he mutters.

han

Down and Dirty, loves belly shots. Choice of drink is vodka instead of tequila. He places the salt dangerously low, nearing your hips, and sometimes doesn't even hesitate to sprinkle salt on your crotch despite the clothes. It'll taste like textile but having his lips on your member/core, so close yet so far, does something to his brain chemistry.

Once he has the salt licked up from your groins, he sucks the alcohol off your belly like its the elixir of life, he's obscene when it comes to the sound of the slurp, and especially when he gets to the lime wedge nestled between your lips.

He's noisy, he's messy, and god you're a wreck under him. "Hm? That got you worked up?" he'd tease before you roll your eyes at him.

"Take a guess,"

felix

Menace to society gives you a hickey before licking up and placing the salt. In order to make the salt stick of course he has to lick up your body first—why he chose the junction of your jaw and neck, is a personal preference.

He sucks hard, nips at your neck as you writhe under him before he gives a resounding hum and licks over the spot that's starting to bruise, tacking the salt on before prepping your belly for a shot, pouring tequila on the small mound. He also loves belly shots but is fast at it.

He sucks on your salted neck rather than licks, and it doesn't matter if it's more salty that way, he loves the sound you make. Trailing down your stomach he slurps up, bottoms up when it comes to the belly button before biting your lower lip cheekily for a second before sucking off the lime juice, thumb running through the now evident hickey on your neck.

"Now that's gonna leave a mark," he smiles at his work proudly.

seungmin

Classic body shot. He's a sucker for straightforward and absolutely teases you during the process. The salt is pressed up to your belly and the lime wedge sits between your lips. The shot is ready in between his fingers and before you two start, he sends you a wink.

You crinkle your nose at him but once he bends down to lick up the salt, he bites down on the slight pudge on your belly teasingly before taking a shot of Tequila, immediately rushing up your head, bending down to suck on the lime wedge slotted between your lips. And no, he wouldn't pull away immediately, absolutely not—he'd go in there and fucking slot his tongue into your lips, you can still taste the salt and Tequila on him. He sucks on your tongue, lime wedge kicked out off your lips and he pulls away after sending a light bite on your lower lip.

"You're overdoing it," you whine, no actual complaint evident in your voice.

"Well there's more where that came from," he chuckles padding the remaining salt away from your exposed belly with his thumb, sending a slight shiver up your spine.

Pliant and Drinkable™

lee know

Teases you during your first time doing a body shot. All in good fun really, but he constantly goads on you like, "Aw yay! You're licking up, you can go higher baby, you know that right?" and being a general shit about your in experience. Well guess what, with enough context clues and outsider reference you know what you're doing.

So it takes his breath away once you confidently lick the salt off his belly before running your tongue near his happy trail right up the money shot. You encase the entire shot glass between your lips and gulp without even using your hands, only taking it out before making quick work of snatching the lime wedge off his lips with your teeth and sucking the juice hands-free.

He stares at you with wide bewildered eyes, "How'd you learn how to do that?"

"You," you say with a wink, knowing damn well that with all the cock sucking you do, a shot glass is a no brainer.

changbin

Sitting body shot. He'd be seated and you'd hike up his shorts just right and lick up, pressing the salt against his inner thighs with a cheeky smile. Don't get it twisted, he's the one who suggested it in the first place.

You teasingly bite into his thigh, making him hiss a bit before beaming down at you while watching you map out kisses while deciding the prime position to put salt on his meaty thighs.

He holds the shot glass for you, and once you lick up at his thighs and take the salt into your tongue, he helps tilt down the shot glass, letting the alcohol run down before bending over, hands on the back of your neck and pressing the lime wedge into your mouth, not the other way around. "Suck," he gently cajoles, not even in a commanding voice. And as if it's muscle memory to his voice, you do, the sour of the lime making you wince as he giggles at your face.

"Cute,"

hyunjin

Very ticklish which makes you wanna press kisses on his stomach more. Giggles a lot, especially when you start licking at his skin to put the salt on and pouring the vodka on his belly. You find him so cute, slight daramtics making the drink spill off to his waist a bit. And not one to waste alcohol, you lick it off him before bracing yourself for the shot.

You could feel his slight contraction against his stomach once your tongue licks off the salt, suddenly feeling his bated breath as you down the shot, hurriedly making your way to him. Picking the lime off his lips, you suck before taking the fruit between your fingers and pressing a kiss to his lips, a hand on his stomach as you both giggle.

"You're so cute Jinnie,"

"I don't know why but seeing you lick my body is also cute,"

i.n

Little shit spits the lime out when you duck down to take a suck, making sure the bitter sting of the tequila stays. Your lips are on his by the time you realize and you don't know whether or not to be mad at him because for one, the kiss feels blissfully good but the alcohol tastes bitter.

Everything goes as normal, you lick right above his belly button, the hard outline of his abdominal muscles leading you to salivate but you didn't come here without an objective. The salt trail is right between and on the divot of his right and left muscle. You lick it up, take a shot, and then feel his lips on yours.

You jokingly smack his side with a pout, alcohol still tingling on your tongue, "You play dirty!"

"Well I thought you liked dirty?"

[solarwynd]

seeing the pattern for the english trilogy and last year, hybe definitely sees summer as the primetime slot so whoever they think will do best will get that june-august slot. It would make sense for it to be jin since he’s the only to promote physically, but the timing’s too tight, it would be august at best and that if he’s barely involved in the prep or had songs ready before enlisting. I could see Jimin getting the primetime spot since realistically it will likely perform the best, but its always some fuckery w hybe. nj needs to drop that album/project (which i suspect is also a visual album 🤣) already bc I fear the “hype” he’s building is not proportional to the reception it will get.

whoever goes first will set the expectations for armys and respective solos on how album releases go without them present so that will be interesting to see.

“bc I fear the “hype” he’s building is not proportional to the reception it will get.”

(I mean I don’t disagree but let’s give him a chance at least 😭 ) I don’t think any artist goes in thinking “I should tame down the hype because I might not get good commercial results” it’s just the hope that they could alongside just wanting to get their art out there. Will say though if his album does end up being a visual, that’ll be 2/2 for hybe having the capacity to give bts members one while denying jimin his and I’m just gonna have to see bang in hell for that.

A summertime release doesn’t guarantee success but it’s a coveted spot because everybody wants a summer hit. Hybe’s objective is to not have jimin do super well. The last thing they’d want is for him to have a genuine summer hit with legs like Like Crazy. But I also don’t think they care when pjm2 releases because worst case scenario they screw with him regardless. And since he’s not here, chances are they’re gonna have a deciding factor one when the album will drop anyway (if it wasn’t already agreed on beforehand)

They could give that slot to jin. I feel like hybe knows that with him returning armys would try to give him the best results they could while also not being a threat to the structure. But since he’s coming back around festa, I could see another fan song drop too. Not really too tuned in for either, because my priority is jimin not to get sanwhiched, or sabotaged above anything else. I have no clue what gonna happen with promo considering that jimin’s not here. I’m sure he recorded things, but that’s still ultimately gonna be in the hands of hybe as well.

“whoever goes first will set the expectations for armys and respective solos on how album releases go without them present so that will be interesting to see. “

Absolutely, but armys have ever needed the members being present as incentive to do better for them though. It’s 25% out of love for that member and the other 75% because they’re chart obsessed. This will be the first time with none of bts being around so it could be different. I do believe that if joon does go first, they’ll try to give him better results than indigo, but they’ve never been as dedicated with rapline as maknae line. So longevity is already looking iffy. If he gets lucky like yoongi did in going right after jimin I could maybe see those numbers increasing a tad. Especially considering armys go into overdrive with that condition, but I’m still very much rebuking it lmao.

[alexhornefan]

In Conversation with Alex Horne

Hello Alex! First of all, thank you very much for taking the time to speak to us ahead of the Horne Section’s tour and the release of Taskmaster Champion of Champions.

You studied Classics at Cambridge University, did you know straight away that comedy was what you wanted to do, or did you have an alternative career path in mind?

I’m still not sure it’s what I want to do – I’m going on a wood carving course next year – in fact, I don’t think you ever really need to be sure. After Cambridge I did a postgraduate Broadcast Journalism course at Goldsmiths. At that point I was pretty sure I wanted to be a journalist… Comedy should happen by accident, I think, not a career decision.

How did you get onto the comedy scene?

I always liked comedy and thought there was a chance I might be funny when I made my family laugh on a car journey to Taunton in 1987. At school I made two guys laugh just before my A-levels. So whilst at university I did a couple of spots at the Footlights open mic nights then booked 5 minutes in a new acts club in London. When I got three laughs there, I was hooked. I booked more spots, eventually bagged an agent who made sure I got paid (often double figures) for future spots, and just 12 years later, I was a full time comedian.

Did you/ have you ever suffered from stage fright and, if so, how did you overcome it?

I did the semi-final of So You Think You’re Funny in 1999 and was so nervous I vomited twenty seconds before going on stage. It was such a bad way to start a gig, I never did it again. Gradually the fright subsides. Now I see the stage as my safe place. You’ve just got to keep on doing it.

You obviously started out as a stand-up comic; did the formation of the Horne Section seem like a natural progression or was it the result of a sudden epiphany that this type of music and comedy would work well together on stage?

It was, like most things, luck. Stand up was going ok. Their jazz careers were going ok. We booked a slot at the Fringe for a laugh and bang! It worked immediately and we’ve not looked back. So, no plan, but the willingness to do something different and potentially awful and embarrassing.

How much of the show is scripted and how much is improvised?

A very hefty chunk is improvised. It’s crucial to the show; if we are having a good time, the audience, we hope, will have a good time. So every night I make the band do things that they’ve never done before with no warning. I think it’s clear from the performance that these bits aren’t rehearsed, but if not, people must think it’s a very strange show.

Do you prefer collaborating and touring with other people as opposed to on your own? Do you have a solo tour planned for the future?

Good question – right now, I’m only performing with the band. It’s always fun; if it goes well we share the fun, if it goes badly, we share the pain. But one day I’m sure I’ll do something else by myself. It can be lonely though. But equally, getting five musicians to the same place at the same time can be a nightmare. So it’s that age-old choice, have a nightmare or be lonely?

I have to ask about Taskmaster because, and I think I speak for everyone, it is the highlight of the televisual year. Why do you think Taskmaster has been such a hit and how long do you foresee the format lasting for?

Ah, that’s very kind. Thank you. Personally, it’s just a lot of fun to make because we are asking great comedians to do silly things, without any prep or pressure (except for the pressure of the game, obviously). The tasks themselves come from a comedian’s brain so the contestants trust that they won’t be compromised, and then everything else comes from them; we get to see what these funny brains come up with, it’s all real, and the competitiveness is genuine. That, I realise, is a sprawling answer. The other thing is that Greg Davies is a very, very funny man and it’s an honour and a pleasure to sit next to him with my little iPad.

Do you have a favourite task that you’ve set for the contestants?

“Impress this Mayor. You have twenty minutes. Your time starts now.” I love that task and I love that mayor and I love that Joe Wilkinson brought him 42 Calippos and 8 cans of strong lager.

There is going to be a US version of Taskmaster, so is there a noticeable difference between the ways that the British comics compared to the US comics approach the tasks?

There really isn’t, which was a massive relief. It’s still the same principle; five funny people doing their best to do pointless but doable things. Sometimes they were brilliant, often they were idiotic, always, I hope, they were entertaining.

Source

[yespolkadotkitty]

I really, really love I’ll Do My Best By You p1 & 2–there’s just something so lovely about the idea of having such a big strong grumpy man totally at your mercy! Would you be willing to consider writing a part 3 where the reader gets a happily ever after with her grumpy mercenary... or at least gets railed into oblivion by him? (Or maybe he’s learned to trust her enough that he can let his guard down with her and she gets to keep the upper hand in bed sometimes, even after he’s all healed up? Dealer’s choice) 💚thirstworldproblemss

I’ll Do My Best By You - pt 3

Sorry! This ran away with me a bit and is much less smutty and more angsty than you asked... I hope you love it anyway.....

Part I ~ Part II

Two evenings later, a knock sounded at your door. It was too late to be one of your few friends in the village come to chat. You knew who it was.

Pero lay next to you in bed, dozing, on his stomach, his arm heavy and comforting over your stomach. The man slept like the dead and you wondered idly how he hadn’t been killed on a sellsword mission, in his slumber.

You eased yourself out from under his arm. He mumbled something, his face momentarily creasing into its habitual scowl before softening again.

Because you apparently had no willpower, you dropped a kiss on his forehead. 

You loved him. You shouldn’t. It was stupid.

But your heart wanted what it wanted.

Pulling on your thick robe, you plodded to the door, yanking it open to see William. Your shoulders slumped.

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said gravely. “Our Captain’s put the word out. There’s an opportunity.”

Opportunity. For death maybe, you thought, unspeakably sad, and angry. But you nodded. “He’s sleeping. Come back in the morning?”

William nodded, starting to turn, but then hesitated. “Thankyou. Truly. For all you’ve done.” He reached into his shoulder bag, ferretted out a little bag, jingled it. “For your services.”

“There’s no need.” The only thing you wanted, this man was going to take from you.

William took your hand, uncurled your fingers, pressed the money into your palm. “Please take it. You saved the life of my best friend.”

“You keep him safe,” you grated out. “You keep him safe.”

William gave you a silent, curt nod. And then he was gone, boots crunching on fallen leaves. You closed the door and leaned your forehead against it, stifling a sob.

“Querida?”

You swiped your free hand over your face, turned to see Pero standing a few feet away, a question sketched on his handsome visage. 

“Who was that?”

“William.”

“Oh Si.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. He wore only loose back trousers slung low on his hips, and the light from the guttering candles on various surfaces in the cottage bathed his tanned skin in amber and gold. His skin had healed very well. “He has come to fetch me for a job, no?”

“He has. He’ll be back tomorrow.” You turned back to the door.

“Cielo.”

You didn’t move, but heard Pero’s footfalls as he crossed the small space towards you. “Would you look at me?”

Slowly you turned around, back to the door, hating the way your eyes were so wet.

He lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, and you sighed at the feel of his palm, warm, a little rough. “You should be happy, no? You worked miracles on these old bones. I will be a burden to you no more.”

“Don’t say that,” you choked out. “Go back to bed.” You swiped at your eyes, angry at crying in front of him.

“Querida.”

“Don’t… don’t be nice to me. When you’re leaving tomorrow.”

His face fell, and he crowded into you, embracing you, gathering you to him. Helpless, you went to him, burying your face in the hollow of his throat, breathing him in, half-desperate. “The life of a sellsword is not one that lends itself to love, querida.”

Your gaze snapped to his. “You love me?”

His brow quirked. “What else do I call this ache in my chest when I think of leaving this village behind, hmmm? What else do I call this hunger only you can satisfy?”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go….?” you asked tremulously.

Pero gently touched his forehead to yours. “And what would I do, hmmmm, hermosa? Assist you with bandaging the villagers who barely speak with you? Make myself useful around the town in some way? Sweep the floor for you?”

You laughed weakly. You couldn’t imagine him doing those things.

“If you go, you could die,” you whispered, breaking eye contact.

“Or perhaps I could bring you the spoils of my contracts, no? Beautiful things from faraway places.”

That he was thinking of a future with you in it made your heart clench. “I don’t need beautiful things.” You spread your hands over his bare chest; warm, scarred, the sparse hair coarse under your palms. You liked the roughness. “You’re all the beauty I need.”

He chuckled. “Such fine words that an old sellsword does not deserve.”

“Sometimes it’s not about deserving.” You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, leaned into him. “Sometimes it’s about not wanting to lose something you just found.”

Pero tugged you away from the door. “Come to bed, querida.”

And you let him lead you to the bed, let him lay you down on it. Open your arms for him and embrace him fiercely, feel his heart beating against yours.

When he slid inside you, the only feeling you could marry it to was one of coming home. Of perfectness. And after he fell asleep, one arm draped heavily over you, you gazed at his face until the candles guttered out, trying to burn his long dark lashes, stern brows, and full bottom lip into your memory, to remember when you were alone again.

*****

Pero was clearing away the crumbs from your breakfast of bread, honey and butter when William knocked again. You crossed to the door with a heavy heart, wishing that last night you’d shoved the bag of coin back in his annoyingly genial face.

You yanked the door open, and William stands there. He’s holding Pero’s looping back scabbard with the two swords slotted into the custom leather sheaths.

“Morning.”

He did at least have the grace to sound embarrassed.

“Morning.” Your mother brought you up with too many manners to be rude. “It’s time?”

“It’s time.”

Behind you, Pero stood. He’d dressed this morning, black tunic, black trousers, underwear, boots, leather armour. Last night you’d stitched the tears in his tunic as he sat by you, telling tales of his assignations with William. They had been friends for so many years. You could never ask him to choose you over his brother. They might not have been bound by blood, but you knew, sometimes the bonds of family you chose went deeper still.

“Give me a moment, William?” he asked, his dark gaze flicking over his friend.

William nodded stiffly, his face flushing for a second, and you wondered that he didn’t have a woman waiting for him, or at least someone he thought of as home.

It was a hard life, the life of a sellsword on the road.

The door banged shut behind him and you steeled yourself.

“Mi amor,” Pero murmured. He cupped his hands over your shoulders, leaned his forehead against yours. “I must go. But I will come back. If you will have me.”

You slid a hand up into his thick, dark hair. “How long?”

“I cannot say.” His voice hitched as he added, “I understand you may want to.. Take other lovers.”

You scoffed. “No. I don’t want other lovers. I will wait, but, not forever.”

He tugged you close, fitting you into his lines of his armoured body, and you exhaled shakily, holding him. “It feels wrong to let you go. I just found you,” you murmured into his chainmail.

“It is the only life I know, cielo.” He stepped back, tipped your chin up with one finger. “Perhaps one more taste of you, to carry with me on the long nights with only the Irishman for company?” There was mischief in his eyes, but you saw the sadness behind it and your heart clenched.

You nodded and he kissed you, softly at first, then deeper, and you opened for him, your tongue dancing with his, and then the energy turned hot and urgent, and you looped your arms around his neck.

“One more time, please,” you whispered, uncaring that William waited outside in the cold, and Pero scooped you up and walked you to the nearest wall. You scrabbled frantically at the ties to his breeches, freeing him, your greedy fingers stroking him, and he moaned into your mouth, one hand leaving your hip to gather your skirts, and in the next heartbeat he was inside you.

You buried your face in his neck as he started to move, and you expected him to set a punishing pace, but instead he moved slow and languid, whispering nonsense in a mix of English and Spanish, his voice low, raspy, and you came together, your eyes wet.

With the utmost gentleness he set you on your feet, kissed you fiercely, teeth scraping, and then swept out of the door.

You watched the wood vibrate in his wake; heard the canter of horses.

And then all was quiet.

*******

Two months passed. The season changed. You helped the villagers, as you always did. A few more of them had warmed to you, you had, after all saved the life of one of the mercenaries who’d dispatched bandits. That alone had elevated your status. A little.

You busied yourself prepping for the winter. A winter you hoped you wouldn’t be spending alone. You collected firewood; roasted meat and salted it, buried bundled nuts. Prepared poultices for fingers and toes that would be chafed by the coming cold.

And then, one not so special day, as the wind fluttered the leaves off the trees that lined the back of your land, the pound of horses’ hooves made you look up.

William and Pero rode towards you, the horses kicking up dust and mud in their galloping wake. Pero’s stubble was heavy, his hair longer than you’d ever seen it, tied back in a little tail, and a cloak billowed around his shoulders.

You dropped the branches you’d been tying together and ran, your skirts bunched up in your hands. Your boots skidded a little in the mud but you went as fast as you could, your heart thudding, skin hot.

Pero pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted so quickly you thought he might topple, and then he was running, too, and you leapt the final two feet and he caught you, and held you so tightly, and you pressed your face to his and it wasn’t clear whether your tears or his were hot on your cheeks.

“Mi amor,” he rasped.

You waited a dozen heartbeats before you pulled back to look at his dear face, smooth your palm along his thick stubble. “You came back.”

He scoffed. “I said I would, no? A Spaniard always keeps his word.”

“I’m not taking him out again,” William said mildly from horseback. “Like an old woman, he was. Pining. I-” and then a woman shouted his name from a distance and he too, leapt off his horse and went running.

You pressed your face into Pero’s neck and smiled. 

“I think I would like to stay here. With you, cielo,” Pero murmured into your hair. “If an old dog like me can learn new tricks. If there is room for me at your hearth.”

Your heart simply filled up with joy, as happiness unfurled inside your chest. You burrowed into his broad warmth. “That depends. How good are you at sweeping?”

Bonus:

Unbeta’d. Tagging some people from pt 2, and @alwaysbethewest because she likes finished stories :) @lilkermit14 @dornish-queen @mrsparknuts @thegreenkid @knittingqueen13 @heatherbel @f0rever15elf @thirstworldproblemss @fleurdemiel145 @strangelittlenobody @goblinqueen95 @dartheldur @voteforpedropascal @graveyardnails @pascalesque @marydjarin @theravenreads @roxypeanut @mourningbirds1 @kindablackenedsuperhero @holographic-carmen @starlight-starwrites @jaime1110 @gamingaquarius @the-dazzling-urbanite @keeper0fthestars @wildchild1964 @littlemissthistle @lackofhonor @cryptkeepersoul @alienprincesspoop @ripleyafterdark @tainted-gay-ghost @on-the-razor-crest @beccaplaying @thehiddenmystical @agirllovespancakes @88dragon06  @littleferal @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @songsformonkeys @mxndoscyarika @hiscyarika @mrschiltoncat @havenforafrazzledmind @badassbaker @mostly-megan @chews-erotically @mstgsmy @trashbin2 @randomness501  @libellule2001​

[sunmoon-starfactory]

Preservation Practices

The most intertwined Sun&Moon set to date, this set lets sims process a variety of raw food resources into preserved items for later use, to sell, or to stock the fridge with. These preserves pack the most bang for their buck as food point items worth 75 points a piece and never spoil.

See below the cut/view at the Keep for details and use instructions. REQUIRED SETS Prep Board: ● To Boldly Grow ● An Apple A Day ● Grapes of Rad ● Wild Berry Bushes ● Corn Fed Canning Pot: ● Fetch Water ● Get Salty ● Vinegar Ventures or An Apple A Day ● Bee's Knees Meat Air Drying Rack: ● Choice Cuts Meat Smoking Rack: ● Choice Cuts ● All Fired Up Firewood Station Fish Air Drying Rack: ● Gon Fishin' Fish Smoking Rack: ● Gone Fishin' ● All Fired Up Firewood Station Salt Packing Barrel: ● Get Salty ● Choice Cuts ● Gone Fishin' Skin Air Drying Rack: ● Choice Cuts 

Download Direct - SFS Download/View At The Keep

Extra Thanks and Credit: Fire_flower, Hodgekiss, TaraTrue, DavinaOjeda Shasta, Cassandre, Beos, Sunni, Murfeelee, Dicreasy, WoodForSims, Maxis/EA, Skyrim, Dawn of Man, DAZ3D, ZT2, Fallout 4 Far Harbor

Preserving Fruits/Vegetables/Berries All stations in this category first turn any fruit/vegetable/berry harvest into Prepared Fruit, Prepared Vegetables, or Prepared Mash. From there, all three are ultimately turned into one item; Jar of Preserves. Prepared Items are worth 12 food points each, matching for the most part their original intact form. Each Jar of Preserves is worth 75 food points and does not spoil. Note: This board looks for ANY of the fruits/vegetables/harvest baskets in a sim’s inventory and the first one it finds that meets requirements is the first one it takes and uses. If you don’t want to prepare particular things on the board, store them elsewhere than the acting sim’s inventory. Prep Board This simple board allows sims to prepare any fruit/vegetable/berry for cooking purposes. Be it peeling, cutting, slicing, or mashing. From source materials, it produces only three items: Prepared Vegetables, Prepared Fruit, and Prepared Mash. Breaking all versions of things down to these three basics eliminates complications of player restrictions; I.E. Cucumbers don’t grow in my hood setting/climate, therefore I can’t make pickles. The station processes in a 1:1 ratio. No skill is required to use the board, but cooking skill is gained with each use. Looks/used best placed on counter slots. Can be found in Appliances > Small.

Canning Pot To make water boiled or pressure boiled preserves of any type, sims must have prepared vegetables, fruit, mash, or another specific ingredient in their inventory. They must also have an additive that aids in preserving or pickling. These can include water, salt, lemon, vinegar, sugar, and honey.Each production cycles requires 4 Prepared Vegetables/Fruit/Mash, and one of the other needed additives.  The pot produces only one item: Jar of Preserves. A cooking skill of 3 is needed to use the pot, as it is implied there is some knowledge needed about how to properly put everything together and it's not just boiling a jar. ● Vegetables will ask for the addition of water, small salt sack OR salt cellar, and a vinegar bottle OR lemon basket. ● Fruits and Mash will ask for the addition of water, and a small sugar sack OR clover honey, Stove OMSP Made specifically to be used with the canning pot so that it can appear to actually be on the burners of various stoves. It has 6 slots to cover all 6 burners on a typical stove, but mileage may vary on how good it all sits based on what stove is being used. Slots can be rotated with M, and an invisible recolor is built into the main package. Find it in Surfaces > Misc, and place it on the lot, fill the slots as desired, and then use moveobjects cheat to plop it over a stove.

Sugar Provided for canning of fruit/mash is refined sugar that will be available for production in a later set. For now, the large bulk sack can be found in Appliances > Cooking, and it can be divided up into smaller sacks.

Preserving Meats All stations in this category produce only two types of items: Preserved Fish, or Preserved Meat. Each is worth 75 food points and as an additional feature they can be portioned out into edible jerky for a sim to keep in their pockets and eat on the go.

Air Drying Racks Air drying racks work on the simple concept of letting nature do the work for you. It will take 4 hours as no extra heat or drying agents have been provided or applied. Just meet the required number of raw ingredients and sims will always get back 4 Preserved Meat/Fish portions. Meat, Fish, and Poultry that has been properly butchered can be hung to dry and turn into Preserved Meat or Preserved Fish. Using these racks comes with a risk; weather. If the racks are being rained/snowed/hailed on, they will stop working and their drying timers will not restart until the weather is cleared OR unless kept under what Maxis defines as 'sheltered from weather' building structure. Note: These racks look for ANY of the required number of butchered meat/fish in a sim’s inventory and the first one it finds that meets requirements is the first one it takes and uses. If you don’t want to dry particular things on the racks, store them elsewhere than the acting sim’s inventory For drying of Meat/Poultry, the following numbers of any item are required to be in a sim's inventory. ● Roast x 1 ● All Whole Poultry of the Same Type, Brisket, Ham x 2 ● Chops, Squab x3 ● Ribs, Sausages x4 ● Pork Belly, Pork Chops, Small Loin, Steak, Veal x6.

For drying Fish, four portions of any time of fish are required to be in a sim's inventory. Note that this rack DOES NOT use Maxis Fish, it only uses Sun&Moon Food Point Fish.

Smoking Racks The smoking racks share the same characteristics of their drying rack counterparts, save they require a Bundle of Firewood to imply a heat source is being used. This way, a player can build their own smokehouse design without worry about pre-fabricated heat sources ruining a look. Use all the deco fire or fireplaces you’d like or even just terrain paints and nooks/niches to build a fire pit.

Salt Packing Barrel With a sack of bulk salt, and enough raw fish and meat, sims can pack them with salt to aid in preservation. The barrel makes two products only: Preserved Meat or Preserved Fish. Numbers wise, it asks for the same meat/fish numbers from drying racks, plus one bulk sack of salt for each use. Four portions of preserved meat/fish are granted back. There are separate states for Fish and Meat respectively.

Bonus: Skin Air Drying Rack Considered a bonus because it does not produce an item that is counted as food points, just a refined product that will be asked for by future stations looking to make leather or needing such things as furs/pelts/hides into other items. They work just like the fish and meat air drying racks, save what they ask for. This rack will ask for any 1 hide/pelt for a butchered animal, be that livestock or wild.

Details ● Hood View on most items. ● Compressorized ● Most catalog enabled items can be found in Hobbies > Misc, Appliances > Cooking, and Appliances > Small. ● Collection File included - ALL ITEMS AVAILABLE IN CATALOG THROUGH COLLECTION VIEW. (I.E. - Prepared Fruit does not appear in normal catalog, but does appear in collection view catalog.)

[maybe-your-left]

BITCH YOU KNOW IM GONNA ASK FOR SOME MORE ABOUT COLLEGE KYLO. I ALREADY CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. thank you. I love you.

Claire… Claire Claire Claire. thank you. I feel as though we get each other, almost a hive mind of sorts. College Kylo is the hottest thing ever, he’s a feral bad boy with a cock….that does not fucking quit. It's CANON. Let us muse over him… 

-----

Chemistry lab is honestly the worst, nothing makes sense and you’ve already taken it twice. So you should actually be a master at it, but nooooo. You can’t focus in the lab, not one fucking bit because your beautiful, lovely and utterly fuckable boyfriend is in it with you and he does NOT keep his hands to himself.

Today was no different, your lab instructor told the class that today you were to work on your end of the year presentation with your partner. Which should be fine, because you and Kylo definitely hadn’t been prepping for it. Every time you tried the both of you would end up throwing your clothes off and Kylo would be balls deep inside any hole he could get to. However, today you were to work on it in the library, lots of space for the two of you to actually work on the project. Once the instructor gave you all the good to go, you flashed a smile at Kylo. Grabbing your bag and his hand to make it to the library.

“What’s our project again?” Kylo groaned. He had spent the past 10 minutes trying to stick his hand down your pants, and now he was pouting because you kept ripping it away. He had his head banging on the table, trying to keep you from focusing. “Baby please stop that,” you sighed, rubbing your face with your hands, “I think we are doing it on the properties of slime?”

“Slime?” he whined.

“I don’t know!” You leaned back in your chair, pulling your hair up into a bun, “I never wrote it down, but I’m like 90% sure that's what it was.”

Kylo sat up, a red mark on his forehead from the table, “Where do we get slime?”

You rolled your eyes, scrolling on your laptop for useless information on the children's toy, “I’m not getting you slime, I know you’ll get it in your hair.”

Kylo scoffed, standing up from his chair and pacing the table. His hands flexing in and out of fists as he walked, he was irritated. You could feel it rolling off him in waves, the entire library could hear his angered breathing. He rounded the table, placing both hands on the back of your chair, “Can we take a break?”

You leaned your head back, laying it on his stomach, “Kylo we haven't even started.”

“But I’m bored,” Kylo growled, “And we haven’t had sex today and I’m done waiting.”

You scrunched up your forehead, opening your mouth to debate back to him. But you were cut off, Kylo’s hands hooking under your armpits and swiftly picking you up and hoisting you over his shoulder. He strode across the library, surveying as he stalked. Kylo kicked open a doorway, dropping you on the tile. “Ow,” you whined, attempting to get off your ass. Kylo’s head snapped up at your movement, “Stay right there, or else.”

“Okay,” you whispered, his eyes not leaving yours as he walked down the row of public toilets. You glanced around, realizing that Kylo had brought you into the men’s bathroom of the library. Leaning down to the floor, careful to not touch it with your cheek, you peeked down the stalls. There was no one inside which was a good thing. Kylo came back around the corner, his big hands already unzipping his jeans. He stared at you as he fished out his cock, eyes black with lust. His cock sprung out, hard and angry. Veins pulsing around the shaft and beads of precum leaking from the tip. He brought it to your lips, rubbing the head across your lips, “Come on baby, I know you want it.”

You took in a breath, eyes flickering between his cock and his face. You really wanted to suck it, it had been too long since you had fucked, but this was a bathroom. “Kylo…” you sighed, “Anyone could come in here…”

“I know.”

You gestured to the room, not understanding what he wanted. Crossing your arms as you glared at him. Kylo let out a sigh, “Fine,” he dropped his cock, kneeling down in front of you, “Be a brat.”

His hands shot out, grabbing your ankles and lifting you from the floor upside down. He pinned you to his body, hand snaking down to yank your leggings towards his face. “Kylo what the fuck,” you squealed. Legs attempting to kick him, but he had a tight grip on you, he continued to pull at your leggings. Ripping them off your right leg along with your underwear, he switched arms. Freeing his other arm so he could yank the rest off the left leg. Once he finished he set you back on the floor, hands now going for your shirt. You scrambled to your feet, “Baby what the hell,” you giggled. Kylo just smiled at you, moving forward with every backwards step. “You need to be quiet, anyone could hear you.”

He had backed you up to the sinks, your bare ass hitting the cool countertops. You gripped the edge, starting at Kylo who was now jerking his cock, eyes devouring your exposed pussy. Kylo closed his eyes, fisting himself harder and letting out soft moans. You couldn’t take it anymore, walking towards him and dropping to your knees, you swatted his hands away. Wrapping your lips around his cock, Kylo groaned above you. Hands threading into your hair, hips slowly thrusting into your warm mouth. You closed your eyes, dropping your jaw open the best you could. Glancing up at Kylo, his eyes were shut, his mouth agape. You tried to get as much as you could down your throat, slobbering up and down his shaft, hands working to free his aching balls from his jeans.

Kylo's head whipped down, yanking your head off of him. “I think I’m wet enough now,” he lifted you up, knees slotting in his elbows. Kylo looked down between you two, your pussy open for him to see. You had become painfully wet after sucking him off, snaking a hand down to his cock and lining his tip up with your core. He pulled you almost flush with his chest, slightly pushing inside you. Kylo had you in a death grip, his arms hooking under your knees and wrapping around your back. Long enough to trail your spine and grip onto the back of your shoulders. He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on your lips before whispering, “You better not scream baby.”

Your lips parted and suddenly Kylo shoved you down on his cock. Hard. Your pussy spread onto his thick cock, you let out a wail. Unprepared for his forceful thrusts, Kylo didn’t let you rest, his hips pulling out and immediately shoving back in. His grip on your shoulders allowing him to fuck into you hard and fast. You wrapped your arms around his neck, attempting to anchor yourself, but it was no use. Kylo was going too hard, cock tearing through you at each bounce. You poor pussy was squelching out wetness, the bathroom filling with his heavy pants and your shameless moans.

“You need to shut your whore mouth,” Kylo growled, cock still thrusting at a punishing pace.

You moaned, “I can’t-FUCK-please,” you brought in a deep breath trying to still Kylo by pressing on his shoulders, “You-you neEED-FUCK.” Another loud scream tore from your throat, he wasn’t letting up, pumping harder and harder every time. Kylo brought his lips to your neck licking and sucking on the sensitive flesh as he spread you. “Sloow, slowerrr please,” you managed to squeak out.

Kylo pulled off your neck, a smirk on his face. “I can’t ,” he grunted, “Your pussy feels too good. Fucking cum on me, please princess.”

He thrusted into you harder, your head lolling back. Body fully submitting to his movements, there was nothing else you wanted to do in the world, cumming on him was the only thing you wanted. “Rub your fuckin’ clit princess,” he growled, “Wanna feel you squeezing my cock.” Kylo sunk his teeth into your shoulder, earning another squeal. You snaked your hand down, rubbing furiously on your clit, each circle jolting your pussy. Clenching around Kylo's cock over and over, you were so close to cumming, each push into your cunt brought you closer and closer.

Kylo's' lips left your shoulder leaning his forehead against your temple, “Cum, cum for me.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, succumbing to the pleasure. Pussy clenching around him as you came. Barely taking in any breaths as your moaned into the air, Kylo had stilled inside you, breathing heavily into your ear. You felt him stop inside you, waiting for his cum to fill you, but it never happened. Raising your head, you saw Kylo was grinning at something behind you. You followed his gaze, landing on a poor shaking boy who had walked into the bathroom while you had cum on Kylo.

The guy's eyes were blown wide, darting between Kylo's predatory smile and your flushed face. Kylo cleared his throat, gathering his attention, “What’s wrong little man? Never seen a woman cum before?”

-----

*cough cough* 

well im hard as hell. 

thank you sweet baby bird, i love you. 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

you are my dad (boogie woogie woogie)

summary: five times logan accidentally referred to virgil as his dad, and two times he purposefully referred to virgil as his dad

(OR: a birthday fic for the lovely @lovelylogans​ set in her STELLAR gilmore girls au!)

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNALISE!!! if y'all haven't read the sideshire files you're missing out, it's so soft and good and wonderful and i promise you will love it

cw: illness, alcohol, drunkenness (but none of these are angsty, it's all fluff) 

wordcount: 2819

read it on ao3!

(occasion the first: the nineteenth month of logan’s life) 

“You can never tell anyone about this, kid. I’ve never done this in front of anyone and I never will again, you understand me?” Logan, strapped into his portable high chair, stares at Virgil while chewing on his Jupiter teething toy, not saying anything. Virgil assumes that it’s an agreement and slides the hair elastic off of his wrist. 

Carefully, he gathers all of his bangs into one hand and slips the elastic around them, twisting and sliding and twisting again until he has a little unicorn-horn ponytail sticking off his head and a clear line of sight. “Alrighty. What do you want for breakfast, Lo, huh?” 

Logan slobbers on his teething toy and kicks his little bare feet vigorously. He drops the teething toy on his tray and loudly declares, “BA!” 

“Bananas?” Virgil guesses. He’s never been as good at interpreting Logan’s variety of noises as Patton, but Logan waves his little arms and lets out a long string of baby nonsense, so Virgil assumes he must be at least somewhat on the right track. “Okay, kid. You get bananas now, and I’ll make us some chocolate-chip banana pancakes. Deal?” 

Logan slaps his tray and picks up his teething toy again. Virgil pulls open the fridge and carefully fills one of Logan’s sippy cups with apple juice, settling it into the cup holder slot. Logan immediately abandons his toy and begins to nom on the spout to get some juice. 

Virgil slices up bananas and sets a little plate onto Logan’s tray, along with a small plastic kiddie fork. Logan lowers the fork towards the slices of banana with the fierce determination of a child attempting to win a toy from a claw crane game. Virgil huffs out a soft laugh and returns to the kitchen counter. He moves through the motions of pancake batter, throwing in banana slices and chocolate chips, and he’s completely in the kitchen zone. Logan’s happy chewing noises and babbles become a soothing background noise. 

He’s jolted away from his pancake batter abruptly when he hears Logan wail. 

Virgil whirls around, whisk dropping on the floor and splattering pancake batter everywhere. Logan is crying, holding one hand out, and his little pointer finger is red. “Oh, you - did you bite your finger?” 

Logan sniffles and cries, holding his hand out. “Paaaaaaa!” 

Virgil winces. “No, kid, Papa’s not -”

Logan makes grabby hands at Virgil. “Pa! Paaaaa, papapapa, paaaa, paaaa!” 

Virgil freezes. “I - you - am I Papa?” 

“Paaaaaaaa!” 

Virgil carefully takes Logan’s tiny hand, leaning forward and carefully kissing his little red finger in the way he’s seen Patton do millions of times. “There we go, Logan. I - Papa kissed it better, so we’re okay, right?”

Logan sniffles. “Paaa . . .” 

Virgil carefully offers him a disk of banana. “You want some more banana?” Logan wipes at his little eyes, leans forward, and carefully takes the banana chunk in his mouth. “There we go. You’re okay. It’s okay, Logan.” 

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the second: logan’s junior year of highschool) 

Virgil is really sick of walking into the Sanders house and discovering a sick Sanders (pun very much not intended, thank you, Patton). 

He nudges the front door open, arms laden with takeout containers of meal-prep for the week and bags of groceries to re-stock the kitchen and two cardboard drinks trays full of to-go cups. Patton’s not home, off at some kind of business conference, and he’d promised to take care of Logan. 

(Take care of our kid, Patton had said, and Virgil had been caught so off-guard by the pronoun our that he’d barely remembered to agree.) 

So he has lunches for Logan for every day of the week, groceries so that he can make his own dinners, and a stock of smoothies full of hidden nutrients for study breaks. Virgil kicks the door shut behind him, struggling to not drop any of the things he’s holding. 

“Logan, you wanna come help me with your meals and shit?” 

There’s no immediate answer, which isn’t worrying in and of itself; it is almost 7:30 AM on a Saturday, and Logan is a teenager. Virgil sets the drinks trays and takeout containers on the kitchen, drops the grocery bags on the floor, and goes to lock the door behind him. He hears footsteps behind him. “Sorry if I woke you, but -”

He turns to face Logan and almost drops the keys. Logan is wrapped up like a burrito in his thick quilt, dragging it along the kitchen floor like a cape. His eyes and nose are red, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair looks like Remus’s after a late night of partying. He sways in the doorway. 

“Logan?” Virgil asks, keeping his voice soft. 

“Virgil,” Logan rasps. “I . . . believe that I . . . may be ill.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Virgil says. Logan blinks at him, once, uncharacteristically slow. 

“Could you please stop the room from spinning? And - and perhaps you could - could do me the favor of - of catching -”

Logan pitches forward, and Virgil lunges to catch him. He feels Logan’s forehead and swears with how hot it is. “Alright, buddy, back into bed with you.”

“Y - you brought me . . . groceries,” Logan manages. “I . . . we have to -”

“You do not have to do anything except get your ass back in bed,” Virgil says. “I’m calling Jean and leaving her in charge for the day, she can handle it. I’m staying here with you.” 

“Y - no, you - go t’ work -”

“Over my dead body, kid. Come on, back to bed.” Logan takes a single step and his knees immediately buckle beneath him. Virgil doesn’t think twice before scooping the Logan burrito up into his arms, shifting so that Logan’s head rests in the curve of his shoulder. “Let’s go.” 

He maneuvers Logan back into bed, tucking him in and taking his temperature. It reads 101.1 - hot enough to warrant concern, but not so hot that he needs hospitalization. Good; Virgil’s had his fill of seeing Sanders boys in the hospital. He soaks a washcloth in ice-cold water, and Logan hisses when he lays it on his forehead, swiftly transitioning from a hiss of pain to a hiss of relief.  

“Stay here, kid. I’ll bring you something to drink in just a second, okay?” 

Logan makes a weak, pained noise from his bed. “Papa?” 

It takes every ounce of self-control Virgil possesses not to bolt or flinch or scream or otherwise negatively react. He knows this is Logan’s fever-addled brain speaking, he knows it doesn’t mean anything. “Yeah?” 

“Papa, I don’ - I don’ feel so good,” Logan whimpers. “Papa, I - I think - I think ‘m sick, Papa.” 

“Yeah,” Virgil says, approaching the bed and gently brushing a hand against Logan’s cheek. “Yeah, you are, kid.” 

“Don’ like it, Papa.” “I know. It’s gonna be okay, Logan.”

“Papa, not - not gonna leave?” Logan sounds so small and fragile, and Virgil remembers the first time a tiny bundle of baby was placed in his arms and the first time he met those vibrant indigo eyes and the first time he knew that he would give anything in his life for this child and his happiness. 

“No, kid. I’m not going anywhere.” 

*~*~*~*~* 

(occasion the third: logan’s senior year of high school) 

“You Sanders men wouldn’t have a proper diet or a proper sleep schedule without me, would you?” Virgil sighs. He’d worked a late shift at the diner today; when Patton had picked up dinner for himself and Logan, Virgil had kissed him quickly and told him not to wait up. 

Now, carefully shutting the door behind him, he’s beginning to think that he should have told Patton to pass the message on to his son. 

It’s nearly midnight, and Logan is slumped across the kitchen table. The table is covered in a mountain of SAT prep books, all of them annotated in Logan’s cramped, increasingly sloppier handwriting. Logan has blue and black pen marks smeared all over his face, his tie is askew, and he’s creating a small puddle of drool as he breathes in and out. 

“Aw, geez,” Virgil sighs. He toes off his shoes and leaves them in the tray, carefully dropping his coat and apron into a heap. Logan makes a soft snuffling noise. “You gotta get sleep, kid. How are you supposed to take an exam if you can barely keep your eyes open, huh?” 

He carefully closes all of the books and piles them up neatly on the table, slides the pen from Logan’s hand and fills up his pencil case, piles the post-it notes in place. It takes some maneuvering, but Virgil finally manages to pick up Logan. He stirs in Virgil’s arms. “Whhmmmm?” 

“Hey, kid,” Virgil murmurs. “We’re getting you to bed, okay?” 

“Need t’study, Papa . . .” 

Virgil’s heart clenches as he carries Logan to his room. “You need to sleep. You won’t pass the exam if you fall asleep in the middle of it, will you?” 

“No, Papa . . .”

“Don’t burn yourself out. Take breaks, let your body recover. Isn’t it you who told me that the brain stores and processes information when you sleep?” 

“Ye, Papa . . .”

Virgil carefully settles Logan on his bed, pulling off his tie and belt and shoes and glasses. “Sorry, Papa,” Logan yawns, eyes still closed. Virgil pulls the folded blanket from the foot of Logan’s bed and tucks it around him. 

“Don’t apologize. Just sleep, okay?” 

Logan is asleep again before Virgil’s even left the room. 

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the fourth: the aftermath of logan’s twenty-first birthday)

“Who knew my boyfriend was a lightweight?” Roman laughs. His second beer of the night is half-finished in his hand, and there’s a barely-buzzed but very-drunk Logan curled in his lap and lazily kissing his face. Virgil, the designated driver and therefore sober, would be slightly offended that his basically-son is making out with his boyfriend in front of him, but it is Logan’s twenty-first birthday, and they’re all chaste kisses along Roman’s jawline. 

“I wasn’t expecting it, based on the stories Patton’s told me.” 

“Do tell!” Roman says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“I will not,” Virgil says. “You need good healthy role models in your life, and if I tell you stories about shenanigans you’ll never take Patton seriously again.” 

He finally manages to pile two giggly drunk teenagers into the back of his car and pull away from the remnants of Logan’s party. They’re whispering conspiratorially in the back seat. Virgil turns on his music on a low volume and keeps his eyes on the road. 

It takes Roman approximately seven minutes to finally kiss Logan goodbye and stumble down the driveway to his house. (Logan does not make his job easier by clinging like a starfish and begging for “jus’ one more kiss, please?”) Virgil nods at Isadora when she opens the door, and she offers him a nod in return as she ushers Roman inside. 

“I - I love him,” Logan slurs, yawning and leaning forward so that his head bonks against the driver’s seat. 

“I know.” 

“No, you - I - I love him, Daddy. I love him.” 

Virgil adjusts his rearview mirror and laughs softly. “I know, Logan. I think all of Sideshire knows you love him.” 

“They do?” Logan hums. “Do - d’you think Roman knows I love him, Daddy?” 

“I’m sure Roman knows,” Virgil says. 

“I should tell ‘im more, Daddy.” 

“You can tell him everything you want tomorrow. Right now, we’re going home, and you’re drinking a bottle of water before you go to bed.” 

“The - the human body is seventy-five percent water, Daddy. Ex - except Roman’s body. His is just made of muscle and pretty.” 

Virgil barely manages to contain the laughter bubbling in his throat.

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the fifth: logan’s sophomore year of college) 

You have: three new voicemail messages! 

First message: Saturday at 1:17 AM 

“Daddy - Daddy, ‘s me, ‘s Logan, an’ I think I’m jus’ a tiiiiiiiny bit drunk? I wanna make a - a - a snack , but not like Roman, cause he’s a snack but I don’t - uuuuuuuum . . . what . . . was I askin’ you? Dunno . . .” 

Second message: Saturday at 1:27 AM

“Daddy, ‘m sorry, got distracted cause - cause Roman is jus’ - jus’ so pretty - but I hada . . . a . . . question! Yeah, that’s the word. I wanna make those muffins you make, the ones with th’jam in the middle, an’ - but I don’ remember the recipe - how - how d’you put the jam in the muffins without cuttin’ ‘em in half? I don’ understand . . . I’ . . . call m’back, kay?” 

Third message: Saturday at 2:48 AM 

“Uh . . . Daddy . . . how d’you get batter stains outta y’r clothes . . .”

(“Virge? You okay?” 

“Logan leaves the weirdest drunk voicemails.”)

*~*~*~*~*

(plus one: the aftermath of logan’s graduation from chilton) 

“You really did that, huh, kid?” Virgil asks. Logan looks at him, mortar slightly askew, eyes bright and happy. He’s holding his diploma, and Virgil reaches over to ruffle his hair. He gently pulls Logan into a hug, and Logan holds on perhaps slightly tighter than normal. Virgil isn’t judging; he’s holding on tightly as well.

“Did what?” Logan asks. “Graduated? Were you expecting me not to?” 

“No, of course I knew you’d do that.” Virgil feels the lump creeping up his throat. “I - I just - aw, hell, Logan -”

“Are you crying?!” Logan asks incredulously.

“No, shut the fuck up,” Virgil hisses reflexively. Logan laughs, and he sounds watery too, so Virgil lets it go. “I just - you - I -” Logan waits patiently while he takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. “Good speech,” he finally settles on. 

“Oh,” Logan says, voice small. “That.” 

“You - you called me Dad.” 

“That I did.” 

“Was that on purpose?” Virgil asks. He holds his breath a little, not sure what he’ll do if Logan says no. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Logan says -

“Yes,” Logan says. “Of course it was. You may not have contributed to my genetic makeup, but - but you are my dad, Virgil. In every way that truly matters. You and Dad raised me, you kept me fed and healthy, the diner is my second home. You’re my - you’re my dad.” 

Virgil hugs Logan tightly, one hand gently gripping the back of Logan’s hair and the other squeezing around his waist. “You are my son,” he whispers into Logan’s hair. “In every way that matters, you are my son.” 

Logan takes a deep breath, and then, so quietly Virgil almost misses it, he whispers, “Eight, dad.” 

Virgil inhales, shakily, and exhales, “Sixteen, kid.”

*~*~*~*~*

(plus two: the aftermath of virgil asking logan’s permission to propose)

Virgil curls his hands into fists on his jeans, staring very intensely at Logan’s sneakers. “I promise,” he says lowly, “that I’m not trying to intrude on your life. I know how important Patton is to you, I know how important you are to him. And I know it’s archaic and kind of sexist to ask for someone’s hand in marriage as if I’m asking permission for someone’s property, but - but I - you’ve put up with so much instability in your life, with your shitbag of a sperm donor -”

Logan snorts at the reference to Christopher, and Virgil lets the corner of his lip quirk up into a smile before settling back into Serious Mode. “- and I would never want to make you feel like you have to accept me. I’m not trying to marry Patton because I think I have to, or because I think I deserve to marry him, or - or because he owes me something. I want to marry him because - because I’ve spent so long loving him, and so long being loved by him, and we’ve made a home together and a life together and - hell, we’ve raised a kid together - and i just -”

“I’m sure this is all just one big insurance scam,” Logan jokes. Virgil wheezes, and Logan reaches out to take his hand. 

“Virgil.” He pauses, and then, “Dad.” 

Virgil’s head jerks up, and Logan smiles softly at him. “I know that you would never propose if you weren’t completely serious. I appreciate you coming to make sure that I would be alright with this marriage, because I know someone asking you this question if you were in my shoes would help to ease your anxiety about the transition.”

“That was . . . very emotionally astute.” 

Logan smirks. “I know.”

“Brat,” Virgil laughs. He blinks, and suddenly his face is wet. 

“I appreciate this,” Logan repeats, “but Roman and I have literally been planning your marriage since we met. You do not need to worry about my opinion in this matter. If it will ease your mind, though, yes, Dad, you have my blessing to propose to Papa.” 

“You haven’t called him Papa in years,” Virgil says. 

“I haven’t had another parent to call ‘Dad’ in years, either.” 

Virgil couldn’t stop himself from hugging Logan if he tried. “Eight,” he says, and Logan hugs him tightly. 

“Sixteen, Dad.” 

[lollercakesff]

And They Were Strangers

Jyn Erso has been prepping for this for months. Years even, if you count the endless hours she'd spent running pools and hosting watch nights with her college roommates. She'd choreographed hundreds of dollars in auctions for remaining teams and had led multiple nights where her and her friends cooked their way around the world with the country of the week. The memories were great, sure, but to say she didn't feel a connection with this path in her life would be a lie. Something drew her in, tied her up, and convinced her that this - this - was the thing she needed to do before she died.

And now it was time. She was ready. Mentally… Physically… Hopefully.

AN: Will I finish writing this? I have a plan... But is it worth my time?

But the path to her next adventure was currently being blocked by some too-tall goon with haphazard hair and piercing dark eyes who kept getting in her way. First at check in, then in line for security, and now at the boarding gate. They’d practically been together, crossing paths and crashing each other, since she entered this damn airport and it was starting to really get to her. 

"Are you planning on getting on this plane or just standing in the way?" Jyn growls under her breath when the man doesn't move forward with the gate agent's call.

"What - Oh," he leaps forward a step and hustles towards the woman, pulling his passport from his pocket as Jyn sighs and checks her papers again. 

Her new American passport feels heavy in her hand, its empty pages a sign of things to come. She was on her way to Los Angeles where she was scheduled to show up at her first and only briefing for the next season of the Amazing Race. The producers had promised a full day of orientation covering the rules of the race and how the team match up would work before the "trip of a lifetime" began the next day. She was trying not to stress about it but she didn't quite know what she was getting into. 

This was the first season where every team in the race would be a set of strangers. They'd all meet at the briefing but it wouldn't be until the start of the race when they'd learn who their partner was. The producers had billed it as the season of 'fate' where they tried to pick a winning team by pure dumb luck with names drawn from a hat. Or so she'd been told. Who knew how it would really work.

"Next!" The agent calls and Jyn scurries forward, passing her documents over and brushing her bangs from her face. In another second she's motioned through and she's heading down the gangway and onto the plane. 

When she gets to her seat her frustration returns tenfold as the man from before has settled himself in her seat by the window, his seatbelt already clipped and his attention turned towards the action on the tarmac. 

"Hey, you're in my seat," she greets, stuffing her duffle in the overhead bin.

"F? Window?" He answers with an almost-accent and a quirk to his lips. Jyn frowns and steps into the row to let the people behind her pass.

"Yes. That's my seat, can you move please?" 

"I was sure I had the window, I feel claustrophobic if I can't see out - "

"Yeah, I'm sure. Can you check your boarding pass?" She asks, cutting his sob story off before it can even get started. 

"Can't I just have it this one time? It's a short flight," he answers, making no move to relent. Jyn sighs and drops into the seat next to him, her eyes closing tight as she urges the irritation to ease. 

"Fine. But this is bad karma and I hope it comes back to bite you in the ass, asshole," she grumbles the last part, determined to insult him but not loud enough to cause a scene. The man coughs as if to hide a laugh and Jyn hates him even more, pulling up her hood and taking out her headphones.

She was going to spend the next two hours in a music haven, mentally far from this man and the constant bumping of her elbow that came from sitting in the aisle row. Soon she'd be in LA at her hotel and then she'd be on to a new country, with a new language and culture that she'd have to work with to get her team to the finish line. Then she’d do it again and again until they won. Or they lost. She didn't like to think about that last possibility so instead she closes her eyes and hits play.

---

The hotel bed is more luxurious than anything she's ever slept in in her life and when she wakes it's with a curse as she realizes she's almost late to the briefing. Hustling around the room, she nearly crashes onto the floor when her pants get tangled and she loses her balance. Cursing out her alarm, her beautiful sleep, and the time difference, Jyn pulls on her t-shirt just as she pulls open her door and slams into someone walking past her room.

"Shit, sorry!” She gasps as she rights herself and pulls back. When she looks up it’s to find the man from the plane. The one who wouldn’t give her back her seat. The one who’d been a pain in the ass all day. “You!” The man’s eyes widen and he looks around him like he’s being Punk’d, surprise in his brow. 

“From the plane?” He counters, as if he was still struggling to place her. 

“Yeah. What, are you following me? How did you know to find me here?” Jyn growls, crossing her arms. The man cocks his head and furrows his brow, looking at her as though she was crazy. 

“Follow you? I’m here for… A thing that has nothing to do with you. If anything, I’d think you’re stalking me,” he adds sharply. Jyn scowls and shakes her head, her watch beeping with her five minute alarm. 

“Sure. Fine, whatever. I won’t be here long enough to have this happen again. Have a good life!” She shouts as she hurries off down the hall, her hand flung up into the air and her middle finger pointed towards him. 

She takes the stairs down to the conference room because getting stuck in the elevator with that jerk would put her nerves over the edge, their already frayed status from the late wakeup making her more punchy than usual. By the time she barrels into the room and grabs a plate of the breakfast, the producer is calling everyone to a seat. 

Jyn moves towards an empty chair and begins measuring up her fellow racers, her eyes drifting over one person and then the next as they settle in a semi-circle around the speaker. Some of them were incredibly fit, others a bit paunchy but she figured they could probably take her in a memory challenge or two if it came down to it. Most of them were on the younger side, maybe in their twenties or thirties, though there were a few who easily slotted into their fifties at the very least. She didn’t want to be ageist but she secretly hoped she’d get paired with someone who could keep up with her at the very least and she didn’t really peg any of these older folks as marathoners. 

“Welcome, good morning everyone!” A young woman calls out, drawing their attention to the front of the room. Jyn sits up and nimbles on a muffin, trying to look intimidating to the others around her who she assumed were doing the measuring up as she had just been. 

“You’re in my seat,” a voice says over her shoulder. Jyn’s stomach drops and she frowns, looking back to find the man from the airplane and the hallway standing behind her. “Don’t worry though, I’m not going to make you move, I’ll just take this empty one here.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jyn hisses, clenching her hands and nearly crushing her muffin to pieces. 

“Nope,” he responds as he sits in the chair next to her. An insult is on the tip of her tongue when the woman calls out again and really takes control of the room, beginning with a welcome spiel before moving right into the security briefing. After the team has explained every terrifying aspect about the world in explicit detail, Jyn looks around the room and finds half of the contestants with a concerned look on their faces, the other half grinning wickedly at the challenge. Beside her the man keeps his expression reserved though his eyes are calculating, the look making her guess whether he was regretting his choice or simply bored. 

After the welcome session, they’re broken up into groups of four and are led to a table in the corner of the room. Jyn sighs a breath of relief as the man is placed in another group, his presence finally dissipating and allowing her to focus on the tasks at hand instead of the prickling skin she felt whenever he was close. 

Hours pass and the contestants are moved around the room to different stations where they focus on different aspects of the game. There’s logic tests and geography quizzes which she passes with flying colours but when it comes to the language skills and memory games she flounders, her attention twisting towards her fellow contestants. She spends half the time trying to measure up where they stand on these activities, who would be best suited to the way she wanted to run this race. 

Her strategy - based on years of watching the show - was to run with brute force. She would power through on the physical challenges and when it came to figuring out a puzzle she was set. She just needed a partner who would be able to keep up and rush into everything just as hard. Smarts weren’t what won you the race, it was being able to push your way through anything and she had trained to do just that. 

“Everyone now has an hour for lunch. Feel free to get to know each other and remember, these folks might be your competition or they might just be the person you cross that finish line with!” The producer from earlier calls as the stations are closed and the participants are left to loiter in the room. 

Jyn feels like she’s in a social experiment as she beelines towards the food table to take a plate. She loads it up with everything she’s going to miss for the next few weeks - caesar salad and french fries and pasta salad that looked too delicious to miss. When she settles at a table she’s quickly joined by a handful of others, the conversation easily picking up from the morning activities.

“I’m Bodhi Rook, you?” The man sitting next to her says around a forkful of salad. Jyn looks him over quickly and notes his tall frame and long hair, his thin frame and open expression. He could be a good partner - she’d seen him race through some of the challenges with an efficiency she admired. 

“Jyn Erso,” she answers, lifting her hand to offer a shake. Bodhi takes it and squeezes it before turning back to his food, diving in as she looks around the table at the others. “You heard anything about how we’re going to be assigned teams?” She asks after a few minutes, her water lifting to her lips. 

“Not really. My group thought maybe the stations were to see where our strengths were so they could match us up better. But I was also told it would be a name in a hat, so who knows what they’re planning.” 

“Yeah, I heard the hat thing too. I hope there’s a little more thought put into it,” she responds with a shrug. Bodhi nods and lets a laugh escape. 

“Either way, I think I’ll be okay. I just like the adventure of it, you know? Don’t really need to win the whole thing,” he says around another bite. 

Jyn frowns and looks at her food, debating internally whether she could be paired with someone who didn’t want to win the whole race. If she had to admit it - though she’d never say it on camera - she wasn’t here just because she liked the show and wanted to see the world. 

She was here because she needed the prize money. 

The thought creeps up on her and she pushes it back down, stuffing it into her chest like too many clothes in a carry on bag. She didn’t have time to think about it now, not when she should be sizing up her competition and thinking about U-Turn and Yield strategy. No. She needed to focus. 

“What about everyone else?” Bodhi asks the table when Jyn still doesn’t respond. She turns her attention to the people around them, listening as first a bright eyed Luke Skywalker and a gruff Baze Malbus explain their motivations before moving on to Leia Organa, a beautiful but strategic thinker, and her cocky puppy-dog-tail for-the-day Han Solo easily admits he’s only here for the money. Jyn can’t help but think he might be her real competition if they don’t get paired together, the gleam of a quick buck in his eyes adding to his boisterous energy. 

Taking another glance around the room, Jyn weighs the rest of her competition as they sit at two other tables. Sixteen racers in total, all with different motivations and experiences that they bring to the table. They’d be eight teams and the producers had all but guaranteed it would be a tough race with all of them having secret strengths that were admitted in their bio videos. Jyn can’t remember what hers ss but by the time she turns back to the conversation at hand, she already knows one thing is for sure - she’s going to win, even if it kills her. 

After lunch they’re broken off into individual briefing rooms where they’re given their racing issued equipment and a final check in with the producers before they’re sent off to their rooms to pack. In the morning they’ll all be meeting in the lobby to hand over their backpacks before heading to the starting line. 

When the race starts their first activity will be finding their matched backpack with a coloured bandana tied to it. The racer with the matching bandana will be their partner for the duration and it will either be a successful match or a story of just how quickly Jyn can crash and burn their team. 

Throughout the evening she tries not to think about it - pushing away thoughts of how hectic tomorrow would be, how much adrenaline is already rolling in her veins and just how is she supposed to sleep tonight? To distract herself she focuses on potential strategies depending on who she paired with in the morning. Baze could work, or she’d even probably be successful with Han if they didn’t rip each other's heads off. Bodhi would be a great candidate - he seemed relaxed and competent, but Jyn didn’t like that he wasn’t driven by the final prize so much as he just wanted to have an adventure. 

No, she could pair with most of the people she’d met that morning. With the very real exception of the man from the plane who she’d learned was named Cassian Andor. There was no way they would be able to work together to even get out of the States, their partnership tanking before they even took their first flight. She was sure of it. And so when she falls asleep that night it’s to the thought that she had a one in fifteen chance of failing and those were pretty good odds. 

---

Morning comes in a rush of excitement and insanity and a paranoia that she’s forgotten something even though she’s checked her bags at least a dozen times. When she gets to the lobby, the assistants take her old bags and mark them with her tags before collecting her race bag and shoving it onto a luggage cart with the other packs. She’s directed to a holding queue where the racers mill about, snacking on the continental breakfast and filling their water bottles. 

Twenty minutes later and they’re piled onto a bus. Thirty minutes later and they’re being placed around an empty field with only the production crew circling them and a pile of luggage in the center of the field. Jyn thinks she spots her bag with a blue tag and she grins, looking around at the nervous faces she was up against. 

“You’ve got this,” she whispers to herself as Phil Keoghan begins his speech from near the luggage pile. Adrenaline spikes in her blood and then there’s a horn and she’s racing forward, scrambling for the luggage pile and her bag with its bandana looped through the arm. She pulls it free and stumbles back, looking around at the other racers as they take in their own colours, desperately looking for their partner. 

Not Bodhi. Not Baze. Fuck, not even Han. She scours the faces and colours until she sees it - blue, like hers! She steps forward, her smile widening having finally found her partner. 

But then she looks up. And her eyes meet her partner’s. 

Dark brown meeting green.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Guess you’re stuck with someone with bad karma,” he says evenly, the nerve of it making her want to pull her hair out. She curses again and grabs for his arm, dragging him towards the clue box for their next instructions. They didn’t have time to waste on pleasantries and witty comebacks, not if they wanted to win. 

She could do this. Brute force was all it would take, right? 

[lexigraph]

Hello ! Can I ask for 27, 29 and 50 for V and Jackie please? Thank you ! Mucho love !

27. Who takes a long shower/ Who sings in the shower?

Victory has to be coaxed into taking a shower over 10 minutes long. She is very used to “lets clean as many people as we can in as few paid shower slots at this rest stop” BUT she is more likely to sing (it’s a great way to time the shower). Jackie is always the one taking a shower so long that people start banging on the door. The open bathroom in Victory’s apartment means that instead he gets to see her face poking in every five minutes “You know that water isn’t free Jackie Welles!” “I know, why don’t you join me insteada bellyaching--” shenanigans.

29. Who is the better cook?

In this case I will have to say that teamwork makes the dreamwork. Misty finds recipes to try and can hunt down obscure ingredients in no time Jackie is a mess with prep work and sometimes totally skips steps, but knows how to tell when everything is done just right... Victory follows directions very well but is missing the intuition cooking can require to really add to the experience. Notably she will follow directions without checking to see if they make sense, which is how she completely destroyed Mama Welles’s microwave and got banned from her kitchen (it was grapes. Don’t microwave grapes. Guadalupe was almost as mad about the waste of fresh fruit as the microwave).

50. Who is the hopeless romantic?

When he’s not buying tying his own tongue into knots and insisting he’s not good with emotions, Jackie is the most Romantic-with-a-capital-R person. He puts on a great flirt and a lot of people assume it’s all style without substance--an assumption he cultivates to a certain degree.

But his follow through is amazing. The same things that make him good at merc work -- memorization, flexibility, fast thinking -- and make him everyone’s friend translate really well to romance. And he just loves to make people smile.

Misty is definitely the “consumes a lot of romantic media and squeals about it to the others, though. So in the sense of hopeless romantic meaning a person who is in a state of constant butterflies, it’s Misty.

‘course you asked about V and Jackie: Victory is... appreciative of romantic gestures but very straightforward as a person. So her habit just to plainly say how she feels, rather than making big gestures or surprising people. She is physically affectionate though!

[tysukis]

Hi, first(?) AU anon here. I will absolutely dive down this rabbit hole with you. I went a little overboard (sorry?). I absolutely agree with you on your Zuko take. I think we all kind of land there naturally. But I also think that Zuko would latch onto stability the moment he realized he had it. So this is kind of how I see it going down:

I think the band Sokka is part of would be solid. Just a local hit, right? But Sokka is the plans guy, and the aspirations guy, and they can do *so much better*. I 100% do not know how real life musicians work so add a pinch of salt here, but he would absolutely land them a gig as openers to a mediocre niche headliner just by sheer power of phone calls and charm. (He scripted it as much as possible, we all remember how that canon speech went when he winged it, but he knows how to put words together when he has time).

And yeah I love the idea of Zuko being an academic. I'm assuming Ozai is out of the picture for this, and the boy gets to pursue his passions instead of an expectation. Unfortunately, you mix in passion and the general anxiety of a kid who lived under intense scrutiny and you get an adult who gets tunnel vision during spring finals/prep for a conference/etc. So he doesn't quite rise to the occasion when his boyfriend drops this life changing news, he's proud but distracted, and he's already so bad at words in comparison to Sokka that it's just. Lackluster. And he probably meant to meet them at the bar/house party to celebrate after he got home but he's sleep deprived and his phone is dead because he's a disaster sometimes.

So now you've got Sokka stewing on immediate events, and being a little heartbroken because he went all out every time Zuko accomplished *anything*, even if it wasn't super impressive to Zuko himself. And maybe there's a bit of Zuko assuming Sokka doesn't need that reciprocated. He just doesn't vocalize his important needs, so Zuko assumes they're being met, you know? I like the drama of a blown up confrontation but also the idea that Sokka just confronts him sounding hurt and so damn tired of being the emotional one for that long.

But on the other side you have Zuko with his internalized plan that this is his forever person, and he does go to almost every performance even if they don't play his preferred music. And he assumes Sokka is satisfied with this. Maybe because Zuko can't imagine being happier than near his family - the good ones anyway - or because he genuinely thinks Sokka and the band are happy with being local celebrities and leaving it at that. So he plans for permanence. Because he is still a disaster, Zuko probably never vocalized this beyond doing window shopping for apartments or something. Vague jokes about a wedding that Sokka laughs at/agrees with and Zuko interprets as, "Yes I am also thinking about being here with you forever." He's not the wordsmith, he's the pragmatist and love means house shopping and snuggling over takeout and planning trips to visit their distant family together, right? Sokka's confrontation blindsided him, because he thought they were on the same page, and Sokka didn't have to leave to keep playing music, why is that even a thing??

They're both justified in being jaded because they're dumb as hell (affectionate). This isn't an AU for two grown ass men who have put in therapy time, they're both young and full of their own understanding with poor communication skills.

musician au anon!!! hello welcome back thank you so much for this incredible ask, let’s GO

(I’m gonna pop this one under a read more because otherwise this post will be eight miles long lmao)

Honestly I’m wracking my brain with what I can possibly add to this because you’ve got like. A fully fledged outline here my dude and it’s a good one. Do you write? Because you should, if you don’t. I still love the alternative take of Sokka being the one to leave and honestly this pretty much cements how much potential it has. I absolutely adore how you’ve thought about just how the communication would break down between them - and you’re completely bang on the money with it as well. Zuko is fully a hot disaster and would completely just assume Sokka’s needs are being met if he isn’t vocalising them, and we know Sokka, he’s a complainer but when it really comes down to those he loves - he’s known for being pretty selfless and for putting up brave faces. I can totally see Sokka perhaps almost feeling a bit self conscious about how hurt he is by Zuko’s lack of enthusiasm. Because Zuko loves him, right? And it’s just one show, right? So maybe he’s just overreacting, right? Or maybe he’s actually not even that good. Oh no, maybe Zuko hates his music and is just waiting for the right time to break it to him gently. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I think I might have already said it at some point tonight but Sokka would absolutely spiral until he convinces himself that him leaving would be nothing more than simply just leaving before he gets left. And like you said: Zuko  is out here planning a whole future assuming that they’re on the same page, meanwhile he has no idea.

I totally buy Sokka winging his way into a supporting act spot using his charm and charisma, and yeah his speech in canon didn’t go too well but this could likely be over the phone to only one person which would probably make it easier. I was thinking about how Sokka performing would work in conjuncture with his canon almost stage fright/fear of public speaking - and I’m leaning towards the hc that he embodies a sort of persona in front of large crowds and he’s able to let that take over and act casually and confidently no matter the audience.  (source: I am someone who studied acting and excelled in public speaking most of her life despite having a chronic anxiety disorder - playing parts and speaking on stage didn’t feel like ‘me’ because I was always channeling a character either fictional or an alternative version of myself. It works, folks.)

Are we thinking he broke away from the band and went on to succeed in a solo career? As in, he felt being local heroes was a limited pathway? Or did they all go together? Who else would be in it I wonder.

I LOVE your interpretation of Zuko and how the factors under which he was raised would shape him, especially in a modern setting. He would absolutely go into tunnel vision and that perfectionist mindset he was essentially forced into as a kid would probably be alive and well into adulthood. (And yeah, these aren’t men who have been to therapy - yet! - so we’re probably gonna assume that Zuko views this as a Perfectly Normal And Healthy Way To Live And Not At All A Trauma/Survival Response.)

I’m assuming this confrontation is what leads to their break up and then Sokka going off to pursue music further? I wonder, even all their other issues aside, what Zuko thinks about him travelling so far? As you said, we’re operating under the assumption that he doesn’t understand why Sokka couldn’t continue music and stay local. Even if things were perfect between the two, I imagine they still might not see eye to eye on that, which of course would just be another breaking point for them to tack onto the list.

As for their eventual reconciliation, Kaleigh @zukkau with her gigantic brain, said earlier that Sokka being the one to leave could also tie into a whole ‘I couldn’t ask you to uproot your whole life for me’ anxiety (especially if we’re painting zuko as a bit of a homebody here; hates change, likes routine) and that sets up perfectly for a “I would go anywhere for/with you” moment. All this to say that I think that would slot into this (^) narrative nicely.

If you have (or anyone has) anything more to add or touch on I would absolutely love to hear it, I am now fully in love with this AU and all messages and mentions of it are permanently welcome in my inbox and DMs <3 

[indiavolojones]

anon it’s like you’re LOOKING at my diary ヽ(｀Д´)ﾉ

2.5kish, gen, dia/luci.

“Before you do anything stupid that involves my permanent work on your body," the distaste radiating off of Lucifer is palpable, "Try an ear piercing first. It's plenty shocking to you business types, and a helluva lot less painful.”

“So, what do you say, Lucifer?"

SPECIAL THANKS TO @canonlucidia​ FOR BEING THE LUCIFER TRANSLATOR WE ALL NEED TO ELEVATE OUR FICS

~

“Huh,” Diavolo tilts his head, “I would have never guessed you were over eighteen.” 

Lucifer's ID shows none of the telltale signs of forgery, nor does the man look like a teenager. Diavolo just likes to have fun with people that seem too serious for their own good. 

Besides, it would be impossible for Diavolo to misjudge the man in front of him as a child—there are no children with eyes as hard-edged as Lucifer’s. Lucifer’s drenched coat is slung over his arm, the layers beneath thankfully still dry.  His long hair is twisted up in a messy, haphazard bun—something about this man makes Diavolo think this is unusual. 

Probably the impeccably tailored, expensive-looking vest and suit jacket. The watch peeking out from underneath his shirt sleeve is worth at least a couple hundred dollars, if Diavolo’s instincts are right. Minutes within meeting Lucifer and he already knows that this is a man that takes an incredible amount of pride into his appearance. 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, but the effect is less than intimidating to Diavolo, who has faced far worse than severe looks. Besides, the dark, exaggerated bags under his eyes can’t lie. The proud jut of his chin and squaring of his shoulders be damned; Diavolo can sense his bluff a mile away. Lucifer is more likely to pass out from exhaustion than start a brawl. 

“What an interesting business model, insulting your potential clients like this.” Lucifer retorts, and Diavolo thinks he’s probably terrifying when he’s had at least eight hours of sleep.

“There are plenty of other tattoo parlors around town,” Diavolo offers with another disarming smile, his arms crossing. An asshole customer is an asshole customer, no matter how pretty their mouth is. 

“No,” Lucifer insists, “It has to be this one.” 

“Okay… Then you’re going to need to relax a little, because it’s not often that I have people come in during a storm demanding a full back tattoo out of nowhere,” Diavolo shrugs, passing Lucifer’s ID back to him. 

"I wouldn't do any work on you today anyway. You haven't paid the deposit and we haven't had a consultation meeting. Sorry, it's my policy." Diavolo shrugs, not very sorry all and Lucifer can tell. Lucifer looks like he's about to spin on his heel and march out the door, and Diavolo, damn his soft heart, holds up his hands.

"But… if you'd like, we can set you up for a piercing session. We've got an open slot and I'll give you a returning customer’s discount." 

"I want the tattoo." Lucifer says, like Diavolo's stupid for offering anything else and he has to stamp down his own mild tinge of annoyance. 

"And I get that. If you can afford my rates, I'm willing to discuss." Damn it, Diavolo knows the man is trouble, but Lucifer's mouth is so pretty when it frowns, as if affronted at the possibility of him not being able to pay. "But I can tell this is some kind of act of rebellion. I see types like you all the time."

"Types like me—" Lucifer repeats, suddenly furious, and Diavolo holds his hands up placatingly. 

"Hear me out." He says, and Lucifer's mouth snaps shut at the interruption. 

"You’d have to be blind to not see that this is part of some… bigger thing for you," Diavolo gestures at all of Lucifer, "And you're an adult that can make your own decisions. But for now, before you do anything stupid that involves my permanent work on your body," the distaste radiating off of Lucifer is palpable, "Try an ear piercing first. It's plenty shocking to you business types, and a helluva lot less painful. So, what do you say, Lucifer?"

Lucifer doesn't look keen on it, but he at least seems to be seriously mulling over Diavolo's offer. 

More time passes where Diavolo grows more and more convinced that Lucifer is about to tell him to fuck off and walk out of his life. At this point, it would probably be for the best. Diavolo is a sucker for sullen, gorgeous businessmen with obvious emotional baggage—not that he'd realized that until a scant ten minutes ago, but Diavolo's always been a bit of a masochist. 

As if the day's events have finally, truly weighed down on him, with a barely visible slump to his shoulders, Diavolo sees when Lucifer relents before he hears it. 

"Fine."

-

-

Barbatos' workstation is immaculate as ever, and the other works with maximum efficiency to prep his required instruments. 

“You’re the one that pierced my brother, Mammon,” Lucifer says, and something in Diavolo’s brain clicks. Mammon. Lucifer’s brother is Mammon—the very thought almost makes Diavolo burst into laughter. 

Barbatos is nothing if not polite as he tips his head to the side, as if trying to remember Mammon. He snaps his gloved fingers, and nods. 

“Ah, yes! He’s the one that passed out, I believe.” Lucifer looks strangely… delighted by that. 

“I’ll be over there, then,” Diavolo says, leaning against the door frame and gesturing back behind him at the front office. Diavolo almost laughs again when he sees the clear alarm in Lucifer’s eyes, can hear the silent why aren’t you doing it before it’s said out loud. 

“Barbatos is one of the best piercers I’ve ever worked with, you’re in expert hands,” Diavolo hums, soothing. 

It somehow works, because Lucifer is lowering himself into Barbatos’ chair. Not a word escapes from Lucifer as Barbatos finishes prepping the earrings, two black studs that Lucifer had chosen from Diavolo’s display case. Lucifer actually looks a little pale, and Diavolo thinks it’s adorable.

“Unless… you’d like me to hold your hand, if you’re scared?” He teases, and Lucifer’s eyes narrow in purposefully unconcealed fury for one beautiful, brief moment. It shutters away as fast as it comes, and Lucifer is staring impassively at the wall before him. 

“You may leave.” Lucifer dismisses Diavolo.

Diavolo hangs out, just to be a dick. Lucifer does not flinch, or sway in his resolve past that one moment of weakness. Barbatos finishes one ear—Lucifer does not react in the slightest—and moves to the next. He tilts Lucifer’s head gently to get better access, and it makes Lucifer have to look at Diavolo in the doorway. Diavolo gives him a brilliant smile, but Lucifer glares at him the entire time. 

Diavolo loves it. 

-

-

Diavolo doesn’t see Lucifer for one week; but he hasn’t received any terrible reviews on Yelp, and no department official has come knocking down his door with a surprise audit, so he thinks he’s in the clear. All in all, he chalks the experience up to some kind of weird twist of fate. He’s perched on a stool behind the register at the display case when the automatic doorbell chimes. Diavolo’s lips part to welcome the guest even before he looks up. 

“Hey, how’s it—oh,” Diavolo says, finally glancing up from his newspaper, “You got bangs.” 

Gone is the messy, windswept bun that Lucifer had his long hair tossed into, and instead, a short, layered cut has replaced it. It makes him look younger, somehow. Or maybe he’s just gotten more sleep. Lucifer reaches up to card a hand through his hair, pushing the now loose strands out of his face.

Diavolo spares a moment of silence to mourn that he never got to see how long Lucifer’s hair was in person, “It looks nice.” 

He places his cheek in one palm, grinning at his client. It would be easy to miss the light blush on Lucifer’s cheeks at his comments, but Diavolo is more perceptive than most. 

The blush on Lucifer’s cheeks intensifies, and he coughs into his fist. “Thank you. The hair was a nuisance, so I cut it off.”  

Silence passes, and Lucifer blinks, as if he’s not quite sure why he overshared. Diavolo takes pity on him, and tries to continue the conversation.

“How are your ears healing, then? Are you—”

“I’d like to set up a consultation meeting.” Lucifer breathes, and Diavolo blinks at him. Then he sighs. 

“Before that… I suppose I should apologize for my impudence the other day, Mr. Morningstar.” Diavolo says, finally, elbows propped up on the glass counter. He watches for Lucifer’s reaction like a hawk. 

“How did you—” Lucifer’s lips remain tight, before realization dawns behind his eyes. "You saw my ID the other day." 

He glares, no doubt wondering if Diavolo gone to the press with information of his spontaneous request. It would be like dumping chum into shark infested waters for them to hear how the otherwise resolutely tight-lipped eldest brother is doing. Too many people are already trying to pick at the man’s psyche for more garbage to feed the greedy masses. 

“I barely even noticed your last name," Diavolo waves his hand in the air dismissively, "However… it's a little hard to ignore a face like yours when it’s been plastered all over the news,” Diavolo spins the newspaper around, sliding it across to show the grainy picture of Lucifer and three of his younger brothers at the last company gala. Lucifer's proud, intimidating stare is unmistakable in its intensity. 

The headline ‘FALL FROM GRACE: Lucifer Morningstar Leaves Celestial Industries over Disinheritance Scandal with Brothers’ stretches across the page in blocky, damning font. 

"I didn’t reach out to any media outlets. You can relax,” Diavolo huffs, “But really? Your first move after all this is to go and get a tattoo?" 

“Do all of your consultations feel like interrogations?” Lucifer shoots back, lips turned down in a frown. He does not look down at the article, his gaze keeping level with Diavolo's.

Diavolo laughs, and holds his hands up, “No, not really. I only try to make sure my clients understand that this is too permanent and expensive of a decision to make on an emotional bender. Tattoo removal is possible, but it’s costly.” Diavolo lets his own eyes narrow in the slightest, “Considering you don’t have the fortune of a multi-billion dollar corporation to fund your whims anymore, I doubt you’d have the money to spare if this is something you regret.” 

“Why are you antagonizing me over this,” Lucifer grits out, hands fisted at his sides. 

“I take pride in my work, Morningstar.” Diavolo stands, inherently pleased to see that Lucifer’s furious gaze has to tilt up in the slightest to continue meeting his eyes, “I have no desire to see someone else's terrible work slapped over something I created." 

"If you get paid, what does it matter?" Lucifer spits, clearly reaching his wit's end. Diavolo stares at him, silent, and Lucifer shuts his eyes. He exhales through his nose for strength, and cards a hand through his hair again, clearly unused to it still. When he speaks, his tone is genuine, and he sounds tired. 

"I apologize," Diavolo blinks, not expecting the other to deflate as they have. When his eyes open again, they are alight with a fervor that Diavolo's breath catches at. “I have had…. An interesting week.” His smile is wry, too tangled up with hidden meanings that Diavolo isn’t sure if he should consider it a smile at all. 

“I understand that this is permanent. As permanent as being disinherited publicly.” Lucifer’s stare is unflinching, his resolve ironclad and as spirited as Diavolo’s own, “Which is why I have come to request a consultation appointment, rather than demand you do it today. You are the only one who I want for this.”

Why rests on the tip of his tongue, but Diavolo knows the hard look in Lucifer's eyes, the kind of determination that refuses to be ignored, denied. It's entirely possible that Lucifer himself does not know why, only that he must. Diavolo keeps his gaze for another moment longer, fingers suddenly twitching for a habit that he quit long ago. Barbatos would kill him if he started smoking cigarettes again anyway.

Another moment, and Diavolo allows himself to smile. 

"You could have scheduled a consultation online, you know," Diavolo laughs, and moves from around the counter towards his small side office. 

"Come on," Diavolo says, but Lucifer does not move, still staring Diavolo down from his place in Diavolo's front desk area. Diavolo looks up at the heavens, exhaling ruefully, "I'm assuming you have an idea of what you want." 

Lucifer only takes a moment to shake himself out of his stupor, the cool, almost snobbish expression back on his face. 

"Of course."

--

--

Diavolo's laugh shakes the walls of the small office, and Lucifer's face is, amazingly, deep red. Diavolo is hunched over, hands gently sifting through the sketches. 

"You're insane. Your first tattoo and you want a fully detailed back piece? Not to mention it's huge." 

"We’re looking at somewhere between twenty and thirty hours of work. What if you can't handle the pain? Back tattoos can be rather painful, depending on where I'm working at the time."

"That won’t be an issue." Lucifer sniffs, back straight as he sits across from Diavolo.

“It’s going to cost you,” Diavolo warns. He knows what his work and experience is worth, and charges appropriately. 

“Everything does,” he says, simply. He catches the quick glance Lucifer tosses at his now bare wrist, and remembers something about Lucifer wearing one of those fancy watches last time he’d seen the other. Had he sold it?

Diavolo hums, before looking back down at the sketches in front of him.

"Did you draw these?" Diavolo asks, impressed with the amount of detail. It'll be a challenge for sure, but if Lucifer wants to keep the tattoo exactly like the source drawing, Diavolo's confident he can do it justice. However… if Lucifer allows him to add his own touch... it'll be spectacular.

"My sister," he hesitates on the word, and Diavolo knows there's a lot to unpack behind that, and immediately labels that as 'definitely do not touch', "She was the artist of our family." 

Ah, was. Lucifer's gaze darkens as he stares down at the papers, and Diavolo sighs. He runs a hand through his short hair, and leans back on the couch. Crossing his arms, he huffs when he looks at Lucifer again.

"Alright, you're crazy, but it's your money." 

-

Other assorted headcanons/thoughts:

Not exactly sure what Lu’s desired tattoo is but it’s something like this pic

Lilith has like, Just Died. Is v sad. 

Getting his ears pierced felt like absolute nothing to Lucifer, but having no point of reference he’s allowed to be a lil apprehensive. (“It’s like a shot, just… really close to your face!”  Thanks, Mammon.)

Mammon has awful tattoos from different artists, but ever since he discovered this Diavolo fellow, they've all been coming out beautifully. Asmo has also gone! Lu doesn't trust online reviews, and while he takes what Mammon and Asmo say with a grain of salt, he can’t deny the quality he's seen of Diavolo's is phenomenal. 

Diavolo's art style is similar to Lilith's.

All the brothers are around in this lil universe. for certain Reasons, it's just Luci/Mams/Levi/Asmo that have all been disinherited for now. 

It's been several years since I got a tattoo so I pulled details out of my ass sorry for the inaccuracies 

as always ty for reading (ノ°∀°)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

[teagrl]

Oh no I’m back on my bullshit (obligatory: more like haven’t been off my bullshit, like ever). 

Another snippet from another WIP from my drawer. 

Mara drifted off to the side, having finished her cargo check.  The way Mara looked at Teeth made him feel sick.

"Don't worry so much, Skywalker," Teeth said in Huttese despite Mara being out of earshot. "I'll take good care of her."

He didn't take his eyes from the prep, one more speeder go. Zayne had never slotted him for that, but he was familiar enough with the way it went.

"You know, I've never told anyone what I did for Sita to seat me at her table," Luke murmured, switching automatically.

"It's a big mystery, yeah. Kid drinking with the grown ups." Teeth's bored tone was completely fake. "Gotta be nasty." Her laugh was, as usual, dryer than the Wastes. "Sita can be a fucking Hutt sometimes. A species thing you think? Anyone with that much ink on their face--"

"If something happens to her during the run, I'll show you." 

Luke turned, staring at Teeth full in the face until she looked away under the guise of pulling out a cigarra from her pant pocket. She unwrapped it, bringing it to her lips.

"Threatening me now?" Teeth said over it, snapping out a flame from a finger lighter. She had to flick her thumb twice over the ignition band before the spark lit. “That ain’t nice.”

A hollow bang sounded out and Luke glanced back at the prep. The Rodian hit the trunk of the speeder truck again. On the side, with Mara and the rest of the new blood, Misha nodded and whistled sharply. Number three loaded. They were set to go.

"I don't threaten," Luke said evenly.

Teeth took a long pull of her cigarra, spat it to the ground where she ground it out before stepping forward. 

"We done, womp rats?" she boomed in Basic at the group gathered to the side. “On a karking time table here!”

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

exotics make the noise, boys, but legendaries do the work.

After so many posts celebrating Destiny’s exotics I feel compelled to pay tribute to the other, far larger portion of the weapon pool: the legendary gear that pulls its weight all day every day. These are my top five all-arounders, the weapons I infuse up first, the ones I go to when I don’t know what I’m going up against. These are:

Blast Furnace / Hammerhead

Type: Pulse Rifle / Machine Gun

Slot: Kinetic / Heavy (Void)

Perks: Outlaw+Rampage / Dynamic Sway Reduction+Rampage

Kills: 16827 / 8697

Two of the Black Armory’s pieces, the Blast Furnace pulse rifle (shown here with the Verdigris shader) and Hammerhead machine gun (Amethyst Veil shader) still pull their weight a year after their introduction. Falling squarely on the scifi end of Destiny's scifi-fantasy spectrum, Black Armory weapons are easily recognized by their sleek-but-practical look, not flashy but new and designed and manufactured with great care. They have open straight-edged cowlings with visible internals and usually show traces of the Black Armory’s signature moiré-pattern animation.

Blast Furnace superseded Forsaken’s Go Figure pulse rifle (another of my go-to kinetics) with better stats in pretty much every column. The pulse rifle archetype is already one of Destiny’s best and Blast Furnace’s great stats, great perk pool, good chatter, and friendly sights - not to mention the ease of farming for the roll you want by completing Black Armory weapon frames instead of hoping for a random drop - plant it squarely in most Guardians’ top 10 if not 5. My chosen roll is Outlaw (reload much faster immediately after a precision kill) and Rampage (damage increases with each kill, stacks up to 3x), a classic top-tier perk set.

Hammerhead was one of the first non-exotic machine guns introduced and its decent range (here extended by Ricochet Rounds), 59-round clip, and fast-but-not-too-fast 450 RPM fire rate put it right at the sweet spot where it performs well against both large numbers of weaker enemies or a handful of powerful ones. It also fares well in PvP where heavy ammo is very rare and Hammerhead’s ability to put paid to a Guardian in 5 or 6 solid hits means you get more effective bang for your heavy ammo crate buck. My Hammerhead features Rampage and Dynamic Sway Reduction (holding down the trigger boosts accuracy over time) which doesn't come up much when firing short bursts but helps a lot when pouring an entire clip into a boss’ crit spot. Whenever I’m running an Energy-slot exotic or if I just don’t want to think too hard about my loadout, it’s a good bet I’ll throw on one or both of these weapons.

Subtle Calamity

Type: Bow

Slot: Energy (Void element)

Perk: Dragonfly/Archer’s Tempo

Kills: 11806

Subtle Calamity (Clouds At Sea shader) has no great lore or storied manufacturer behind it; it’s a general world loot drop added in Forsaken. And it’s great. I was already pumped for the addition of bows and Subtle Calamity ended up hitting the sweet spot for daily use. With bows the key stat is draw time; longer draw times equal more power but also, well, longer draw times. Hence why I went for the perk Archer's Tempo, which decreases draw time as you land precision hits. It also has the Dragonfly perk, a flashy ability I like probably more than it deserves, which causes enemies killed with precision hits to explode into AoE elemental damage. Bows are a lot of fun, occupying the middle ground between Auto Rifles and Sniper Rifles that Scout Rifles were supposed to fill, and given how lousy I am with snipers if I need to land precision hits I'll usually go for a bow instead.

In-universe, what's the explanation for Guardians suddenly getting into bows? It's because of the events of Forsaken and the Guardian push into the Tangled Shore and Dreaming City i.e. into more regular contact with the Awoken, for whom it's a culturally-significant weapon - something like a claymore to a Scot or a katana to the Japanese. More pragmatically when the Awoken first returned to our solar system and settled in the lashed-together space derelict habitats of the Reef they faced the problem of using weapons inside said space habitats as well as launching cables and small satellites. Their solution was bows: strong enough to fly far, carry payloads, and deal damage, but unlikely to pierce a hull and far easier to manufacture than firearms. Awoken Corsairs still use bows as near-silent precision weapons in actual combat, relying on technologically-advanced payloads to deal the real damage. Or not so advanced - Sjur Eido puts a broadhead arrow through an inch of Guardian plate armor with little more than determination, skill, and the properties of whatever magical material Wish-Ender is made from.

Tigerspite / Age-Old Bond

Type: Auto Rifle / Auto Rifle

Slot: Kinetic / Energy (Void)

Perks: Outlaw+Kill Clip / Rampage+Fourth Time's The Charm

Kills: 14623 / 11863

Though they come from different sources in-game, I’ve grouped these two together because they’re both Awoken weapons. Age-Old Bond (Circadian Chill shader) drops from the first encounter of the Last Wish raid while Tigerspite (Night’s Chill shader) comes from activities in the Dreaming City. I love both of these weapons and use them all the time even when they’re not ideal for the situation at hand. Tigerspite, like the rest of the Dreaming City weapon set, has an elven high-fantasy style featuring cloth wrappings (?) and long, sinuous curves. The Last Wish raid set has a similar aesthetic but goes for a combination of carved-bone paneling and animated celestial diagrams that recall Awoken tech displays.

Fun lore note: Tigerspite is one of the few non-exotics to be mentioned by name in the lore. Sjur Eido selects a Tigerspite for one round of her duel with Uldren Sov back in the Distributary. It gets referenced again as a standard Awoken weapon after their return to our solar system, so it’s had quite the service life. Tigerspite’s stats were superseded a while ago by newer auto rifles but I love its sights and feel and keep using it anyway. Outlaw (faster reload on precision kill) and Kill Clip (increased damage immediately after reloading after a kill) are a classic weapon perk combo that’s always in season. Also I’m pretty sure a cat gave me this gun. Not a cat-cat, a Dreaming Kitty, one of the nine adorable stone cat statues hidden in the Dreaming City. While doing Dreaming City activities you’ll sometimes pick up an item called “A Small Gift,” a dish of something that “smells faintly of mint.” Since catnip is a member of the mint family, that’s your hint to bring that gift to your nearest Dreaming Kitty. Doing so rewards a weapon and causes the chosen statue to disappear. I’m pretty sure the first or second kitty I ever found gave me this specific gun, which just seems appropriate given its name.

Age-Old Bond is a special weapon to me. It comes from the first fight of the Last Wish raid, an encounter with the Taken Techeun Kalli, the Corrupted, and was the first fight I ever completed with my informal raid crew named “World’s Worst Fireteam.” Last Wish released at 550-590 light at a time when most Guardians were still trying to crack 530 and thus could barely handle redbars on raid day one. We were like most Guardians. But we were unlike most Guardians in being stupid and stubborn, and so we went into the raid anyway, because if we couldn’t get World First, we could still get World’s Worst. We never had a chance at the full raid, but after great struggle and great teamwork we finally managed to bring down Kalli and net ourselves our first Last Wish raid drops. For me that drop was this specific auto rifle - which is not just sentimental, but actually special. Some legendary weapons in Destiny have “curated” rolls, perk and stat combinations chosen by Bungie to be top-tier if not the best possible. Anytime you get a weapon drop you have the chance to get a curated drop instead, which comes fully-masterworked with those chosen perks. Age-Old Bond’s curated roll was the only one at the time with the new Fourth Time’s The Charm perk; when you land four rapid precision hits (they don't have to be sequential) it refunds two rounds directly back to the magazine. This does more than you might think for the weapon’s versatility, since if you’re pouring fire into a single target’s crit spot (i.e. a boss) it effectively gives the weapon 50% more clip i.e. a solid 48 rounds before you have to reload. It won’t replace a Heavy or high-DPS weapon anytime soon, but it’s pretty handy in a tight spot. The other perks on the curated roll max out Age-Old Bond’s range stat compared to other auto rifles, one of the dump stats of that archetype, and with a Counterbalance Stock mod to reduce recoil it’s practically a trace rifle.

I do favor these five weapons, but I also try to mix it up - I picked these five based on my top kill counts, but that biases it towards Y2 guns that have been in service longer. Plenty of newer weapons routinely turn up in my loadout these days: the pleasant chatter and Demolitionist perks of Outlast, Full Court/Field Prep Love and Death, the delightful new kinetic bow Accrued Redemption, Shaxx's broke-ass Crucible pinnacle weapon The Recluse, last season's snappy Patron of Lost Causes, the 600 RPM bullet-hose Arc Logic, and of course the reliable, venerable Y1 IKELOS shotgun. But in the end the only wrong loadout is one you don't enjoy, and the best choice is whatever you find the most fun.