#this was supposed to only be three images whoops

[medievalthymes]

wuthering heights / the ghosts of paolo and francesca appear to dante and virgil / assassins fate / euridice recedes into the underworld - enrico scuri / fool’s quest / the reconciliation of the montagues and capulets over the dead bodies of romeo and juliet - frederic leighton / assassins fate / zarina situmorang - "touch" - oil on canvas / i will follow you into the dark - death cab for cutie / assassins fate

[itheume]

im playing isometric rpgs with one character and only one character

[honniedonnie]

Did you know Fennec foxed mate for life? Tighnari x GN!Reader ANGST

TW/CW: Major character death, (the reader is already dead) grief, depression, faking a happy personality, hurt/no comfort, mention of intense pain, you are cremated (out of spite, rant at the end)

Pronouns: They/Them

Notes: 1(one) mention of Y/N, the rest are pronouns or pet names. (i.e. darling, my love, etc.) You and Tighnari were married. I Wrote a mini rant at the end that was supposed to be included at the beginning, but it got longer that what I thought. (that’s what she said lol)

Word Count: 675 words

EDIT: whoops, there's a part 2 (two) also part 3 (three)

Masterlist

This is going to be my first time writing fanfiction since 2017 (I was 14 years old…) The only reason I’m writing is because I’ve got MAJOR brainrot over this Prompt 

By the way if there are any grammar issues please tell me. I will fix them because I apparently have anxiety over making a grammar mistake(s). (I learn something new about myself)

“Fennec foxes are monogamous and mate for life” (source - Fennec Fox | San Diego Zoo Animals & Plants)

‘It was supposed to be a simple walk, it was supposed to be a simple walk, it was supposed to be a simple walk’ Tighnari’s mind repeated the same sentence over and over again along with the image of his lover's dead body. Tighnari looked over your urn, twisting the gold ring on his left hand. You were only cremated after a couple days of discovering your body, your cause of death was clear; you decided to go for a walk into Avidya Forest, and decided to take a nap near a patch of flowers, only to never wake up. A withering zone appeared when you were sleeping. You died peacefully, at least that is what the coroner told him. Nightmares plagued his sleep; him seeing you in pain, and there was nothing he could do except to watch you die. The same nightmare; over and over again. There was a period of time that he absolutely refused to sleep; replacing sleep with caffeinated teas. It got to the point where Collei and other Forest Watchers had to replace his caffeinated tea leaves with calming/sleeping tea leaves. It took some time for Tighnari to believe that you died peacefully, and even longer for him to stop blaming himself over your death. (even though there was nothing he could’ve done) 

Eventually he forced himself to be happy; to be his former self. Even though his former self died alongside you. While the Forest Watchers and Rangers were relieved to have their Chief Officer back, they still had to be careful whenever they mention you. Even if he’s 100 feet away he can still hear them talking; talking about you, how you were too young, how heartbroken the Chief Officer was (is) about your death, and evening wondering if he would move on! Once he heard, oh boy was he furious. How dare they even think about that. Move on from the LOVE OF HIS LIFE! His lover, his darling, his partner, the person whom he’d married! Him?! Find someone else? He still has his wedding ring underneath his gloves, for Archons’ sake! Poor Collei had to drag him away before something bad happened. 

Tighnari’s was never the same after you passed. Around the days before and after your and his birthdays, anniversaries (both wedding and death) he refuses to leave his home, spending days taking care of the memorial he had for you. Cleaning your urn, clearing the dust from your self-portrait he had commissioned for as a birthday gift. (Took a lot of self restraint to not cry at the portrait, but sometimes he fails) He does try and get better, but how can he when he wakes up to an empty spot on the bed. How can he when you’re not there to kiss him goodbye and tell him to have a great day, and to be safe! Oh, and also not to eat some random mushrooms… again. How can he when everything reminds him of you, how can he…

“Collei, who’s (Y/N)?” A certain floating companion asked. A golden-haired traveler pondered as well; who was this mysterious person? 

“Shh, lower your voice Paimon.” Collei looked all over as if she was looking for someone. Deemed it to be safe, Collei answered the question. 

“They’re, I mean they were Master Tighnari’s spouse, umm they’d passed away a couple of years ago. He’s still grieving, so please don’t mention them in front of him!” Collei pleaded with the traveling duo. 

“Wait…How did you know about them?” “We overheard one of the Forest Rangers mentioning them”

“I see… Though I’m a little bit offended you didn’t ask me about my spouse” A new voice speaks out. 

“Tighnari! Hehe, you were here! Wait, your spouse? Aren’t they, you know, dead?” Paimon insensitively asked. Only realizing her mistake after seeing the faces of the traveler and Collei. “Don’t you know? My kind, we only have 1 (one) mate for life”

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

I’m taking a wild guess that burials are the norm considering A FUNERAL PARLOR EXIST! (I know some funeral parlors offer cremation services) Also Mondstadt has a cemetery behind the cathedral. ALSO HU TAO’S VOICE LINES (2 (two) lines about coffins, and 1(one) mention of burial) (Also if Liyue, Inazuma, and Sumeru are inspired by asian countries, then CREMATION SHOULD BE THE PREFERED METHOD OVER A BURIAL (source- List of countries by cremation rate - Wikipedia)) You know what! NO YOU ARE FUCKING CREAMATED I AM DOING IT OUT OF SPITE!

[ibetonlosingroys]

Hunger Chapter 2

Roman just wants to self destruct in peace.

Read on ao3:

Roman’s head aches. There is a vice like grip wrapping around his forehead. It feels like his eyes may pop out of his face at any moment from the pressure. He’s sprawled out on the couch, where he has taken up a permanent residence and looks at the flickering images on the television, not watching it. The static blaring in between his ears is enough stimulation for him. He thought he would be hungry, but that stopped long ago. His stomach no longer growled, his mouth no longer watered at the thought of food. Roman had come to the realization that he could just remain like this forever, expending no energy and consuming nothing. He merely exists, and he thinks to himself that’s about all he can handle right now. This is fine. He might even like this.

Sometimes he sleeps, sometimes he just closes his eyes and listens to the room around him. He even gets up to use the restroom a couple of times. He laughs at himself, wondering what he has to piss out, not even a sip of water has passed his lips since the tailgate party. Was that just last night? It’s hard to remember. He has missed something important, that he is sure of. This is confirmed when he picks up his phone and scrolls past dozens of missed calls and texts from all three of his siblings. He’s even missed several calls from Mencken, so it must’ve been the election. “Whoops,” he says aloud, voice thin and crackly. He giggles and rolls over, pressing his face into the cushions and allows more time to pass.

The next thing he is aware of is a knock at his door. In his current state, it feels like a thunderous banging permeating his skull. He grumbles, rolling onto his back but before he can even contemplate getting up, there’s the sound of a key turning in the lock. Roman’s only ever given his apartment key to two people, Tabitha and his sister. He would sooner believe that his father rose from the dead than the idea of Tabitha choosing to enter his home again. So that just leaves…

Shiv barreled in the door, shoes clacking on the floor and calling his name. “Rome? You decent? You alive?” Her voice grew louder as she approached the living room. Roman levered himself into a more upright position on shaking arms and cleared his throat to speak. “You know Siobhan, in some cultures it’s considered rude to burst into someone’s home uninvited.”

“Roman.” Her tone was serious now as she dropped her bag on the floor and perched on the coffee table across from him. “You missed the election.” Her gaze burned through him and she gestured firmly as she spoke. “You weren’t returning any of our calls. You cannot go dark like that on the biggest news night of the next four years.” Her volume increased and Roman groaned, shoving the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and rubbing furiously. “Shiv, I can’t fight right now. I don’t feel good, for real, so if you’re going to really chew into me, can we pencil it in for a later date?”

He met her eyes fully for the first time since she arrived and watched as they narrowed at him even more. The silence grew but he refused to break. “Still fighting off that bug?” She asked. “Yeah, well haven’t had a lot of down time recently.” He gestures vaguely. Shiv reaches out, moving to feel his forehead with the back of her hand and Roman recoils with a chuckle. “No way, you’re not about to test out your maternal instincts on me, nice try super mom.”

Shiv straightens and pulls away, crossing her arms over her chest, “And what’s that supposed to mean?” She asks. Roman is far too tired to play any of their usual games. “It means you’re obviously pregnant, I don’t know how stupid you think I am,” he grumbles. “Well it’s like you said. Not a lot of down time recently. Hasn’t felt like a good time to share the news.” Something very real and very human crosses Shiv’s face, almost like hurt, and Roman feels like shit. “Yeah, the timing sucks. I’m really sorry Shiv.” He manages in an approximation of comfort. That stricken look is still drawn across her features and he decides he can’t stand it anymore. “Is it Tom’s?” He asks.

“Yeah. It’s Tom’s. Jesus Roman!” She uncrosses her arms and flails in exasperation. There she is. Roman chuckles, allowing himself to slump back against the couch cushions and rub at the tension pounding behind his forehead. “So you’re really sick huh?” She asks, and he hums in agreement. “Think you’re gonna be able to bounce back for the big show tomorrow?” Roman freezes. The funeral. “Tomorrow?” He asks, and fuck he feels his voice wavering. “Yeah… Rome, it’s tomorrow.” Shiv replies, her voice taking on a softness that he is only used to hearing when things are very very bad. “You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to,” she continues, “one of us can do it, it’s okay.”

He stares up at the ceiling fan, swimming in his vision. Shiv’s voice is too loud and the thought of tomorrow is too much. “I don’t wanna go, I can’t, I’m not going,” the words tumble out of his mouth beyond his control. “Not go at all?” Shiv is stunned. “I, uh, I appreciate that you’re not great right now, but it is important that you’re there Rome. Matsson will be there, and with it being so close to the vote…”

If Roman had the energy, he would scream. “I don’t care! I don’t, I can’t.” He feels tears prickling at his eyes and the absolute last thing he wants is for his sister to see him cry right now, but he doesn’t trust his shaking limbs to carry him into another room quickly enough. The only thing worse than crying in front of her would be fainting in front of her. “It’s too much,” he tries to explain as the tears leak out of his eyes, rolling down the side of his face and soaking into the pillow beneath his head. And oh god, he actually whimpers, sounding like a wounded animal. He brings his hands to cover his eyes and wills the couch to swallow him whole as he cries.

Shiv has fallen silent but he feels her hand come to rest on his shoulder. It’s warm and solid and horrifyingly, makes him cry even harder. “I’m sorry, Shiv I-” he chokes out, grabbing onto her hand and she shushes him. “Hey, come on. You’re okay.” She says, and Roman almost laughs. “You’re exhausted. You need some rest, let’s get you to bed.” She pats his shoulder and he groans, rubbing the tears from his face with the heel of his hand. He moves to sit up, sluggish and uncoordinated as the fog envelopes his mind.

“Do you, uh, need some help?” Shiv asks, feigning nonchalance, but her body language clearly displays her discomfort at this foreign act of care. Roman too would rather crawl out of skin than accept her offer, but between his body’s uncontrollable shivering and the clouds in his vision, he truly does not see another way. He merely grunts, nodding his head slightly and avoiding eye contact at all costs, and then there’s an arm wrapped around his back. One hand on his waist and the other gripping his arm, Shiv is at his side in an instant. “Alright, up on three, yeah?” He grunts again in agreement. “One, two, three,” the hands around him tighten and Shiv levers his body up as he pushes off of the couch and gets his feet underneath him.

A small groan escapes him as the room swims around him. His eyes are unfocused and his head lolls as he tries to find his equilibrium. “Take it easy, no rush,” Shiv speaks to him incredibly softly, her hands never loosening their grip on him as they begin their unsteady shuffle towards his bedroom. “You can lean on me,” she says, and it’s nearly enough to send Roman into a fresh bout of weeping. Figuring his dignity is long gone at this point, he drapes his arm across Shiv’s shoulders, allowing her to take some of his weight as they round the corner. “You’re okay,” she whispers again, and Roman wonders if it’s for his benefit or her own.

Reaching the edge of his bed, Shiv gently lowers him down to sit before telling him she’ll be right back. As quickly as he can muster, Roman pulls back his sheets and clambers under the covers. If Shiv were to actually tuck him into bed he sincerely thinks he might die. He drops his heavy head onto his pillow and sighs deeply, willing all of this to be one terrible dream. Shiv returns with a glass of water that she places on his nightstand and lingers by his bedside, not too close but not too far.

“Think you’ll make it through the night if I head out?” She asks, only half joking, rattled by the physical weakness displayed by her brother. He clears his throat and nods, “I am sorry by the way,” he gestures lazily with his hand, “for all of this, but especially going ghost on election night.” Shiv shifts on her feet slightly. “Yeah, well don’t be too sorry, at least your boyfriend lost.” Roman groans, rubbing at his eyes again, imagining the earful from Mencken he has waiting for him in his messages.

“Get some sleep,” she says, stepping closer. For the briefest of seconds, her hand runs through his hair and comes to rest on the side of his face. Her thumb rubs away a tear track and suddenly he’s seven years old again. His big sister has come into his room to check on him after one of Dad’s blow ups. He also knows that just like when he was seven, they’ll both pretend like none of this happened come morning.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he stops her before she can fully leave. “About tomorrow, I’ll be there,” he clarifies. Shiv nods, leaning on the doorframe and hand hovering over the light switch. “Good, I’ll see you then.” She switches off the light and grabs the door handle. “And eat something beforehand, yeah?” She almost makes it sound like an afterthought, but they both know. “Bitch,” Roman mutters, rolling onto his side as Shiv shuts the door behind her.

[devildom-drabbles]

Snippet - Pumpkin Carvings

How would everyone carve their own pumpkin for decoration? 🎃

To get into the spirit of Halloween, MC decides to carve a pumpkin!  Once it’s finished, they leave it on the front porch of the House of Lamentation as a decoration.  Seeing MC’s finished pumpkin motivates the demon brothers and those who visit to carve pumpkins of their own.  Let's take a look at the designs each of them made and how they came to be!

(Click on the "pic ref" at the end of each description if you'd like a visual of a pumpkin that resembles what the character made. I do not own or take credit for any of the images.)

Lucifer actually had no intention of carving his own pumpkin due to his busy schedule and lack of interest in the activity.  However, after receiving enough pestering and taunting about making one since everyone else had done so, he’ll spend an evening locked in his room carving one of the most intricate designs the three realms have ever seen.  The tall pumpkin will depict an artistic rendition of the front of the House of Lamentation and its surrounding scenery, so visitors will see the large house in-person and then a smaller version of it by the doorstep.  (Satan and Belphegor have tried to smash the pumpkin, but the spell Lucifer put on it beforehand keeps it well-protected from any damage.) (pic ref)

Mammon gets really invested in carving his own pumpkin, confident that it will be the best one out of the bunch, and enjoys creating the final design.  With slanted eyes and the biggest mouth lined with pointed teeth, his jack-o-lantern leans more on the scary side, and he uses its appearance as a great opportunity to jump out of nowhere and spook his brothers and MC for a whole day.  When he wakes up in the middle of the night to see the scary pumpkin in front of his face (as revenge from the others), he becomes terrified of it and promptly puts it outside with the rest of the pumpkins.  (It’s still the best Halloween jack-o-lantern, he says, but just...only for decoration.) (pic ref)

Leviathan considers this activity his time to shine!  He'll happily utilize his artistic skills to display Ruri-chan and his other favorite anime characters (and let them shine) in jack-o-lanterns.  Yes, that’s right, Levi will end up carving multiple pumpkins because of his enthusiasm to decorate the outside of the house with the things he loves.  (He may not have stopped if it weren’t for Lucifer stepping in.)  Although most of his designs involve 2D characters, he’ll also craft a dragon similar to his chat icon since the light inside the pumpkin makes the dragon appear to be breathing fire. (pic ref)

Satan, without a doubt, will have a cat design on his pumpkin.  They’re one of the common symbols of Halloween in the human world, right, MC?  Well, that makes it all the more fitting, then!  Rather than carving the pumpkin to look like a cat face, however, he will cut the shape of a cat within the center, making it appear as though the cat is sitting while facing a full moon. He finds it to be adorable while still giving off a mysterious-like vibe. (pic ref) 

Asmodeus originally wanted to carve his face into the pumpkin, but nothing he did came remotely close to capturing his perfect complexion!  After some comfort and advice from MC, he’ll try again with a different design instead.  He ultimately goes with a “Day of the Dead”/”Sugar Skull” type of pumpkin carving, consisting of a skull that’s decorated with paint designs and some sparkly fake jewels and flowers (for that extra pop, he says).  It may not be his face, but it’s full of his charm, so he’s satisfied! (pic ref)

Beelzebub...forgot that he was supposed to be carving the pumpkin and ended up eating the whole thing instead.  Whoops.  Luckily, Belphegor had prepared for this and got an extra pumpkin for him.  Determined to do it properly this time, Beel will choose to snack on the seeds and guts of the pumpkin while working on a design similar to a cyclops type of monster.  Mike Wazowski, is that you?  He remembers MC mentioning how monsters are a common theme for Halloween, and the design allows him to cut out big pieces of the pumpkin to eat afterward. (pic ref)

Belphegor almost didn’t carve a pumpkin at all, but MC and Beelzebub’s excitement in the activity rubbed off on him and pushed him to try it.  He goes with a simple yet creepy face design, drawing it first with marker while Beel scoops out the insides of the pumpkin to eat.  Once it’s completely carved, Belphie’s jack-o-lantern glows ominously with x’s for eyes and a string of sharp-cut teeth.  The idea came from something he saw in a horror movie before, and since it was easy to design, he’s pleased with the result. (pic ref)

Diavolo will opt for a jack-o-lantern that mixes two of the most recurrent designs in the human world, according to what he found online and learned from MC.  His pumpkin has the usual eyes and nose, but the inside of the mouth spells out the word “Boo!”, which he thinks makes it extra fun.  He wanted it to be whimsical and approachable to everyone who visits the castle (just like he wants others to view him), so he intentionally avoided carving a scary design this time.  His pumpkin (along with Barbatos’s) is placed outside near the main castle doors. (pic ref)

Barbatos will want to match the same vibe that Diavolo is going for, so he’ll ensure that his own pumpkin is rather tame, too.  Rather than a typical jack-o-lantern face, though, he’ll paint and carve his to look like the head of an owl, including hollowing out eyes that give them depth and etching many of the other features, like feathers.  But why an owl?  Well, they’re a predator to rats, so Barbatos hopes his pumpkin will scare away those tiny wretched creatures. (pic ref)

Simeon will be eager to carve his own jack-o-lantern, but the problem is...he can’t decide on just one face design!  When he notices a tower of pumpkins while he’s at the market with his friends, he instantly figures out what he should do.  He carves four small pumpkins, each with a unique face and design that represents one of the members of Purgatory Hall, which include himself and Raphael.  His pumpkins are stacked together and are used to decorate the front porch area of Purgatory Hall, where Luke’s and Solomon’s own pumpkins are located as well. (pic ref)

Solomon knows that Halloween involves magic and spooky elements (among other things), so he’ll create a pumpkin design that meets both of those aspects.  After carving out a hole in the middle of the face of a large pumpkin, he’ll paint and place a smaller pumpkin inside of it so that the whole thing resembles an eyeball.  To top it off, he’ll enchant the pumpkin to be animated, allowing the “eye” to look around and even blink occasionally.  He has a lot of fun with making it, and he enjoys greeting it each time he enters and exits Purgatory Hall (as does Simeon, but Luke...not so much). (pic ref)

Luke will have a hard time coming up with an idea for his pumpkin until he decides to bake some pumpkin-flavored treats and notices his collection of cookie cutters. Inspired, he paints the outside of the pumpkin and then carves a shooting star-like design with the help of his cookie cutters and a hammer.  (Simeon supervised him, don’t worry.)  Michael’s love of the constellations motivated Luke to choose the star cookie cutters specifically.  Although the carving is simple, the light from within makes it stand out nicely just like the stars in the sky. (pic ref)

[missyourflight]

hello coming directly from your ao3 comments to your inbox to continue being unhinged your world building in space persuasion was sooo good, and i would love love to hear about the space media that inspired you! i also thought you translated SPACE so so well to F1, and i would love to hear just in general about how you went about making it feel so complete and real! and do you have favourite little details that didn't get a lot of airtime in the fic that you want to shine a light on to make me feel even more insane?

thank you kay!! 💖✨

i love love stories set in space - probably my favourite space film is sunshine (2007) but that is not really the vibe of space persuasion lol. i did make a lil visual inspo pinterest board which features the space casino from the last jedi, the hostesses from the fifth element, the casino de monte carlo and the blue lagoon in iceland (i saw a youtube video while i was warming up to write this fic and i was like, this needs more lake, and also someone take me to the spa pls). daniel's skiff is basically a lift from disney's treasure planet (i looked up some windsurfing terminology and i have Not retained it) and i watched the wachowski sisters' speed racer for some wacky races inspiration. the fleet is somewhere between battlestar galactica and star trek (don't worry about it). unfortunately the whole massive ramp/platform in the middle of the lake setup is heavily influenced by the triwizard tournament, because as loathsome as jkr is sometimes images from childhood stay with us! sticking the rest of this under a cut whoops

secret little details... the whole offscreen galex plot of them trying to pick up max's investigative slack in the background lol (and also they're in love). the annoying AI in daniel's room is my version of michael (sorry not sorry) and max's AI that kind of has his accent is supposed to be like a reminder of his mum (he also keeps the scrap of fabric from his mum's dress and his sister's bracelet with daniel's dogtags). i tried to somewhat mirror the structure of persuasion where there's the big incident at the centre of louisa's fall (daniel's crash in the fic) and then the back half of the story is about them coming back together.

when i write AUs i like to try and use related imagery so in the story there's like the three main strands of space stuff, casino/gambling stuff, and austen/period drama stuff, and all of it made me like unreasonably happy. my favourite space imagery is probably the stuff about comets - daniel remembering them watching comets together on the outpost and then thinking about getting to touch max every few years like a comet returning. favourite gambling image is probably daniel calling himself a bad bet, and also when he describes zak as a busted flush. so many self-indulgent austen references and half-references but a few i like are daniel telling alex he barely recognised max - shoutout wentworth describing anne as so altered he should not have known her again. any time daniel flexes his hand that's 2005 darcy. daniel lying down on the floor is johnny flynn knightley. daniel giving max the dogtags when the only thing he had to offer was himself/wentworth having nothing but himself to recommend him. and so on! daniel half-hoping when he touches max's hand at the gala a ref to the wentworth letter, half agony half hope etc, and then max's version of the letter as well obvs

also it's not austen without dancing imo so rule of three: when daniel bumps into max outside the spa they do an awkward shuffle-dance to get past each other; the actual gala where daniel asks max to dance but max thinks it's a joke; when they fuck and daniel thinks of it as a dance they've always known the steps to.

also i could have probably built up to a bit better but i like the lil bait and switch in the race where he thinks fernando's going to get him but actually it's jenson! and after he called him sweetheart and everything

lol thank you lovely kay for affording me the opportunity to go off about it!! 🪩

[bwobgames]

Previous First

Two teens are sitting in the carpet, watching YouTube videos on a phone, they pause it and look up judgementally.

"As a former teen, I understand the appeal of sitting on the floor instead of couches, but as a back-pain-prone creaky-knees adult, I no longer share these views"

"Are you two the couple having gay sex on the second floor?"

"When will I ever be free from the consequences of my actions"

"Nope, wrong person, we are the gay detective couple that were investigating the second floor"

"Oh, cops"

"Private detectives"

"Yeah, man, there's no gay cops"

"That makes more sense"

"Anyways! We need you guys to go to -"

"Actually, there is something else."

"There is?"

"Are you two Simon Coli and Owen by any chance"

"Uh, yeah? I'm Owen"

"I'm Simon"

"Do you happen to know anything about Mr. Coli's speedrunning incident ?"

They look at each other

"... Not really"

"Yeah! It was something about an anonymous link to a video of him doing a weird tour, right? We just read the news about it"

"I see"

"Another quick question"

"Are you lying to me?"

They freeze up

"Ah, I mightve been a little too intense there. Whoops"

"... Care to share your thought process, partner?"

"Oh! This is the part where the main detective says their hypothesis! What would Benoit Blanc do? Ah, yes! Slight undressing!"

"You're right Owen, it was an anonymous link sent to a reporter. It is interesting that you remember that specific detail.

You see, Mr Coli is known for being a man who cares a lot about his public image, it is weird that he would willingly put a video proving him guilty of multiple crimes and being put as a speedrun for a game, it's a bit silly isn't it?"

"And sure, maybe he just did it on a whim, maybe to just be funny or something"

"But wouldn't it make more sense

That it wasn't him who made and uploaded the video?"

"Ah, signs of anxiety, how familiar I am with them.

Still, as much as I think I'm right, this hypothesis doesn't have much to stand on, This just feels like something someone younger would do. Maybe if I apply a bit of pressure to them, they'll say something? I don't want to be mean to kids, though..."

"Partner. Partner help. Understand my telepathic message Ángel!"

"Owen, by any chance, you don't happen to know the speedrunning account Eugene happened to use when he was younger, right? Is not like he showed you it or anything.

And Mr. Little Coli, I suppose Eugene was never interested in telling you about his company or factories or anything. That would be crazy!"

"What. Where did he get that from. Did he talk to them before?

And he's not even undressing!"

"Ah, it would also be very convenient if they knew someone who owned a lot of cameras"

An anxious atmosphere hangs over the room

"Um, we are not trying to arrest you or anything!! I think it was very , uh, poggers? If you exposed him like that?"

"... Never say poggers again."

"Duly noted"

"Let me be honest, we think your dad invited us here to kill us all. And we need to know the truth of the speedrunning incident to finally figure out what he is planning exactly"

"Wha... We're going to die?!"

"Ah, don't worry! We are taking care of it! Look! I haven't died yet!"

Ángel makes a weird expression

"Let me get to the point. I think you guys made the video without him knowing.

The fact that it was recorded as some kind of tour, replacing the sound of voices, and that it would be unlike Mr. Coli to set himself up like that makes me think it was some type of secret recording

And what Ángel said would fit really well to this theory, too.

There is no motive to the speedrun because it was never supposed to be a speedrun.

So please tell us, we need to know what it is that actually happened"

"Our lives could be at risk"

"... You won't snitch to the police or anything?"

"The only thing I've ever told the police is 'I request a lawyer' "

The teens look at eachother

" ...Um, it was the three of us actually"

[androxys]

Androxys Reads... Batman #402 and #403

Welcome back to Androxys Reading Comics! If you’re just joining, all my reads can be found under #androxys reads comics. Today’s sampling: Batman #402 and #403, both collected in Batman: Second Chances. Let’s get right into it.

[Batman #402]

I think it’s so dramatic to put Batman’s logo in the middle of the melodramatic narration boxes, but also, it’s kinda camp. Go off king. Seek your “human target.”

I see our hapless victims are literally named Dick and Jane, because of course they are. You have to conjure up the image of youthful innocence, right before you slap them with the narration that “they’re slumming tonight – because they’re into Rock ‘n’ Roll.” In this case, I guess “slumming” means going to a rock show in a poorer part of town? This street of Gotham they’re on doesn’t look any grimier than any other?

Gratuitous 80’s violence is gratuitous… The man’s teeth are knocked out and the woman is threatened by the lecherous man, because as we all know, terrible violence only exists in poorer communities because poor people are bad. Ronald Reagan told me so.

A silhouetted Batman strikes, snapping the two muggers’ necks, because again, it’s the 80’s.

[Batman #402]

This little segment is interesting because in some ways, we sure have been using this same plot forever as a foil to Batman, huh? “Your way doesn’t fix things, so I have to Cross The Line to make it matter.” This is just the second Batman comic of New Earth, and yet here’s this theme already. I think Under the Red Hood will do it better, of course, but it’s worth calling out where this thread pops up.

[Batman #402]

Wait a minute! You’re not Bruce!

Because the murder was committed by That Guy in a Batman suit, GCDP supposes that Batman just went off the deep end and is killing now. They lure him to the rooftop by way of Batsignal, and I really like the narration here:

“Three A.M. – Late for the familiar yellow beam to pierce the sky – but the Batman doesn't think twice when summoned by his old friend. He doesn’t even think once. He just goes.”

What a sweet way to portray the depth of his relationship with Gordon: when he sees the signal, he assumes Gordon needs him, and he doesn’t hesitate. That speaks volumes, especially knowing who Bruce will become.

[Batman #402]

It is a trap, though, and his little “whoops” is hilarious to me.

Bruce notes that he didn’t see Gordon on the rooftop, but he did see Deputy Commissioner Barnes, leading him to muse that they’ve both been betrayed. Frankly, I think the fact that they shot on sight is evidence enough for that– Gordon is a special comic character, if only because he knows what Miranda Rights are.

[Batman #402]

I can’t keep highlighting every time Bruce and Jim are friends, but I will do it until they drag me away from my keyboard. They’re precious to me, your honor. The other thing in this panel is how to Bruce, crime is crime. Muggings are never “simple,” something to be trivialized. He should know.

[Both from Batman #402]

Okay… I know in my last post I hunkered down as a Jason Defender, but I have to play it evenly. There’s the panel here where Jason asks Bruce “what would be so wrong if you did [kill those muggers]?” Bruce and Jason have a conversation after that, Bruce emphasizing that “murder is the line we must not cross.” Jason counters that Bruce has killed before, which Bruce notes was in self-defense. I have to assume this is a pre-Crisis element that was folded into the New Earth continuity, in the same way that we’re accepting that Jason is Bruce’s ward already, rather than all comics starting at the beginning of the timeline. We’ll have flashback comics to flesh out that timeline (like the upcoming Year One) but this is still a bit in media res, with some Pre-Crisis stuff still being on the table until proven otherwise. See, this is the sort of confusing comics stuff that drives people nuts.

Bruce ends this conversation by saying that “if we’re no better than the lice who snuff out human life like it’s worth nothing at all, then, well – then it’s time I hung up my cowl.” Jason replies “I guess. But I’m still glad those guys are dead.'' Bruce admits that he agrees, though he’s not proud of it.

If the Batman comics right now are utilizing a blend of Pre-Crisis elements and a nebulous, still undefined New Earth continuity, Jason is really getting a raw deal. Because any/all of his old Pre-Crisis cheer and magic is still potentially there, but at the same time, I feel like we’re seeing the seeds for the death of Felipe Garzonas here. Jason asks the question, “is it so bad if you did kill them?” and doesn’t seem convinced by the answer. Bruce is empathetic to Jason’s sentiment, but Bruce has demonstrated that his sympathy to that idea does not extend to action. His ideals are too strong. Jason, on the other hand, is still in a more precarious spot.

Bruce goes out to interview the widow of a woman who was killed by the same muggers, who admits to Bruce that he’s also glad that they’re dead. The theme of this comic seems to be apathy towards human life.

Hmm… don’t like the quotes around “police brutality” there, Gordon. I feel like what you’re describing is pretty clearly misconduct by one of your cops, actually.

[Both from Batman #402]

Another Jason moment here… another instance of him not seeming to have a clear eye on what it is that they do, what the mission is about. I feel you can tie this back to Batman #401, which was all about establishing what that mission is. We the reader are being guided here, to make our own decisions on what Batman is about, and if we agree more with Bruce or Jason.

[Batman #402]

Batman is on the hunt for the suspect, and he muses that he wants this to be an underworld conspiracy rather than a “good cop gone bad” situation. We know that Batman believes in the cause of justice, but I feel this tiptoes a little closely to the idea that there are people for whom it’s more of a tragedy for them to succumb to crime, rather than taking the position that it’s tragic for anyone to become a criminal. I don’t know, there just seems to be an implicit writing off of criminals that once they’ve become criminals, well, that’s all we can expect of them. But this good cop, this good and decent man, oh how awful.

Bruce also acknowledges that the similarity in this imposter’s mission is to take on crime, just as Batman’s is, and he even recognizes why Jason makes that connection. But it doesn’t clear the insurmountable hurdle that is the sanctity of human life, which separates them. One distinction, but a huge one.

Batman races to save a mob assassin who’s getting immunity and witness protection in return for testimony, which he seems none too pleased about.

[Batman #402]

Just last issue, I spent a lot of time talking about how one of Batman’s great virtues was that he empathized with the criminals he fights, even as he brings them to justice for their crimes. Yet here, he obviously holds no love for Snuffer. What gives? If pressed, I’d say it’s the difference between Magpie’s crimes being rooted in mental illness (however poorly portrayed) versus Snuffer’s being a killer for money. There’s a disregard for human life (again, that theme) that Snuffer has calculated and accepted, versus Magpie who is portrayed as more “helpless” against herself.

The imposter drops down, screaming that Snuffer doesn’t deserve to live… and sentiment that Bruce doesn’t seem to disagree with, but again, the whole point is that life is sacred, no matter how scummy the person is.

Robin drops in and distracts the guy long enough for Bruce to lay him out, leaving only the police to come by and pick the imposter up.

[Batman #402]

This panel drives me a little bonkers. “Who am I but just another guy who thinks he’s Batman?” Bruce you are Batman! You invented it! But it’s also a recognition of Batman-as-idea, Batman-as-symbol. Bruce’s invention has gone on to mean something, and people are interpreting their own meaning from it just as fast as he can do actions under its banner. This idea especially drives me nuts when thinking about all the legacy characters and proteges who will take up this banner with their own flair, and what it means to them–to stop crime, to bring justice, to value life–though each with their own lines.

Also, let's all appreciate another moment of Small Jason.

Batman #403 starts with the imposter escaping police custody. I realize I never stated his name; his name is Tommy Carma. I guess there are only so many Batman villain names. Anyway, after Tommy breaks out of Arkham (oh hey, is this the first Arkham appearance in New Earth?) we get a smash cut to Bruce on a date with Vicki Vale. Vicki is dragging Batman for filth, which is made even funnier when she admits that what attracts her to Bruce is that he has “broad shoulders and millions of dollars…” and that he doesn’t wear a mask. Sis.

Interesting geography note, Arkham is listed here as being to the north of Gotham City, out in the county, and not too far from Wayne Manor. We learn this because Tommy is headed there, looking for Bruce Wayne. When the police later search for him, it seems that it’s actually easy to accidentally cross over from Arkham property to Wayne property. I don’t know if this is because they’re right up next to each other, or because the Waynes own large tracts of Kane County. My gut would say the latter. 

In their car, Bruce and Vicki are discussing Carma–Vicki wonders if the mob’s killing his wife and kid caused his mind to snap, leading him to become this murderous Batman. Bruce, who also suffered a tragic loss that made him Batman, tactfully asks if Vicki wonders if the real Batman ever suffered something similar. Smooth, Bruce. Really though, I read this as another point in the long string of “people have Bad Days and some people handle them well and some people don’t” moments that Batman comics like to use. Anyway, did you know this was published a year and a half before The Killing Joke? I wonder what that writing to publication timeline looked like.

[Batman #403]

Fortunately, Bruce doesn’t seem too put out by Vicki’s putting Batman down. He and Jason go down to the Batcave, only to discover that the Batmobile is missing! This is because when Tommy Carma was hiding from the police, he ducked into a natural opening that ended up being connected to a larger cave system. He followed that cave into the Batcave, which really just makes me concerned about Bruce’s security. (Glances in Bruce Wayne: Murderer)

[Batman #403]

I also want to point out now that until he dons a Batsuit, Tommy Carma has been running from the police in this little crop top and sweatpants. I love the look.

Bruce, Jason, and Alfred use actual detective work to deduce that somehow, Tommy Carma got in the cave, and that he must have taken the Batmobile. I love seeing these three find clues and make inferences–it sounds like a gimme, that they’ll do detective work in Detective Comics Comics’ Detective Comics, but you’d be surprised.

Batman heads out on the Batcycle to find Gordon and let him know that Carma jacked his ride, where Gordon then tells Batman that really this is all Bruce Wayne’s fault. Smooth. Batman doesn’t seem too pressed, and jumps off a building.

[Batman #403]

Batman has realized that to kill the hitman, Carma would have had to know the address, so he finds his mole. They spat back and forth for a bit about the difference between a sin and a crime, and there’s a little dash of cop-moralizing in there.

[Batman #403]

Maybe more than a dash. I’m sure there’s an essay in me about these two panels, but it drives me crazy that these “good busts” are getting lamented when it sounds like part of the blame is being placed on… civil liberties? Police brutality is not a shortcut! Civil liberties and peoples’ rights are not roadblocks to cops, or at least they shouldn’t be viewed that way. They are things that protect us from systemic abuse and overreach of power. That’s part of what carves Batman out–he’s not systemic! He was not created by a government or a representative out of some social contract. He is not beholden to the same expectations and guidelines as the police. That’s part of the whole point!

Carma is a critique of an overzealous Batman, and how there are moral lines that Batman can’t cross. At the same time, they’re saying “if [Carma] hadn’t idolized you, he’d have made a fine cop.” Because he would have stayed in bounds? The cop Batman’s shaking down seems to regret that Carma was violent and disregarded procedure, but it’s just not clear if he hates that because Carma violated people’s rights, or just because it meant they couldn’t put the bad guy away. There’s a difference.

[Batman #403]

I don't really have anything to say here, other than that Bruce canonically talks to his car.

[Batman #403]

This is the end, and no notes. Just everyone read these two panels and burn them into your mind.

I’ll see folks next time for Year One!

[whennnow]

Regency Chemise 3.0

August 14, 2019

[Image ID: a photo of Alex from neck to knees wearing a chemise, or shift, made of unbleached muslin]

The next step in my Regency sewing adventure (and the thing that should have been first) - a chemise! Regency chemises are fairly simple garments. Washable and worn next to the skin, they kept dirt, sweat, oils, etc, from getting onto less washable clothing.

Note: This is actually my third attempt at making a Regency chemise. Chemise 1.0 was somehow WAY too short. Chemise 2.0 was so narrow that I couldn’t get it on over my shoulders (whoops). I was planning on fixing it by adding panels down the center front and making it Chemise 2.1, but somehow I lost the left and right parts. (The center panels-to-be are being repurposed as part of my petticoat!)

I meant to follow this tutorial from “St Andrew’s Rare Books,” but things got a bit out of hand. It's a good guide, though! The page provides cutting instructions, but I disregarded those - in part because I had already reworked the measurements from chemise 2.0, and in part because I wasn’t working with a continuous cut of fabric. Two or so years ago I bought a bunch of muslin for my chemise, stays, and petticoat, but things have since been used and cut up for other purposes (like chemises 1.0 and 2.0). I did some math and measuring and managed to cut the chemise from some of the left over muslin.

In the end, all I used from the tutorial was the basic pattern shapes - front and back bodies, four side gores, two sleeves, and two underarm gussets.

Then, to speed things along, I did all the seams by machine. Gussets were attached to the sleeves. Gores went on to each side of the front and back, and those got attached at the shoulders. Then I attached the sleeves and did up the sides. I only realized after the fact that I had attached the sleeves inside out (sigh), but decided I didn’t care enough to fix it. It'll be worn under other things.

Then I hand felled all the seams, the hem, and the ends of the sleeves. I used leftover bias tape from my short stays to finish the neckline and add a drawstring channel all at once, leaving an opening at center front. I threaded that with some grosgrain ribbon, washed and ironed it, and TA-DA! A chemise!

Now, clearly this was a learning experience (I mean, it took me three attempts to make a fairly simple garment), so here’s some things I wish I had taken into account earlier.

1) Make sure the width at the bottom of the underarm gussets is wide enough to get your shoulders through and then some.

2) Don’t make the side gores perfect triangles - make the top “point” flat, as wide as the seam allowances for both sides plus a bit of breathing room. That'll ensure you aren't trying to merge seams, because that was complicated.

3) Fell your seams as you go! Doing the seams all in one go and then felling got a bit complicated when seams overlapped. It wasn’t too bad, but I would have gone a bit easier if I hadn’t done that. And a note: I have no idea what you’re supposed to do when felling where the side seam splits for the sleeve, and it seems lots of other people don’t either. Fake it till you make it!

Stay warm, stay safe, stay dry.

[Image ID: one shoulder of the Regency chemise laid flat, showing the neckline drawstring casing, and the seaming between the main body panel, one side gore, the sleeve, and the underarm gusset]

[but-the-entire-circus]

Dubious meetup - Upright

Lynette kept her eyes on the chatroom that was opened on her tablet. The unchanged text Someone is joining! and the three dots have been haunting her for the past five minutes. Her chat partner that she was set up with must've been busy. All she did for those tormenting minutes is play with her floppy ears, but immediately let them fall onto her shoulder the moment the chat updated.

Nickname: IronFang Age: Prefers not to say Species: Prefers not to say Gender: Prefers not to say

After reading it, she couldn't help but notice the lack of information in the fast profile, but regardless she greeted the chat partner as soon as her friend left the chatroom.

Linny: Hello! IronFang: hello IronFang: what do you want to know or do?

Lynettes hands hovered over the keyboard after that quick message. Well whoever this was, they didn't beat around the bush. She started typing: I would like to have a m, then quickly deleted it. She thought if she started with her actual reason, she would've been quickly dropped, since how ridicoulus it was.

Linny: General dirt on the company, about the c regulations or the mass mergers IronFang: stories or documents? Linny: Anecdotes mostly IronFang: ill see what i can do

She lifted her hands up to gently rub the bridge of her nose. This was way too easy. Yes, chat group was to hook up reporters looking for a scoop, and people who are deep in scoopable secret situations, but this was way too easy. Her hands returned to the screen.

Linny: Can I ask something personal? Ironfang: what Linny: What are you contracted to work? IronFang: im not answering that Linny: or like which branch? IronFang: im not telling

Both of them typed at the same time, and when they noticed they both stopped. The awkward pause could be felt through the ethernet. Lynette was the first start typing again.

Linny: How do I know that you aren’t egging me on?

Then, she waited for a response. And it did come, however strange it was.

IronFang: im in one of the dressing room rn IronFang: if i take a picture of someone in the same room, will you believe me? Linny: I have to see the picture first A picture was sent in the third channel!

Lynette looked at the picture and froze. One of the main stars, the husky sat in front of a vanity table, listlessly painted her fur in a room full of stuff. Different paints, clothes were thrown all over the room, next to her a half drank iced coffe sat on a table. She copied the image and reverse image searched it. No identical copies showed up, only similar ones, but those were much more flattering.

Linny: Okay, I believe you. Linny: And you can talk to other employees about it safely? IronFang: yes i joined late so theyre more likely to tell me IronFang: and i can sneak some papers from the office Linny: Are you sure? Aren’t they kind of confidential? IronFang: yes but they trust me IronFang: is linny your real name

This was a bit of a curveball for her. Was it really that obvious?

Linny: Abbreviation of it, yes IronFang: Next time change it, i will change it too IronFang: ill invite you when i get some info IronFang: then change name

Whoops, she should've thought about it a bit more, but hey, this was her first time.

Linny: Okay IronFang: im leaving bye Linny: Bye

She kept staring at her screen as IronFang left the chatroom, as if they were in a hurry. Well, it was abrupt, and now her supposed partner in crime was gone, but all she could do is hope that they will actually return with real information. She plugged in the tablet to charge it, then she stood up to leave the room, while holding onto her ears again.

[rukunas]

—welcome back, master

pairing: keigo takami (hawks) x maid!reader

warnings: smut, use of term “master”, reader has slight negative body image, body impact (spanking), edging (male receiving), oral (male receiving), use of terms “whore” and “slut”, facial, mentions of hawks being animalistic, predator-and-prey undertones

author’s note: this is a part of @pupimouto’s collab, dress up. please send all the writers some love for their works !!

You blink at your reflection, eyes squinting as you pick apart everything wrong with your uniform— a lot, actually. The skirt is short, showing a lot more leg than you’d really like. The stockings are too tight, pushing up the fat of your thighs so that they sit plump above the socks. The headband doesn’t sit right on your head, slumping down so it tilts back unnaturally.

Maybe this is a bad idea.

It all started as a joke, you laying on Keigo’s stomach as the two of you spilled expired secrets— “I cheated on my fifth grade math test.” “I skipped a meeting with the Commission and took a nap on the roof.” “I was obsessed with maid cafes in high school and ditched 7th period every day to go to one.”

That last one had you lifting your head up to meet his eyes. “What?”

Keigo gave you a crooked grin, feathers fluttering slightly in embarrassment. “What? I liked maids, alright. Everyone had stupid phases in high school.”

“Yeah, okay, my phase was getting a stick-and-poke on the bottom of my foot. Yours is going to a maid cafe.” You giggled, nudging his arm with yours. “What, do maids turn you on?”

“It’s not like that anymore!” He’d blushed, shifting so that he can stand up, obviously over the conversation.

It was far from over though, how could it be when you just got your hands on the juiciest piece of information you’d ever gotten on the Number #2 Hero? Keigo is such a secretive man, always on the go and never being able to share the itty-gritty details of his childhood. But this, this was too good. You couldn’t let it go.

And you didn’t, teasing him whenever you could. “Welcome back, Master!” You’d beam at the door when he’d come back for work. Keigo would stare at you before flicking your forehead. On the occasional times when you’d make dinner, you’d doodle little drawings of ketchup and sauces on the side of the plate, just like real maids do at cafes. “Enjoy your meal, Master!” Your “Master” would give you a saccharine-sweet smile before pinching your ass with a feather.

“Let it go already.”

You decided to spare some mercy— in fact, you hadn’t once teased him again about his maid obsession in three weeks. That is until the bell to your apartment rang, a thick brown box sitting right outside your door, your name pressed up on the sticker in bold.

Whoops.

You’d forgotten about the package you ordered a month back, just something you saw on a small Etsy page— “A maid uniform, perfect for roleplay!” Without checking over the measurements, you ordered the only size available, grinning at your evil scheme. There may have been a villainous cackle involved as well as you added it to your cart.

But now, frowning at the full-length mirror in your room, you think this is too much. The costume is a size too small, it doesn’t seem to fit right, and you don’t look or feel sexy. Bleh.

You turn one more time to see how the outfit looks from the back when you hear the door open from the balcony, followed by a whistling tune.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He wasn’t supposed to be here this early, why is he here this early? Your fingers fumble with the straps on the stockings that connect with the panties underneath the skirt, desperately trying to pull off your stupid costume.

“Dove, I’m home. Where ya at?”

His footsteps patter down the hall, him getting closer to the bedroom.

“Don’t come in! Keigo, don’t come in, I’m—”

The stupid sock just won’t come off as you tug on it, the fabric sticking to your skin. You lift your leg midair and try to yank it off, only to stumble on the carpet.

“Ah—!”

Your fall is saved by a single red feather holding your body upwards by pinching your blouse. As you find your balance again, the feather recoils and flutters in the air, your eyes following its path back to its spot in the wings of your boyfriend.

Speaking of whom, Keigo looks absolutely stunned.

He’s never been one to be lost for words, but here is, eyes wide and lips parted as he stares and stares and stares. The silence is deafening and it makes you squirm in place and laugh awkwardly.

“Surprise.” You whisper under your breath, but Keigo doesn’t move. Fuck. You must have gone too far with this prank.

You gulp. “Kei, it was a joke, ‘m taking it off now—”

“No, no, no.” In a snap, his usual charisma jumps back into action, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a sinister grin as he leans against the door frame, hands deep in his pockets. His eyes flicker wildly. “You wanted to be a maid, why don’t you go ahead and be my maid?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

You furrow your brows but play along. “Um... welcome back, Master.”

Keigo rolls his eyes at the pitiful performance. “You can do better than that, c’mon now. You’ve teased me for months, sweetheart, go ahead and give me a show.”

Keigo’s always been a tease, it’s what drew you to him in the first place. He flirted his way to your heart after all, persistent in finding ways to make you simultaneously blush and swoon.

He’s a tease, sure, but so are you.

Pulling yourself together, you offer him a glowing smile. “Welcome back, Master.”

Keigo seems a lot more accepting this time, pulling himself off the door to walk towards you. “Thanks, dove.”

That gleam in his eyes is still there, effective in blooming butterflies in your stomach. Keigo spreads his wings as he gets close, the effect making his teeth look sharper, his eyes look darker. His fingers seem to grow talons as his nails gently rake across your cheek, his other hand coming up to fix the headband that lays on your hair.

“All this for me, huh? Cute.” Feathers swoop from his wings to poke at the fat of your thighs, and you giggle, keeping the tone light when you know Keigo wants to make it much, much darker.

“Wanna please your Master?” He asks, smile never fading. You nod your head, swallowing, but keeping a matching grin.

He dips down so that his lips brushes your ear. “Then show me.”

With that, he pulls himself back, seating himself on the bed with his legs spread, wings following pursuit.

You walk over before kneeling, keeping that retail smile. Pretty fingers curl over the waistband of Keigo’s pants before he tsks.

“Maids should ask for permission, shouldn’t they?”

He’s just being cheeky now, but you follow along, batting your lashes to seal the deal. “Master, may I?”

His forearms prop back to shift his hips forward, a feather moving to lift the hem of his shirt and pin it against his chest, giving you a perfect view of his abs. “Of course, sweet thing.”

Not a moment of hesitation goes by as you tug down his trousers and boxers in one swift motion, his pretty cock bobbing up and slapping his lower stomach. Keigo is fairly sized when it comes to his length, but more importantly, he’s thick, prominent veins running along the bottom to emphasize how hard he is. The swollen tip weeps white pearls which you catch with your thumb, pumping the moisture down to his base.

“Wow, Master.” You flutter your lashes as Keigo groans. “I thought you said you were over your maid obsession.”

Before he can say another word, your lips press against him, kissing the underside of his cock before moving up to suckle his tip.

“F— fuck. That’s it, baby.”

His breath wavers above you as you take more of him, making sure to breathe through your nose before swallowing him whole. It’s uncomfortable sometimes, to be honest, with the way your jaw aches from the girth of him and how the hairs of his happy trail tickle your nose. But hearing his moans switches something inside you, you feeling yourself getting wet with every single involuntary twitch of Keigo’s hips.

When you feel him getting close, the hands on your head tightening into fists, you pull back.

His chest heaves, sweat beading his temples while his jaw remains clenched. Furry eyebrows are pulled together tight enough to leave a pinch in his forehead.

He’s pissed. Good. He fucks better when he’s mad.

You beam up at him as if you haven’t just edged him. “Master, you only requested me until 7. From the looks of it, it’s”— you tug his left forearm, where he keeps his watch, the minute hand is pointed just a few ticks after the 12— “7:03. I should be going now. I have other clients to serve, y’know.”

You’re up and off the ground, turning towards the door on your heel before a large palm wraps around your wrist and tugs you back, hard enough to have to stumble back onto the bed with a gasp.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” Keigo hisses, his cock pressing up against your thighs as he crawls over you.

“I think...” he fingers the buttons of the shirt, “you’ll stay here until I’m fully satisfied with you.” Those talons from earlier are quick to rip your blouse right in half, your tits fully exposed to his greedy eyes.

“Keigo!” You break out of character in shock, his sharp teeth nipping away at your plush breasts. He smacks the side of your ass in punishment before going back to leave hickeys on your cleavage, lavender blossoms planted on your soft skin.

Once he’s satisfied with his work, his eyes meet yours. “Turn around.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you shuffle onto your back, raising your ass while pressing your cheek to the bed. Keigo laughs, hands harshly grabbing onto the sides of your hips and kneading away.

“Needy little slut. All you want to do is satisfy your Master, right?”

You nod into the pillow. “Y— yes, Master. Just want you to fuck me.”

He takes his time peeling up your skirt and ripping off your panties— as if he’s unwrapping a present, one fit for a hero— but he gives you no time to adjust as he thrusts himself in. Immediately, you cry out.

“M—Master!”

He’s already starting a wild pace, hypnotized by the way he splits your folds, the way your tight pussy spits him out and sucks him right in, right where he belongs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, who knew my little maid was a whore.” He taunts as you whine into a pillow, fingers fisting away at the sheets to try and find some sort of stability as Keigo thrusts hard, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix every time he pushes in.

“Kei-“

With this being the second time you fucked up, Keigo’s less merciful. He pulls out so just the tip of his cock remains inside you, knowing how needy you’ll get without all of him.

“Master! Master, m’sorry, please fuck me.” You whimper, wiggling your hips as you try to fuck yourself back on his cock.

The corner of Keigo’s mouth quirks up into a smirk. “Fuck yourself on my cock.” He slaps your ass, the rings on his fingers making the hit harsher and leaving behind pretty red marks. “C’mon dove, work for it. You’re not my maid for nothing.”

It’s pathetic, the way you roll your hips to impale yourself on his length. Drool drips onto your chin and cheek, Keigo making it worse when he pulls you up by your neck and sticks two fingers into your mouth.

“Such a drooling mess all for me. What’s got you all worked up, dove?”

“Ngh! Y—you, Master, you’re so big.” Your words are muffled, but he hears them clearly, confidence boosting as he flips you over and uses you like you’re his fuckdoll, something he can use to get off. He’s got one hand on your neck, squeezing so that your moans sound even more incomprehensible.

When Keigo fucks you like this, you feel like a slut and sound like a whore.

The thought makes that build-up inside you come undone, you cumming all over him with a scream, hands quick to latch onto his biceps for stability.

“Did my pretty little maid cum?” Keigo coos, watching as the eyes you had screwed shut quickly reopen, wide and teary and perfectly wrecked, mascara smeared and leaving black trails on your skin. His eyes are glowing, gold flecks emphasizing his animalistic glare as he stares at your bouncing tits, your pretty skirt disheveled and pushed up around your waist.

Keigo was wrong, his maid obsession never went away. Fuck, he was hard the second he saw you, and even with his cock pressed deep inside your clenching walls, he still feels like he’s never been taunted more than this. All he wants to do is paint you white, show you that this is what you get for being a tease.

You’re quick to reverberate his thoughts, squirming from the overstimulation— “Want you to cum, Master! Pleasepleaseplease.”

Keigo picks up the pace. “Want my cum? Beg for it.”

And you do, crying so prettily for him, an angel singing up in the heavens. He pulls himself out, groaning as he spills himself right on your chest, a few streaks of white splattering your face, landing on your lips and cheeks.

His chest heaves as he takes a thick finger, swiping his cum off of your chest before sticking it in your mouth. You suck obediently, lips quirking up in a toldyouso as you do.

“Satisfied, Master?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

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[starculler]

idle thought of the day:

Anakin with a tattoo of the Jedi Order's symbol really big across his back

He didn't set out that day intending to get any tattoo, let alone that one. No, he was just supposed to be out with Rex and some of their men, enjoying one of the rare stretches of peace they rarely experience during the war. They find a bar, they sit down, order drinks

And no one's really drunk. They're professionals and even if they're on leave, there's always a chance they'll get called up for an emergency. So no, no one's drunk, but they're just this side of tipsy. Enough in their systems to loosen up and have a good time.

Except Anakin who's only managed to smuggle himself a single drink he swiped from Rex because he's not only tonight's designated ride back, but also barely 20 and looser tongues have taken to ribbing him for "underage" drinking. Still, it's nice and fun and when they pile out sometime past midnight, no one's really itching to head back.

Finding a tattoo parlor isn't hard -- they tend to crop up everywhere large groups of clones frequent. It's a luxury, indulging in a professional shop when most of the men get theirs done by experienced brothers, but tonight they have time and credits and it'd be a shame to pass up the opportunity.

Anakin watches three troopers sit, or lay down, for new designs. Watches the group offer suggestions, teasing and joking and enjoying themselves in ways the war doesn't usually allow. And he's content to fade into the background a bit until one of them drags him right into the spotlight.

"What about you, General?"

He startles, ten pairs of eyes -- eleven counting the pantoran tattoo artist -- suddenly staring at him. Anakin shrugs. He's never thought about it, and when that becomes clear enough his men are all too happy to contribute their own ideas.

It's a mix of teasing and cajoling nothing serious behind it until the pantoran arches a brow and asks if he's next as soon as the last person's vacated the chair.

He didn't come for a tattoo. Didn't plan on doing anything more than spend a night out with the men he fights alongside. Maybe it's the good humor in the air or the way some of them watch him, all wide-eyed excitement and grinning, but he takes a step forward. And another. And another until he's in the chair and someone he doesn't see whoops. That sets off another round of excited chattering, ideas being tossed back and forth.

He listens, laughing along with them at the more outrageous suggestions, and feels his lightsaber shift against his leg when he moves to sit a little more comfortably. The idea strikes light lightning -- quick and impulsive.

"The Jedi's symbol," he says, turning to the pantoran who nods and sets to work once Anakin's -- technically Rex who pulls it up on the net, some piece of propoganda where Obi-Wan's pauldron is clearly visible -- given him an image to work with.

It's simple, just a black outline, but he grins the moment the pantoran lets him up and shows it to him in the mirror. A few of the men clap him on the shoulder, congratulating him on his first taste of ink until Rex steps in and herds them all out once the credits have been paid and the necessary bacta applied.

They stop only for a moment, snapping a quick holo of Anakin and the three troopers with their new tattoos on display, before shuffling off for blissful sleep.

(Anakin gets a copy of the picture sent to him and keeps it on a special datapad full of pictures of the people he cares about most.)

Nothing changes afterward, back on the Resolute II and heading off to their next battle, but if there's a smattering of the 501st with the outline of the Order's symbol painted large and proud in blue on their armor's backplates, well. That's simply one of the many quirks unique to Anakin's batallion.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

just kidding, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: There was a time where you would be out partying, getting drunk and fucking up a storm. But you’re different now. You stopped drinking. Now you’re the one waiting for Kim Taehyung to call so you can pick him up from his drunken adventures. There’s just one small hitch –  Taehyung’s roommate, Jeon Jungkook, offering you a mojito.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, (a little) alcohol consumption; slight crack at the start lol; smut (fem reader, thigh riding, handjob, fingering, m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU; Jungkook is a tempter and he knows it; noona!reader and you’re a nympho, whoops

--

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh.”

Jeon Jungkook blinked at you, holding out the mojito.

“But… I made it.”

“That’s true. But I don’t drink.”

He pursed his lips and frowned.

“You sure?” he asked, putting on his best puppy eyes.

“Yup.”

“I promise it’s not poisoned.”

You laughed, jangling your car keys. “I have to drive later. But also, I do not drink.”

He nodded and took a sip of it. “It’s really smooth.”

You smiled and went back to your phone. Kim Taehyung was supposed to text you in a bit so you could pick him up from a party. In exchange, he let you borrow his computer to play League of Legends since he had a better PC and internet than your apartment. There was an event going on, so you had to grind games. You were getting tired though and you didn’t want to be in the middle of a game when Taehyung called half-drunk.

Now you were sitting on the couch, as Taehyung’s roommate Jeon Jungkook stood there and took sips from his mojito. Just standing there, thinking. He did that a lot, drifting off into space randomly. You figured it was some sort of weird habit. He was wearing a striped black-and-white turtleneck and black leather pants. His cheek-length black hair was pinned back on the right side, revealing his undercut. It seemed like he was going out, but he had spent all night in his room before going to the kitchen and then appearing with said mojito. Why? Honestly, you had no idea.

“Are you going somewhere?” you asked, looking up at him from the sofa.

Jungkook snapped out of it and stared at you. “What?”

You pointed to his outfit. “You’re dressed all fancy.”

Jungkook looked down. “Oh. Uh, not really. I was going to go with Taehyung tonight but I had an assignment to finish that I forgot about. I never changed.”

You nodded. Hm.

Okay.

“How do you know Taehyung-ssi, anyway, noona?”

“I sucked his dick once.”

Jungkook nearly dropped his glass.

You calmly scrolled through Instagram. You flickered your eyes up to see Jungkook’s shocked face and his red ears.

“I’m kidding,” you chuckled, seeing Jungkook blink rapidly to collect himself. “I used to be the Biology lab TA. He’d ask for help a lot. And he plays League, so we ended up hanging out. Also, I have a car.”

“R-right…” Jungkook crab-walked to the armchair next to the sofa and sat down, placing his drink on the table. “Right, yeah.”

You two sat in silence, rather comfortable for you, rather awkward for Jungkook. You didn’t come here that often, but it was always only to borrow Taehyung’s internet or to pick him up from random outings. It was never a big deal to you, as Taehyung was always nice and bought you food later as thanks. As for Jeon Jungkook, he was just kind of there. Introverted, quiet, sometimes piped up to inquire about something when he was curious. You weren’t exactly talkative, but he didn’t bother you either, so it was never too memorable.

“What’s on your shirt?” Jungkook asked, tilted his head.

You lifted your phone to give him a better look at the nine-pointed star and bleeding goat head of your long-sleeved black shirt. “It’s an American metal band.”

Jungkook blinked at you. “You listen to metal?”

You put your phone back down. “Yup.”

You suddenly remembered your legs were wide open because you were wearing your black velvet pants and they were hot as fuck. Wearing these was a mistake. You closed your legs and settled them on the couch. They had been expensive though, so you felt like you had to wear them to get your money’s worth. Damnnit. Why did you buy these again?

“Why don’t you drink alcohol?”

You closed Instagram and opened Twitter. “Because I become sexually uninhibited.”

Silence.

You looked up to see Jungkook trying to process what you said, imaginary question marks popping on top of his head.

“It means I fuck anything with legs, Jungkook.”

His brown doe eyes went wide. “W-what?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, you know, one time one of my friends caught me in a room with my clothes off blowing three guys at once, so I figured, hmm, maybe I shouldn’t drink anymore. That ever happen to you?” you added nonchalantly.

Jungkook shook his head so quickly his long black hair floated in the air.

“Huh. Well, me neither,” you chuckled. “I was just kidding.”

Jungkook looked like a mother who was trying to process all of their child’s sex escapades. “That’s good then. Whew,” he remarked with an awkward laugh. He took another long, hasty sip of his mojito.

“It was four guys.”

Jungkook nearly choked. He snapped his head up to see your shoulders shaking as you tried to contain your snickering, hiding behind your phone. He glared at you, clearing his throat sharply.

“You shouldn’t lie, noona,” he muttered, frowning.

You lowered your phone and straightened. “I was laughing at your expression. I wasn’t lying.”

He narrowed his eyes, disbelieving. “About what part?” he said warily.

“I do not drink because I will literally try to fuck anyone in my immediate vicinity when I’m drunk,” you stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “You can imagine it’s not very good for my sexual health or my social life as I stumble out of a party covered in cum of four guys I don’t know.”

Jungkook was in the middle of drinking his mojito and swallowed so hard the entire drink disappeared into his throat.

“What?” he wheezed out, slamming his chest with his fist.

You put your hands up. “It happens.”

Jungkook looked as if he as going to pass out, either from the image or from drinking too fast. You picked up your phone again and set Taehyung a text.

Are you dead? I think I killed your roommate.

Jungkook shook his head vigorously. “You must be joking.”

“Nope, that actually happened. Ask Taehyung.”

Jungkook looked taken aback. “What?” he said again in the same panicked tone.

“I told you someone found me.”

You swore that if this was the Wild West, a tumbleweed would have drifted by. Jungkook looked as white as a sheet. You calmly plucked the glass from his hand since it seemed like he was rapidly losing focus of his surroundings.

“How… That’s so dangerous!” Jungkook sputtered, seemingly coming back to life.

“Indeed, which is why I am sitting here right now and not piss drunk in a random bedroom in someone’s house,” you replied calmly, waiting for Taehyung to text you back. “See, this is why you don’t offer me a drink because then I would try to fuck you. You’ve been spared.”

Jungkook gave you a very strange expression and suddenly crossed one leg over the other. You rubbed your eyes. Hopefully Taehyung didn’t stay out too late. You were getting sleepy.

“Well, you still have to be attracted to them, r-right?” Jungkook commented, looking away and biting his knuckle.

You didn’t look up from your phone.

“I suppose. I don’t really have a type, and when you’re drunk you only look at the parts you’re attracted to anyway and forget about anything else,” you responded, chuckling at a cute cat picture. “At least you’re attractive, so if I met you at a party drunk, I’d fuck you, easy.” Owls could sit cross-legged? What? You squinted at the meme, trying to see if it was Photoshopped.

Silence. Absolute fucking silence.

You decided that it seemed unlikely the photo of this sitting owl was Photoshopped and lifted your head to see Jungkook staring at you like you had three heads.

“What?”

“You’re…” Jungkook chuckled awkwardly. “Just kidding, right?”

You blinked. “What? About you being attractive?” You pointed to him. “No. I’m not. You’re handsome, Jungkook.”

You saw his ears turning red once again. “Ahaha… but you wouldn’t fuck me, right?”

“I would.”

A crow cawed loudly outside the window.

Jungkook wasn’t blinking. Was he dead? Was Taehyung going to come home to a statue of a roommate? You tilted your head and waved your hand in front of his face. Jungkook didn’t move. Maybe he went into shock.

“Jungkook? You alive in there?” you asked, waving your hand some more.

He blinked rapidly, startling you. “I… I…”

Okay, now he was scaring you. Was he broken? Did Taehyung have an A.I. for a roommate and not tell you? Taehyung, please come home and oil your Jungkook, you thought dryly as you watched him scrunch up his nose, as if he was trying to stretch his face muscles out.

“You surprised me,” Jungkook sputtered, nervously rubbing the back of his head. “I just… there’s no way…”

“That I would fuck you?” you replied, completely chill. He turned even redder. You placed a hand on your cheek and rested your elbow on the couch. “Why not? You’re cute, have nice fashion sense, seem like a decent guy.”

Yeah, Jungkook was definitely breaking down because he did not seem to know how to form proper sentences anymore. He was like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth awkwardly.

“But, I couldn’t though.” You cut off his attempts to fathom a thought. He stiffened, his doe eyes shifting to you. “Because you’re Taehyung’s friend, not a stranger. I try not to mess up my friendships, you know?”

He swallowed thickly. “R-right.”

You removed your hand from your cheek and cracked your neck, leaning back against the plushy couch arm. Sheesh, where was Taehyung? You could have played an entire ARAM in the time he was messing about. He told you around this time, but perhaps he had run late. Oh well.

“But… if he doesn’t know…”

Hold up.

You lifted your head, slowly, slowly to Jungkook’s nervous stare and shifty eyes.

“I mean, if Taehyung doesn’t know… doesn’t count, right?” he asked innocently.

His dark hair obscured part of his angular face, pink lips slightly parted. His eyes were watching your every move like a hawk, brows furrowed slightly. The living room light reflected off his glowing tan skin and the glossiness of his lips.

If you don’t stop looking like that, you thought. There’s going to be consequences.

“Let’s not tread dangerous waters here,” you said quietly.

One of his dark eyebrows quirked upwards ever-so-slightly. “How is it dangerous? Taehyung’s going to call you when he needs to be picked up. He’s going to see the inside of your car before he even sees the inside of this apartment.”

Uh oh. Now your heart was beating fast. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Alcohol made you sexually uninhibited because you really, really enjoyed having sex. Far too much. But you couldn’t go through life fucking everything with legs (or without them – to be honest, it wasn’t that strict of a requirement) because, hello, societal standards? Social appropriateness of maybe not fucking the cashier at your favorite coffee spot or your friend’s roommate in his apartment? You know, you had to be a productive human being and not a damn nympho. Wasn’t like you were getting paid for it.

Jungkook lifted his leg from his knee and spread them, tilting his chin upward.

Oh ho?

Well, now you knew why Jungkook crossed his legs, because a very obvious bulge was struggling in his leather pants. Where was embarrassed Jungkook? Shocked Jungkook? The Jungkook that was stunned at your crude words and straightforward manner?

Give him back. This is too much.

Perhaps you had been a little too frank for once – ah, who are you kidding, you’d probably been in this situation before.

Jungkook’s right hand slid up his thigh, long fingers with tiny, delicate tattoos, tracing the contours of his muscular quads. You tilted your head as he danced his fingers along his inner thigh before spreading them over his bulge and cupping it, stroking slowly through the thick fabric as he licked his lips.

“I am not drunk enough for this,” you muttered.

“Are you scared?” Jungkook asked softly, still palming himself through his pants. “Scared Taehyungie will be mad at you?” You felt a muscle in your face twitch. It seemed that he knew he was getting the better of you, because his voice was dropping low, sultry. You did not like being challenged, because well… you always tried to rise to the challenge. To your detriment, sometimes.

“Is Taehyung the boss of you?”

Fuck.

You snapped your head at him, narrowing your eyes.

“No one is the boss of me,” you replied icily.

Jungkook softened his features, laying his head back in the armchair. His hair curled around his cheek as his breathing deepened. His teeth caught his lower lip and gradually released it, the pink flesh popping back into place. The tiny mole under his lip trembled.

“Then do whatever you want, noona.”

Your eyes narrowed to slits, nails digging into your palms.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Jungkook’s voice was a smokey wisp, soaking into you.

“Just imagining you on your knees, naked, covered in cum…” He groaned, rocking his hips into his hand. “Sounds so fucking hot.”

Well. It had been. It was fucking hot, it made you wet just thinking about that night. It had felt amazing as the cum dripped down your skin, covering you, making you filthy with your sinful lust, so delicious and raw and dirty that right now you sat up, spreading your legs again because the space between your thighs was too fucking hot, too fucking much. Stupid velvet pants.

You got up from the couch, eyes still on Jungkook, his pupils dilating, tongue tracing the outskirts of his lips. He leaned his head back a little and moaned your name, long and lustful, eyelids fluttering. His dark hair brushed against his brows.

“Stop,” you breathed, reaching down to push your shirt up. Your fingers hovered over the button of your pants. Too hot. Too fucking hot. “You’re doing this on purpose. You’re tempting me.”

The side of his lips curved upward into a lazy smirk.

“I am.”

You placed your phone on the coffee table. The sound was on. Taehyung still hadn’t texted you. You would hear it vibrate against the wood. You took another step, unbuttoning your pants. Fuck. Why was Jungkook so sexy? You could resist if he wasn’t so damn hot.

“Don’t want you to think…” You swallowed; throat tight. “Don’t want you to think I’m treating you like a sex object.” The zipper of your pants slid down. “Because you seem like a nice guy.”

He smiled, undoing his pants too, sighing as the zipper freed his bulge.

“If I was your sex object…” Jungkook purred, pushing his tight leather pants down, down. “Even for only a little bit, I wouldn’t hold it against you, noona.”

Now your velvet pants were being peeled off your hips, leaving you in your seamless black panties. Oh, fuck, his thighs. Muscular and powerful, skin so pretty you wanted to touch. His eyes slid down your body.

“Holy shit, your thighs.”

Seemed like you both had the same idea. You climbed onto Jungkook’s lap, straddling one of his thighs. Now he was close to you, smelling like fresh linen, presence so warm and powerful you were being drugged by it. Your hands slid onto his shoulders, gripping them finger by finger, breathing hard as he tensed them. Slowly, you sat down on his left thigh, gasping as your soaked, clothed heat touched him. He grinned, flexing it under you. His own hand slid up your thigh, squeezing it, watching his fingers sink into your softness.

“Now, this,” Jungkook breathed, staring into your eyes. “This is a sexy body.”

Your heart was beating so fast, so fast. He watched you closely, eyes so dark that you felt like you were drowning in them. You rolled your hips into his thigh, hissing as you became wetter. He flexed the muscle under you, hard and unforgiving, sitting back and letting you rub yourself against it. You smeared your juices into his skin, stimulating your clit, inhaling sharply. Jungkook was still clutching your thigh, his large hand pressed into you.

“Is that enough for you?” he drawled, his other hand sliding up to land on your other thigh. “Is that all you want from me?”

Your eyes flickered to his playful, daring brown orbs.

“There’s no time…” you muttered.

“Take off your panties,” he nudged.

He placed his hands on your waist and lifted you up. You bit your lip, uncertain.

“Noona, I want you to feel good.”

He slipped one finger on the side of your black panties and pushed down. You took the other side and pushed them down, raising your legs to pull out one and then the other. Your panties fluttered to the ground. Jungkook’s gaze on you as you lowered again, bare and dripping, onto his thick thigh. Oh, holy hell. He tensed it and pressed your hips down, grinding his thigh onto your slopping wet pussy. You moaned, grasping his forearms through his turtleneck, feeling the strength in them, the hardness. You closed your eyes, humping his thigh, lost in bliss.

“Can you cum like that?” You felt Jungkook lean forward, lips brushing against yours. “Cum you cum just by rubbing yourself on me?”

Tiny, rigid nods. “If you... kiss me.”

He groaned as he felt your opening tense on his skin. “I thought you would never ask.”

And then his lips were on yours, soft, delicate. Sweet, erotic kisses contrasting with how hard you were fucking his leg, his tongue dancing in the periphery of yours, dodging you playfully as you whined, clutching him tighter. He pressed you down harder, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You shuddered, wetness pooling at his kisses, your core tightening as he whispered your name into your lips.

“Your body is so fucking delectable,” his murmured. “So sexy, it’s sinful.”

You clenched your jaw as you basically rammed your hips into his thigh, slippery and hard, your clit throbbing with need.

“Cum for me, noona.” You could feel his lips form the words as he kissed you, awe in his voice. “Cum on my thigh.”

You dug your nails into his clothed arms and shut your eyes, moaning his name, feeling the strings inside you snap, pleasure waterfalling into you as you came, squelching onto his skin, so viscous and thick that it added to the lubrication, your swollen clit throbbing. Your eyelids fluttered as his hands pressed you down, grinding your hips into his muscle so you could ride your high, extend it until you were melting, hands falling from his arms. He cradled you gently, your chest heaving with effort.

“J-Jungkook…”

“Mhm?”

You cracked your eyes open. “Has my phone made any noise?”

He shook his head. His dark hair covered part of his left eye. “No, noona.”

“Ah.”

Maybe Taehyung was getting laid. Good for him.

“I’m going to touch you now,” you stated. To the point.

Jungkook grinned.

You reached down to his black boxer briefs and yanked them down, freeing his cock and balls. He lifted his legs a little and you pushed them down, but he took your hand, placing it on his semi-hard cock. He moaned as your fingers wrapped around him.

“Do you want to take it off?” you asked quietly, referring to his underwear.

“No,” Jungkook replied tightly, cupping his hand around yours, using your hand to stroke himself a few times. “I can’t wait anymore.”

You nudged his hand aside and began your pace. He leaned back, gasping softly. Your grip wasn’t what it used to be. Carpal tunnel was a bitch. Still, you furrowed your brow, concentrating, He swelled in your hand, pre-cum leaking at the red tip dripping onto your fingers. You stopped for a moment to coat your palm with it, bringing it to your mouth and licking your hand, moaning at his taste. Jungkook shivered, watching your saliva spread all over before returning to his cock, adding to the lubrication.

He pressed his head into the back of the armchair, hips rising as you started again, jaw tense.

“I’m not as good as before,” you gritted out. “My wrist–”

“It’s perfect,” Jungkook interjected. “Fuck, your hand is perfect.”

He was rock hard in your hand as you jacked him off. You snuck a glance at him. His hands were on his face, combing through his dark hair, eyes closing, mouth open as he moaned, rutting into your palm.

He was just so, so sensual that it was driving you insane, his noises making you wet. There was something feral about it, the way he looked at you through his lashes.

“Can I finger you?” he pleaded. “Please.”

Your hips were raised to get a good angle, your arousal already dripping down your thigh.

“Of course. Touch me, Jungkook.”

He lowered his hands, hair all over his face, staring at you through the veil. His fingers slid up your thigh, slipping in between. Dipping in, moaning as he touched your wetness. You sucked in a breath, feeling his fingertip graze your swollen clit. Your grip tightened.

“Jungkook.” Your eyes found his, glazed with lust. “You can be rougher with me. If you want.”

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Don’t want to hurt you…”

You smirked.

“You forget who you’re talking to.”

He pushed two fingers into you, feeling you suck him in as you stroked him, smile still on your lips. Jungkook grinned, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbed it as he began to thrust his fingers into you, matching your pace, the two of you focused on getting each other off, breath mixing between your bodies.

“Noona?”

“Yeah?” you panted, whimpering at his roughness, his fingers scissoring in you, stretching your walls as you squeezed back, faster and faster.

“Wanna cum in your mouth.”

You chuckled as he shoved a third finger into you, punishing your clit repeatedly, so full, so good, it was making you crazy, but you had to focus, you had to get him off.

“This is a weird angle.”

Jungkook suddenly pulled his fingers out and pinched your clit, making you hiss and your legs shake, pained whimpers clawing from your throat.

“Do it.” His voice was a low growl. “Do it and I’ll reward you.”

You slid off the chair, still stroking his cock, narrowing your eyes at him. Jungkook looked down at you, smirk on his pretty pink lips, whispering your name. You removed your hand and replaced it with your mouth. Fuck. He sighed, hand coming up to tangle in your hair, not quite pressing you down but holding you there, his taste coating your tongue, his hard length throbbing in your mouth. You moaned onto his cock and his hips trembled, his long bangs covering his left eye.

Ugh, the way he looked at you. Your felt your pussy clench, demanding his cock.

Instead, you began to move your head up and down, soft lips around him, mouth tight around the head and length. His hand stayed there, moving with you, firm, reminding you that you couldn’t stop, that you had to keep going until he came. You set a nice, fast, tight pace, already knowing he was close, hearing his breathy groans, repeating your name over and over.

“Always thought you were fuckable,” Jungkook panted out. “Always wanted you in my bed.” He pressed his head into the armchair, shutting his eyes. “Couldn’t figure out how to convince you, couldn’t figure out how to tell you that I wanted you so very much.”

You tightened your throat around him and he dug his nails into your scalp, breathing shallow and tight.

“Gonna cum, noona, fuck, gonna cum down that pretty throat of yours.”

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, his orgasm filling your mouth, coating your tongue, slipping down your throat. You gulped and he yelped at the sensitivity, whimpering as you softly lapped at the head, cleaning him off. Drinking it all, intoxicated with it, so satisfied swallowing it all.

Oh, how you loved sex.

You slowly removed your mouth crawling back up, no longer aware of your obligations to Taehyung, only interested in brushing Jungkook’s hair aside and kissing him deep, moaning as his tongue forced into your mouth, tasting himself. His hand slipped back into your folds and three fingers deep into you, fucking you. You whined into his mouth, telling him how good he was, telling him how good he felt inside you, telling him you how much you wanted his cock, his beautiful, thick cock jammed all the way inside you.

The door lock clicked and neither of you heard anything.

“Ah, I managed to hitch a ride with Jim– WHAT THE FUCK?”

Taehyung’s deep voice boomed throughout the apartment and you were still making out with Jungkook’s face as his fingers thrust into your slopping wet pussy, spreading you out. You whimpered as Jungkook broke the kiss, pushing you against his body as Taehyung slammed the door and marched in, kicking off his shoes carelessly.

“Fucking shit, why are you like this, fucking everything in your sight, you absolute–”

You turned your head, somewhat ashamed, feeling somewhat sorry – but not that sorry, because Jungkook’s fingers were still inside you. Taehyung’s strong features were twisted in annoyance, but he wasn’t looking at you.

He was scowling at Jungkook.

“I told you,” Taehyung said sharply, sweeping his lush fur coat back to reveal his black turtleneck and black slacks, pointing an accusing finger at Jungkook. “Not to get her started, because she is a horny seductress.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?”

Taehyung ticked his head, looking down at you. “Am I wrong?”

You pouted. “Well, no.”

“And,” he added, directing his attention at you. “Why would you not ask me to fuck first? I’ve seen you naked hundreds of times!”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Hundreds?”

Taehyung ignored him, leaning down and taking your chin. Brown eyes a mix of angry and amused, observing your lust. “I am offended that I respected you and you’re sitting in my roommate’s lap instead of mine.” His breath seemed like alcohol.

Your lips parted, heart beating fast. “S-sorry, Tae… You’re just always dragging me out of weird stuff that I thought you were disgusted by me…”

Taehyung brought his face close to you. You loved his voice. So deep, so intense, so heavy. It seemed to shake your soul with bass.

“I’ve wanted you on my dick the second I saw you.”

And then he kissed you, hard and full, as Jungkook’s fingers began to move inside you once again.

-

part ii: kth x you x jjk

--

masterpost

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 24/24

Last time, Gold confronted Zelena over trying to frame Regina, and Lacey caught the whole show on tape. This is the final chapter! Happy endings FTW!

[AO3]

x

Lacey set down the camera on the shop counter, and raised an eyebrow at Gold.

“So,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

He inclined his head, lifting a hand and letting it fall.

“It appears you have a story to tell about Miss West,” he remarked. “I feel the choice is very much yours. Perhaps Mr Glass can be persuaded that running an exposé is in the public interest.”

Lacey hesitated.

“Yeah, I think he would,” she acknowledged. “It’s just - Mayor Mills doesn’t know, does she? About Zelena.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think maybe we should tell her,” said Lacey. “Before it all comes out, I mean. That would be the decent thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” he agreed, and let out a heavy sigh, his head rolling back. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“What is?”

He raised his head again, sending her a stern look.

“It appears I’ve discovered a conscience,” he said. “The rumour was I didn’t have one. I blame you for this outrage.”

Lacey giggled, and leaned in to kiss him.

“Does that mean you’ll come with me to break the news?” she asked, and he offered his arm.

“To the Mayor’s office,” he said. “I’m sure Regina will be just delighted to see us.”

-

“This can’t be true.” Regina was staring at Lacey’s phone, having watched the recording twice. “This - this is impossible!”

“This must be a hell of a shock,” said Lacey, and Regina shook her head.

“I always thought she disliked me, but Mal told me I was being paranoid,” she said. “All this time she was plotting to ruin my life because my mother abandoned her? The nerve of the woman!”

“I guess sibling rivalry’s tough to deal with,” said Lacey. “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”

“Well, she certainly has my mother’s ambition and vindictiveness,” said Regina, with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the father?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Gold. “Did your mother ever hint that you had a half-sister?”

Regina shook her head.

“She never spoke about her youth,” she said. “Other than to tell me she had to fight for anything she could get and I should do the same.”

She handed the phone back to Lacey and frowned at Gold.

“Exactly how long have you known about this?” she demanded, and he smiled.

“I heard what you did,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said coldly. “I know you, Gold. Were you holding onto this information until it was of use to you?”

“You think I’m working against you?” he asked, in a mild tone.

“I think you never do anything that doesn’t benefit you.”

“Well, perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said. “Or perhaps we assess risks and benefits differently. Either way, you have Miss French to thank for the investigation of her past and this recording. I merely - encouraged a confession.”

“Quite the sleuthing team,” said Regina, in a dry tone. “Can we expect a new office in town? French Gold, Private Investigators?”

“I don’t mind investigating his privates,” said Lacey, and Gold shot her a very level look as Regina curled her lip.

“Thanks, I’m going to spend the rest of the evening trying and failing to get that image out of my head.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lacey cheerfully.

“The question for you,” said Gold, “is how are you going to handle this? Miss French has quite a scoop on her hands, but she wanted to bring it to you first before raising it with Mr Glass.”

Regina shot Lacey a grateful look before sitting back in her chair with a sigh.

“There’s supposed to be a debate,” she said. “The two of us up on stage. You think it’s her intention to reveal the whole sordid story in front of the whole town?”

“I don’t believe she wants the rest of the town to know,” said Gold. “If they did, then her whole campaign reeks of sour grapes. She’ll want to play on the image she’s created while she’s been here. However inaccurate it is.”

Regina growled under her breath.

“I can’t believe I’m having to go through this charade!” she snapped. “I’m supposed to stand there and - and debate her when she’s trying to frame me for corruption and destroy my life!”

“We don’t have any actual evidence that she’s tried to frame you,” said Lacey, and Regina nodded impatiently.

“I know, I know. Nothing court worthy on that tape, however much she hinted at it,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to hand it over to the Sheriff, get him to look into it.”

“If you agree to an exclusive interview with me after the debate, sure,” said Lacey quickly, and almost blushed as Gold shot her an approving look. Regina drummed her fingers on the desk.

“She’s far too good for you, Gold,” she said abruptly. “I hope you know that.”

He smirked at that, winking at Lacey.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

-

Gold was finding it hard to stop grinning like an idiot now that he and Lacey were dating, and even found himself unexpectedly granting rent extensions, much to the surprise of nervous tenants. He made dinner for her again later in the week, and she stayed the night, Darcy curled at their feet as they drifted into sleep. It was pleasant being nuzzled awake by a purring cat and finding Lacey in his arms. It was a feeling he could get used to.

They had eventually managed to finish the interview, most of which was carried out in bed, and he had found himself telling her things he had previously had no intention of revealing. He blamed that on Lacey; it was difficult to maintain his usual cool distance when she was wearing his discarded shirt and looking at him as though he was a particularly delicious snack. She kept her word about giving him the final say on the article, however, and upon reading her draft, he noted that she had kept some of the more personal details to herself. He only felt the need to redact a couple of minor points about his early life, but was happy to let the remainder stand as it was. If the rest of Storybrooke was surprised at the intimacy of the piece and his sudden desire to be open about his life - well, they could all go and fuck themselves, as far as he was concerned.

The only opinions he cared about were those of his family, and it wasn’t too long before Neal called. Gold sighed as he looked at the number flashing on his phone. They’re gonna tease me relentlessly about this. Emma especially.

Shaking his head and smirking to himself, he picked up.

“Dad, hi,” said Neal. “Thought you might have called to let us know how your big social occasion went. You’re not avoiding the issue, right?”

“Of course not,” said Gold. “Been a busy week, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Emma thought you’d say that.” Neal sounded amused. “She’s been dying to find out about the dance, so I said I’d call for an update.”

“Tell her she needs a better hobby than worrying about my social life,” said Gold dryly. “How’s Henry? I was wondering what to get for his birthday.”

“Nice attempt at deflection, but I’m not done with you,” said Neal. “Come on, how did it go?”

“Uh - it was fine,” said Gold.

“Did you ask Lacey to dance, like I said?”

“Yes.” Gold hesitated. “We’re - uh - sort of dating now.”

Neal whooped, making him grin.

“Way to go! See, I knew you could do it!”

“Yes, well.” Gold scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “It’s early days, I suppose. Very early days, but it’s going well.”

“I am so happy for you, really. Wait until I tell Emma.”

“She’s gonna tease me, isn’t she?” said Gold dryly.

“No more than usual.”

“A lot, then.”

“Hey, her teasing comes from a place of love.”

“Hmm.” Gold was amused. “Well, you can tell her I love her too.”

“And you can tell Lacey we can’t wait to meet her,” said Neal, and Gold’s grin widened.

“I believe the feeling’s mutual,” he said.

“Good. How about in two weeks’ time?”

Gold smirked to himself.

“Excellent timing,” he said. “It’s the Mayoral debate and election.”

“I’m almost certain we can find something better to do than listen to some crusty old politicians.”

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” said Gold. “It could be an interesting night.”

-

The evening of the debate arrived more quickly than Lacey thought possible, and she was nervous about more than just reporting the evening’s events. Gold’s son and daughter-in-law were due any minute, and there was a tiny part of her that kept whispering that they wouldn’t approve, that they would wonder why the hell Gold, with his money and power and class, was dating the likes of her. Stressing over her coverage of the election was a welcome distraction from the unwelcome internal monologue, and she concentrated on getting her things together for the debate, checking the recording equipment on Gold’s kitchen table and fretting about the sound quality.

“You’ve already checked it three times,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“I’m supposed to be writing the front page article!” she snapped. “What happens if I fuck up and don’t get anything recorded? I’m gonna look like a total idiot and Sidney won’t trust me with anything more complex than the hot dog eating contest!”

“I can record everything on my phone, if you’re worried,” he said. “Besides, don’t you do shorthand?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’ll be fine,” he said gently, and kissed her head. “I promise.”

The doorbell rang, and Lacey started, heart thumping.

“Relax, that’ll be Neal and Emma,” said Gold, heading for the door. Lacey frowned at his back.

“Relax, my arse,” she muttered, shoving the recording equipment into its bag.

There were voices from the hall, and a sudden burst of laughter, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm the hell down. Footsteps from the doorway made her look up, and she was greeted by a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Gold’s son had his eyes, and curling dark hair above a ready grin.

“I’m Neal,” he said. “Really pleased to meet you.”

“Lacey,” she said, shaking his hand. “Uh - likewise.”

She was reminded vividly of the fact that she had flashed him on their first encounter, and felt a blush start to rise in her cheeks. If Neal was thinking of it too, he was better at hiding it than she was. His wife was a pretty blonde, with a kind look in her eyes and a plump baby in her arms, who was glancing around curiously at everything.

“This is Emma,” added Neal, “and that’s Henry.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” said Emma, shooting Gold a teasing look.

“Well, I won’t ask if it was all good, because I’m willing to bet it wasn’t,” said Lacey, and they chuckled.

“Maybe not at first,” admitted Emma. “Don’t hold it against the old bastard, though.”

“Oh, believe me, the feeling was mutual,” said Lacey.

“I’m standing right here,” said Gold evenly.

Lacey caught Emma’s eye and returned her grin. She felt herself relax a little, and leaned over to kiss Gold’s cheek.

“We got there in the end,” she said. “Uh - how hungry are you guys? I didn’t even think about dinner.”

She shot Gold a look, hoping that he would suggest something, and he nodded.

“We’ll head to Granny’s after the debate,” said Gold. “I have no doubt that Lacey will be demonstrating her excellent skill as a journalist, and I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“No pressure then,” said Lacey, and he smiled.

“You’re writing the article for the Mirror front page,” he said. “You have an exclusive with the Mayor herself after the debate. Sidney Glass clearly believes you to be as capable as I do.”

“Yeah, because I got that interview with you,” she said. “I didn’t tell him we were naked when I got most of that info.”

Neal closed his eyes with a pained expression.

“Shows ingenuity if you ask me,” said Emma abruptly. “I can usually get a ton of stuff out of Neal when we’re naked. Must run in the family.”

It was Gold’s turn to look pained. Neal put his hands over his face with a heavy sigh, and Lacey and Emma chuckled. Lacey decided that she liked both Emma and Neal very much. She zipped her bag and nodded to Gold.

“Okay,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

-

The town hall was filled with residents, chatting amongst themselves and casting curious glances at the empty stage. Ruby was seated next to Leroy on the third row back, and she winked at Lacey as she and Gold took their own seats. Ruby had been delighted to hear that the two of them had started seeing one another, and had only made a salacious comment to Gold on one occasion. Maybe two.

“Big turnout,” said Neal, glancing around. “I had no idea the people in this town were so into politics.”

“Usually they don’t bother,” said Gold. “The Mayor getting some competition appears to have piqued their interest.”

As though his voice had summoned her, Regina walked onto the stage, chin held high, looking calm and competent in a sharp black suit. Zelena followed, in a green dress with a soft silk scarf around her neck and gold hoops in her ears. A green folder was tucked under her arm, her hair tied up, and Lacey thought she was going for the image of a respectable school teacher. A gleam in her eye spoiled the look.

Dr Hopper was moderating the debate, and Lacey quickly checked her recording equipment and opened her laptop, rattling off a few sentences about the tense atmosphere of the hall and the opening statements from each of the candidates. Zelena gave a speech about decency and traditional values, at which Regina seemed to be stopping herself from rolling her eyes with some difficulty. Regina spoke of her record on town planning, law and order—she shot Zelena a look at that point—and prosperity.

“Thank you, ladies,” said Dr Hopper, when she was done. “Now, perhaps we’ll go to some questions from the press before we deal with those the townsfolk have submitted.”

“I have a question for Miss West,” said Lacey, in a loud, clear voice, shoving her laptop at Gold as she got to her feet.

Zelena’s mouth twisted, her smile more of a grimace.

“Of course,” she said lightly. “It’s - uh - I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

She waved a languid hand, and Lacey felt her mouth flatten.

“Lacey French, Storybrooke Mirror,” she said evenly, and Zelena let out a tinkling laugh.

“Of course, silly me,” she trilled. “How could I forget Storybrooke’s eager young reporter? Lending the local newspaper such an air of class in that - lovely - outfit.”

There was a muttering amongst the townsfolk, and Lacey distinctly heard Ruby say ‘What a bitch!’, but she smiled sweetly as though she hadn’t understood the insult.

“Yeah, I have a question about your motivation for running for Mayor,” she said. “You said yourself you’ve never been involved in politics, so what inspired you to make this move now?”

Zelena smiled widely.

“Well, as I said, I thought about where I could do the most good,” she said. “Storybrooke is a wonderful town, with many excellent qualities, but talking to its residents has made me realise that there’s a feeling that it may be lacking direction. I sense a need for a return to the basics of community. Neighbourliness. Family values. The traditions of small-town America that we all grew up with.”

“But you grew up in England,” said Lacey. “Wasn’t your father a diplomat? How do you know this view of America is either accurate or desirable?”

Zelena’s nostrils flared as she continued to smile brightly.

“Well,” she said. “Who’s been doing her homework?”

“Yeah, it’s just that people hear politicians mention tradition and family values, and all too often it’s a smoke-screen to hide racism and homophobia,” went on Lacey. “How would you address those concerns?”

Zelena spread her hands.

“I’d say look at my record,” she said. “Since I moved here I’ve made it clear that I’m happy to work with people of all backgrounds. It’s important that no one feels left out, and my initial conversations have led me to believe that there are concerns, and that some residents feel that their interests are not - fully appreciated - by the Mayor.”

“What kind of interests?” asked Lacey quickly, before Zelena could turn away, and her mouth twisted again as she tried to keep smiling.

“As I said, some feel that traditional family values are being lost in the push for modernity,” she said. “I’d like to reassure them that I stand for everything that Storybrooke represents. Decency. Morality.”

“Does that mean you think the Mayor is immoral?” asked Lacey, and Zelena pulled a face.

“I think there have been some questionable decisions at city hall under her watch, yes,” she said. “Does anyone really think that a seedy bar called Queens of Darkness is fitting for this town?”

“It’s a jazz club,” said Regina. “And there’ll be dance lessons each week. A perfectly respectable establishment, run by three accomplished businesswomen.”

Zelena let out that insincere laugh again, and Lacey sat down, retrieving her laptop from Gold and opening it up as Zelena addressed the room.

“Well, it’s not only the company the Mayor keeps,” she said. “We’ve all heard the rumours. Missing money, accounts not holding quite as much as people thought…”

“That’s an outrageous lie,” said Regina coldly. “Where’s your evidence, Miss West?”

Zelena smirked, as though she had been waiting for that very question. She held up the green folder, showing it to the room.

“I have the evidence right here,” she announced. “A brave employee of city hall managed to smuggle this out to me. Evidence that the Mayor has been embezzling town funds!”

There was a shocked intake of breath around the room. Lacey typed furiously.

“How dare you!” snapped Regina. “That’s a lie and you know it!”

“I believe this is my allotted time to speak!” Zelena snapped back. “I think the people of Storybrooke deserve to know exactly who you really are, don’t you? They should understand the choice before them!”

The doors at the end of the hall opened, and there was the sound of heavy boots on the floor. Zelena looked surprised, and then somewhat nervous, and a low-level muttering started up in the audience. Lacey glanced over her shoulder, watching as Sheriff Graham Humbert walked towards the stage with his deputy Dorothy Gale by his side. Regina appeared to be drumming her fingers on the lectern, and Lacey couldn’t work out whether it was anxiety or impatience.

“Miss West,” said Graham. “We’d like you to come with us, please.”

“Why?” demanded Zelena. “I’m a little busy winning this election, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s a matter of obstruction of justice,” said Graham. “If you could come to the station, please.”

Zelena opened and closed her mouth, a sudden flicker of fear in her eyes.

“What if I say no?”

“I’d prefer not to have to handcuff you,” said Graham.

“But we will if we have to,” added Dorothy, folding her arms.

“This is a conspiracy!” blurted Zelena, waving a finger at Regina. “Did the Mayor put you up to this? This is exactly the kind of corruption I’m talking about! The Sheriff being used as the Mayor’s enforcer!”

“Miss West…”

“Mayor Mills will do whatever it takes to silence me!” she went on. “She’s scared I’ve exposed her for what she is!”

“Miss West, I didn’t want to have to arrest you, but…”

“One hint of competition and she calls in her - her goon squad to crush it!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I know you’re my sister!” said Regina loudly.

Silence fell, and Lacey hurriedly typed a few sentences, describing the shocked atmosphere of the town hall. Zelena was staring at Regina, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” said Regina, curling her lip. “I wanted to give you a chance to be a decent person and deal with this in an honourable way. But since you’re determined to try to ruin my life for no good reason, then yes. I’m well aware we share the same mother, and frankly she’d be disappointed at this pathetic bid for attention.”

“How dare you—”

“I believe it’s my turn to speak,” interrupted Regina. “We’ve listened to enough of your rambling this evening. Since you’d been dropping hints about corruption in my office, I had Sheriff Humbert investigate. He told me earlier this evening that someone had been planting evidence to try to frame me. No doubt that’s what he wants to speak to you about.”

“This is—”

“The residents of Storybrooke know how seriously I take my duties as Mayor,” Regina went on, addressing the room as a whole now. “They know that I value their support and their trust. Of course I’d want any threat to that to be investigated. I’m just - I’m beyond disappointed that the threat comes from my half-sister.”

Her voice echoed around the silent room. Lacey was watching the townsfolk avidly, their eyes fixed on Regina as she spoke.

“I had no idea that my mother had had a daughter before me, no idea that I had another family member out there in the world,” she went on. “Her coming to Storybrooke should have been a time of joy and reunion. But instead of her reaching out to me, she tries to undermine me, to take away the most important job I have in this town.”

She looked down, shaking her head, and Gold leaned in close.

“I wonder how much of this is for the benefit of the voters and how much is genuine,” he murmured.

“Maybe fifty-fifty,” Lacey whispered back, and he nodded in agreement.

Regina raised her head, taking a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something unpleasant. Graham and Dorothy had edged towards the stage, Dorothy removing the cuffs from her belt.

“All I can do now,” said Regina, “is trust that justice will take its course.”

“You know nothing about justice!” shouted Zelena, as the Sheriff started reading her her rights. “You’ll pay for this! All of you!”

She was still yelling when Dorothy handcuffed her and marched her from the room. The sound of the doors closing was very loud in the silence that remained.

“Well,” said Regina, placing her hands on the lectern and looking around the room. “I think we can all agree that this was one of the more - eventful - political debates this town has seen.”

There was a ripple of nervous laughter, and she smiled.

“I truly hope that Miss West gets the help she so desperately needs,” she went on. “And when she has, I want her to know that she’s welcome to visit with Mallory and I. After all, we may not be able to choose our family, but that makes it all the more important to nurture the bonds we share with those around us.”

There were noises of agreement from the audience, and Gold leaned in close again.

“Ever the politician,” he murmured, and Lacey nodded.

“Storybrooke is like an extended family to me,” went on Regina, “and all families have their moments of conflict and frustration, but underneath that there is respect for one another, and a common set of values. I believe I have lived by those values for every year that I’ve served as your Mayor. I will always reach out to those in need and I will always act in the best interests of this town. Under my leadership, Storybrooke will continue to prosper. I guarantee it.”

There was applause, and a couple of cheers, and Regina nodded, looking extremely self-satisfied. She started taking questions, and Gold kissed Lacey’s cheek and whispered that he would see her in the diner when she was done. She watched him leave with his family, Emma balancing the baby on her hip and Neal pushing the stroller after them. Lacey turned back to listen to Regina field a question about the state of the town’s roads, bent her head to her laptop, and began typing up her article on the Mayoral debate.

She emailed the article over to Sidney before leaving for the diner, and walked back there with Ruby, who was chattering about the drama that had unfolded. Regina had been in her element when answering the remaining questions, and Lacey had felt a surge of satisfaction over her part in exposing a crime. Perhaps small town life offered the chance for rewarding work after all. She could see Gold and his family through the window, and his face lit up as she entered, making her stomach flip. Damn the man. I’m falling in love with him.

“Excellent job this evening,” he said, getting up to pull her chair out and kissing her cheek. “I got you a rum and coke, I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” she said fervently, and took a slurp, relishing the taste on her tongue.

“How’d the Mayor look at the end of all that?” asked Emma, and Lacey pulled a face.

“The whole place gave her a round of applause, and she was looking about as satisfied as she could, I guess,” she said. “I still feel kind of sorry for her. Not every day you find out you have a half sister. Especially one that’s out to get you.”

“Well, it could have been a lot worse,” said Gold. “I very much doubt Miss West will present much of a challenge from a jail cell.”

Lacey nodded, taking another sip of her drink.

“Does this mean you and Regina are friends now?” she asked, and Gold smirked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “What’s that term the kids use these days?”

“Frenemies?”

“That’s the one.”

“Kind of like we were,” she observed, and he laughed.

“Regina would fillet me with a letter opener if I even contemplated looking at her the way I look at you.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” she said. “I just meant - well, we kind of had that thing where we poked at each other to get a reaction, right?”

Gold looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh, and she swatted his arm.

“Stop thinking about dirty stuff! You know what I mean!”

“I do,” he acknowledged. “And I, for one, am very glad that we - er - got the reaction we wanted.”

“You’re still thinking about dirty stuff, aren’t you?” said Emma shrewdly, and Gold shrugged.

“Maybe a little.”

-

They ate ribs, sticky with Granny’s special sauce, licking it from their fingers and washing it down with beer and wine and rum. By the time they got out into the cool night air, Lacey felt wonderfully tipsy, and regretted putting on her high heels earlier in the evening. At least there was no one else around to see if she fell on her arse, she supposed. Neal and Emma were walking ahead, pushing the stroller and talking quietly, and Lacey let out a sigh, slipping her arm through Gold’s for support, and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I ate too much,” she said, and Gold chuckled.

“We all ate too much.”

“You didn’t throw half of it over your lap, though.”

“No, I thought I’d leave that to you.”

“Stupid gravity,” muttered Lacey, and he laughed, squeezing her arm with his.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Maybe you should have an early night.”

She glanced up at him, and he was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling.

“How’s that gonna work?” she asked flatly. “Your family’s staying over. No way I’m letting you give me screaming orgasms while they’re in the room next door.”

“In that case I could sneak over to yours,” he suggested. “You could scream to your heart’s content.”

Lacey giggled, barging him affectionately with her shoulder.

“I think I love you, Mr Gold,” she said, and Gold stopped dead, turning to face her with a stunned look on his face.

“Really?”

Lacey turned to face him, taking his hand.

“Really,” she said. “I mean I’m kind of drunk, but that’s not why I’m saying it. I think I’ve sort of been in love with you for a while now. Is that okay?”

He was staring at her, wide-eyed, and a softness seemed to spill over his features, making his eyes gleam as he smiled.

“Well,” he said. “I think I love you, too, Miss French. Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then raised his chin.

“D’you want to move in?” he asked.

“Can I bring Darcy?”

“Of course.”

“Then you got a deal.”

He was grinning, and she found herself grinning back, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Let’s wait until after Neal and Emma go before I move in, though,” she said. “I think you said something about screaming orgasms?”

Gold’s grin turned wicked, and he bent his head to kiss her.

“I’ll be over later.”

She let his lips pull at hers, leaning in to feel the warmth of his body as his arms went around her, and let out a sigh of contentment. Yes. Life in a small town could be amazing.

[blushing-starker]

Anon asked for alpha Peter and omega Tony for a baby announcement. Thank you to the wonderful @vaguekiwi for motivating me and sharing her thoughts on the story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, anon.

"Tony, Tony? Are you up? It's 7:30am already, you have a meeting with Miss Potts in forty minutes. Tony?"

Soft hands curl into already silver hair, scratching at the strands in an attempt to wake him up gently. Butterfly kisses on a cold nape, a ridiculously hot nose nuzzling everywhere. Peter knows scenting the billionaire is basically the only way one can ensure a calm morning.

Not today. And not for the next few months either.

He loves his husband, appreciates the nearly romantic demeanor, he does. But "unless you have a cup of coffee for me, there is no way in hell i am gonna leave this bed. your child has kept me up with nausea the entire night. I wanna hurl my guts out more than that time Rhodes found Dad's liquor cabinet. please, tell me you have coffee."

"..." Tony is severely displeased by the fact he can read Peter like a book even with half his mind shut off because fine, he's right and dammit all.

"I want that weird drink you make. The one with milk, cinnamon and chunks of brownie. And French toast with waffles. No jam, not too much butter, as much sugar as possible. Now, go before I scream at you for having the only dick that could get a hormone fucked forty something omega pregnant. "

The kid scrambles from bed, practically face plants with all the covers tangling long legs and yup, this is the person that the universe designated as his soulmate. Because Tony Stark can never have a partner with a reasonable, normal amount of enthusiasm, stamina and a sense of balance.

That sounds like he's ungrateful, he's not. But it turns out being three months pregnant gives him plenty of perspective to peer at life in a whole new way that does not include caffeine, alcohol or sex.

Would he kill and die for this amazing human being that makes Tony's heart race no matter the day, that inspires him to be a better version of himself? Yes, no questions asked. No hesitation and no regret.

Would he clobber Peter for doing the impossible and technically causing Tony incredible discomfort on a daily basis thanks to what his doctors can only assume is a superhuman baby he already loves and adores more than life itself? Also yes.

Things aren't mutually exclusive in this household.

Pep, bless her, has yet to find out about their future mini Parker so there's been no respite on the whole 'running a multi billion dollar industry ' thing. And yeah, while it's not exactly easy, he can focus on other things and not fall into a panicky state of mind — because him? A father? Of a super baby? Tony Stark, infamous playboy with a hedonistic streak, a dad?

Just thinking along those lines makes shame and self doubt slither over a metallic plate. Working, dealing with innovative scientists, crafting the new world of tomorrow, guaranteeing the safety of their planet, shapeshifting into a role model, a mentor (for the interns and school kids he visits, not Peter, of course, thank God they left that dynamic ages ago), loyal friend, reluctant errand boy (fuck the assholes in charge of the Accords), great husband, good man, it all distracts a fearful child from thinking, what if I turn into Howard?

"I couldn't find brownies, so cookies it is! Aunt May had a few boxes sent in when I told her work was keeping you on your feet all the time. Said it'd be a good idea to snack along the day in case you—" Peter freezes, tenses with a not-so-narrow back held ramrod straight. Oh, his husband brought him breakfast in bed.

How could he ever think to clobber such a nice, wonderful—

"Your scent is odd."

"Yeah, well fuck you too then."

Five seconds of silence.

"I'm bringing you one cup of coffee and the hormone pills."

" Yup, that's a great idea. "

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

Tony’s mumbo jumbo with self loathing is firmly put on the back burner after inhaling a delicious breakfast and chugging that one glorious cup of coffee. Until they go to the bathroom and he sees himself in the mirror.

"We gotta tell them."

"You said you wanted to wait a while before saying anything."

Peter strips, ducks into the warm shower, lets out a pleased little sigh and Tony wants to rip his fingernails off. Is it bad, having sex while pregnant? No! The doctors, every single one of them, said it's a perfectly normal thing to do. It'd be bad if they didn't have sex because Tony, thanks to his crazy hormone production, needs the extra attention for his body to understand this is a happy process that shouldn't include sad pheromones or stressed out moments. Will Peter put him out of his misery and allow a quickie in the mornings? No.

"Take more than five minutes in that shower and I'm joining you."

Listen, he grew up in the 80's and 90's, Tony wasn't immune to peer pressure. Did he cave and eventually do so many squat competitions with Rhodey his butt turned into a duck's butt? There's no evidence, he's made sure, but yes. And Starks have always turned out to be beautiful, doesn't matter your gender or age. Finding a companion for the night has never been a problem for anyone in his family tree.

That, and his work as Iron Man has kept him — well, not ripped like Cap, certainly not as lean and (God help him) athletic as Peter, but fit. Sturdy. Firm. Solid. (Peter once muttered the words 'daddy-like' in regards to his body and he nearly choked on water.)

The passage of time has made him a bit slower, dusted once black hair with, as his husband says, stardust and the corners of his eyes now show how much time Tony spends laughing or frowning. All in all, he looks fucking spectacular for his age and experience as a villain-punching-bag. Thing is, he has a belly. A bump. A curve where it was once, well. Less curvy. Is it a problem for Peter? Nope, as acknowledged every time his alpha tackles him if he so much as looks oddly in the mirror. Is it a problem for him? He'll get back to you on that.

The point is, there's a belly when just a few months ago there wasn't such a pronounced belly. It's great, of course. Proof their child is growing steadily and Tony's body is adjusting to it accordingly. A small part of him, the omega part he actually lets live, is fascinated and proud. He's doing that, Tony's the one growing a human being, creating life out of nothing in his own body. That child, although not the only physical embodiment of their relationship, is a result of his love for Peter. Of how much his husband loves him. They love each other so much they're gonna start another family together. That chokes him up a bit, reminds him how grateful he is for Peter and for the other Avengers. If they hadn't been so accepting of his status, would he have ever considered going through with this?

Anyway, he's not gonna start sobbing this early in the morning when there's no alcohol involved. It's fantastic seeing his child develop, good, warm and fuzzy feelings, yada yada yada, it's also not very easy to hide. And Tony...Tony wanted to hide it from his family because.

Because Peter hasn't been the only partner in all his life that has wondered about a future with a white picket fence. Because when he was Peter's age, in his goddamn prime, a doctor, ten doctors, all the doctors told him the same thing, smashed his dream into a million pieces. Tony was nearly infertile. There was a one in a million chances of him getting pregnant. If he did, they couldn't be sure his body would be able to maintain two hearts. And then the cave happened.

So yeah. It happened to his cousins, his aunt, a few uncles, his grandmother. Tony would do a baby announcement, but only the second that baby was outside of him and safely in his arms. Now there are still several months left and nothing certain. But time is a bitch and beginning to show the world, maybe those extra pounds aren't from eating the Parker's amazing breakfasts.

"Tony, you know I don't wanna risk-" Losing control of my strength. They've been together long enough that Tony can see quite clearly between the lines.

"Hurting us, yeah, I know, I understand. I'm getting too wide, we're gonna have to tell them or Natasha will take one look at me and whoops, impromptu announcement from someone else. It's a miracle she was out on those missions when we found out." Thank God for renegade troops.

He's still looking at himself in the mirror when Peter comes out, barely dries up and slides behind him. His husband is slightly taller now, can easily hook a curved jaw on Tony's shoulder to peer at the image they make. Contrasts, he supposes, have always enthralled Tony. The study of light and shadow. Variations of the same basic components. Where his body is aging, showing signs of wear and tear, Peter's is evolving into something beautiful, majestic. Silver hair, chestnut brown. Scarred canvas, silky smooth and sunkissed skin. Soft, fragile curves, chiseled lines that deserve to be revered more than Michelangelo’s David. But their eyes, their eyes are equally tired.

“We can tell them if you want, have dinner together and just, just say it. Like that -”

“No. It's our kid, we're not gonna act like it's ripping off a band aid. This is special, unique. Dinner is good. Fantastic, actually. Wait for dessert, and announce it. “ Peter comes ever closer, wraps arms that could carry the world around him and how did he get so lucky?

They've lied to each other in the past. Mostly in the beginning, when they were too worried about hurting their new relationship to show their desires and wants. Tony didn't explain the Training Wheels Protocol. Peter tried to fight high level crime on his own. Things got hard to understand, like being in the right place at the wrong time. Puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together, an extra inch of space prohibiting them from seeing all the possibilities that the truth could bring. They were walking the same path, just in parallel lines that never crossed.

But then he'd been rejected, thrown away and able to realize how fucking stupid it was to let Peter go when being near the kid, it felt like finally breathing after residing in the deep end of a pool for a thousand years. So Tony ran after him one day, crashed into his AP English class, half assed an excuse for the baffled teacher, yanked Peter out of the room and proceeded to have the best make out session of his life with his back against the kid's locker. And now they don't lie, ever.

Which is why it's so hard to accept Peter's, “You're beautiful, Tony. The handsomest man I've ever seen in my life. I loved you before, I love you now, I'll love you forever, Anthony Stark. You carrying our kid doesn't change that, how could it, Tony? It's going to be ok. The three of us will be ok and I won't stop thanking whoever decided I'd get to marry my wet dream.”

Scorching kisses trace his pulse point slowly, sharp nails start dragging against a too thin shirt, but it's the fact that Peter hasn't looked away from him, is confidently holding his gaze through the glass, that makes Tony shudder and stop breathing.

The bathroom is flooded with pheromones, cinnamon and honey assaulting an unprepared billionaire, and he'll die if they stay like this, can't function properly, brain switching gears, trying valiantly to remember baseball stats, past wounds, May's cooking because Peter's gonna wreck his sanity if those hands keep winding down, if those lips don't stop unraveling him like a Christmas present.

“If I'd known you'd get this handsy and romantic, I would have complained about how I look earlier." It's a gasp, half murmur, half plea as Peter grins at him shamelessly. “I know it's rude and wrong and sexist, but I like comforting my omega, acting like a stereotypical alpha. Makes me feel like I'm doing my job of making you happy. “

He quirks an eyebrow, is glad Peter can be comfortable enough to take the reins every once in a while. “You're telling me that assuring me I'm still drop dead gorgeous, “ his husband snorts, nips at Tony's shoulder for that quip, “ makes you horny because you feel like an alpha comforting, and I quote, ‘your omega’? “

Peter reverts back to the shy teenager who could barely ask a girl out to the homecoming dance, ducks his head into Tony’s neck with a blush quickly spreading over damp skin. “Well, I've got news for you, sweetheart. Your wet dream also thoroughly enjoys it so you better break tradition and have sex with me to remind me I'm the hottest man you've ever seen. "

He's actually serious about this, his self esteem hasn't exactly been, you know, the best and Tony's mood always improves significantly after playing around in bed with Peter. Besides, it's a sign of trust. Peter won't hurt him or their child, will be able to hold back his strength. He always does.

Listen, it's not exactly moral, but he has more than enough problems to go ahead and analyze his attraction and dependency on Peter while pregnant.

“So, I can distract you from your bad thoughts by acting sort of possessive and taking you to bed? " Oh, he adores when his husband is afraid of showing a new side of himself and asks for permission ever so sweetly.

“Babe, if you don't, I'll kick you out of the apartment. Give me possessive Peter Parker any day you want, like I'm gonna complain about a gorgeous, brilliant twenty something year old all over me. Now what's it gonna be, alpha dear, bathroom or bedroom? I wouldn't mind the tile but, oh God, I forgot you could pick me up." Tony clings to broad shoulders, can't help but laugh because aren't they a pair?

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

After having what he's sure was the best sex of his life, Tony stumbles out of the bedroom with torn clothes, a dazed look in his eyes and several bruises blossoming around his neck. Peter's halfway out the doorway when Tony whistles, makes sure all their family is paying attention, blurts out, “Peter and I are having a kid. I'm pregnant, woohoo, it's great, it's amazing, save your congratulations for later. We'll do a proper thing soon, if anyone interrupts and they're not dying, I'll kill you myself. See you in a few hours, " and yanks him back in while Friday activates Sock on the Doorknob Protocol.

Rhodey and Nat clink glasses while waiting on the others to pay up on their bets regarding Tony and Peter's odd behavior.

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

Later, much later, like, two days later, they have a proper dinner with their family in the tower. There are balloons and streamers, cake and ice cream, warm hugs and gentle cheek kisses, subtle tears and full on weeping (Happy had to borrow a box of Kleenex), pictures and videos and a pile of gifts taller than Tony.

The most important thing, though, is that the A.I recorded the reaction after Clint asked about baby names. He's grateful they went to the doctor before tonight. The visit revealed a treasure Tony thought he'd never have. Now it's time to reveal it to their pack.

His husband snuggles up to him, is so ecstatic the whole dining room smells like cinnamon and honey, like joyous love he'll never get enough of. Tony grins at him, curls their hands together and repeats the same thing over and over again in his head.

It'll be ok. They'll be ok. If the universe keeps giving Tony the greatest gifts he could ever want, maybe it's time he stopped looking at the horse's mouth. That's how it goes, right? Right.

He turns to look at Peter, loves him so much it aches, feels tiny feet pressing against his stomach. Guesses he's not the only one smitten with this incredible human being.

“We were thinking Marie,” Peter smiles at him, eyes lit up and lovely.

Tony is never going to forget this moment, this warmth in his chest.

“And Benjamin Parker-Stark.”

Their family loses their shit and both Friday and Karen have ample proof.

(@puppypeter look, omega tones! @tonystarkisaslut thank you so much for allowing me to use the prompt board! I am still accepting prompts! Although I can't guarantee getting them ready within a few days, I'll try to finish them on the one week mark depending on how long the fic is!)

[crispyjenkins]

can you write jangobi - they have to team up together to save their dumbass kids??? and maybe their weapons get switched around so obi ends up shooting people with jango's westars and jango ends up stabbign people with the glowy murderstick???

(such a cute concept!! more mandalorian weapons flirting, more obi being a chronic ‘saber-dropper, more boba absolutely whooping anakin’s ass at hand to hand — obi really needs to step up the training there. i put this in the jar’kai canon divergence (first part here) because this prompt had interesting parallels. you get a whopping 2,000 words!!  still not over lightsabers being called “glowy murder sticks” fandom peaked like five years ago and also I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG i was going to write this on friday and then fiori and i got into it about dha kar’ta and i’m ruined. anyways have some competence kink.)

  "We really must stop meeting like this."

  Jango growls and slams a new charge into his blaster, like it will prevent him having to turn around and acknowledge his newest headache. "I don't need your help, Kenobi," he grits, as he dodges a piece of the falling ceiling and ducks behind the barricade block Kenobi is crouching against, hands as loose as the smile on his face.

  “Oh, no, I’m sure you have it well under control.” 

  An explosion rocks the warehouse, clouds of duracrete dust whipped into their faces by the evening wind; Jango is thankful for his helmet’s respirator, but Kenobi doesn’t even seem bothered. They’re in the middle of karking nowhere in the industrial district of the planetoid Odos, where no one in their right mind is outside after midday for the wind storms, and Kenobi’s appearance confirms Jango’s suspicions that this mess is jetiise related osik.

  “Where’s that foundling of yours?” Jango demands, popping up over the barricade to take a shot at the scaffolding where a human bounty hunter had managed to get the drop on him. 

  Kenobi hums and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the barricade like the building isn’t currently threatening to come down on them. “I imagine he’s about where yours is. I’m sorry to say that it seems Boba has been caught up in my padawan’s first mission as a knight.”

  Dropping back down next to him, Jango has to resist putting his westar-34 to Kenobi’s head. “That seems to be going well.”

  “Yes, well, you know Anakin,” Kenobi says easily, smiling wider as he opens his eyes. He raises a brow at Jango’s blaster aimed suspiciously in his direction, but there is no fear in his expression, and Jango wishes he had the time to show him just why there should be. And then out of left field Kenobi asks, “You have two of those, yes?”

  And Jango doesn’t know what the kriff to say to that. Are jetiise even allowed to use blasters? 

  He glances down and notices that Kenobi doesn’t have his jetii’kad on his belt or in his hand, not a visible weapon on him, and suddenly the hiding behind a barricade makes a lot more sense. 

  “Where’s your ‘kad, jare jetii?”

  Kenobi sniffs in offense, tugging Jango to the side to avoid a blaster bolt fired from above. “Well, that’s hardly fair, I did have it, before your friends upstairs blew up the wall.” Jango just growls and takes out the ‘friend upstairs’, watching with satisfaction as they drop three stories to land in a heap on the duracrete. 

  Kenobi looks impressed, stirring something warm in Jango’s chest, like his stupid heart wants to do anything to keep that expression on his face. So of course Jango burns the thought and tells his heart to shut the kriff up.

  “Only until I get Boba back,” his mouth says without his permission, yanking his second westar out of its holster and holding it out to Kenobi grip-first. He’d be concerned about the jetii using mind tricks on him if he didn’t still have his beskar helmet, but he’s tempted to still shoot him anyways.

  Every year under Jaster’s tutelage screams at him as Kenobi takes the blaster, oh Force he hadn’t even let Sheeka touch his westars—

  “Only until we get Boba back,” Kenobi agrees, a strange pinch between his brows as he looks down at the blaster for a long moment. Then he switches off the safety and it’s like nothing had ever crossed his face as he smiles cockily sideways at Jango. “Well, shall we?”

-

  Jango comes to learn that Jedi aren’t forbidden from using blasters, but he sees why they shouldn’t.

  Kenobi cleans the scaffolding of four Odos weapons dealers in a single burst, ducking in a fluid motion to dodge the counter attack before popping back up, firing Jango’s westar exactly as it’s meant to be: in ferocious volleys that would melt other blasters. And the implication that Kenobi has had experience with multiple kinds of blasters makes his throat go dry.

  Crouching back down, Kenobi clicks out the charge pack and slips a new one in, that Jango hadn’t even seen him take from his belt. And then the jare karking Jedi jumps over the barricade and sprints for the humans knocking their way into the warehouse. 

  Jango finally gets his head out of his ass and says kriff it, following Kenobi over the barricade and kicking his jetpack into flight, covering the crazy Jedi from above. Not that Kenobi seems to need it, easily alternating between the westar and hand to hand, moving almost too fast for Jango to be sure he doesn’t accidentally shoot him.

  An absolute hulk of a Weequay manages to clock Kenobi in the face, sending him skidding back a few feet before Jango can put a blaster bolt through his head. Kenobi wipes his face on his sleeve, smearing blood on the white of his armour, and it’s as if every Mandalorian that’s ever marched away* is screaming “this one!” in Jango’s brain; he nearly flies into a column and decides it’s safer to be on the ground until he can somehow get the image of an angry, bloody Kenobi out of his head.

  No sooner are his boots on duracrete that a human yells and throws himself at Jango, and they must be smuggling spice as well as weapons if they think trying to use their fists against full beskar’gam is a good idea. The human goes down in three hits, just in time for Jango to see the Weequay get another lucky blow, shooting Kenobi’s shoulder to make him drop the blaster.

  Jango!” Kenobi shouts, dodging the Weequay’s fist, and oh, they’re on a first name basis now?

  But Jango tosses him his blaster like sharing weapons on the battlefield isn’t frowned upon for being too intimate, and watches Obi-Wan fire from his left hand with the same ease as his right, before Jango has his own Weequay to worry about.

  It’s only when both he and Obi-Wan manage to push their assailants back enough that they all spill out into the freighter depot that Jango realises he now only has his vibroblade and flame thrower, the latter of which he can’t use without having to worry about Obi-Wan.

  “Wait,” Jango says, kicking a human in the chest and sending them flying. “Where’s that commander of yours.”

  “Ah,” Obi-Wan winces, somehow having the presence of mind to both shoot and look guilty. “I should technically not be helping my former padawan on his mission.”

  Another dumbass father, then. Jango snorts, using his jetpack to hop across the depot and stop a human from running away, sticking them through the throat with his vibroblade. “Then why the kriff are you here?” he taunts, and then immediately almost gets shot, because Obi-Wan laughs and shouts,

  “Boba called me!” 

  Jango curses every Kyr’tsad commando and Jedi he can remember the name of, because it’s their fault his life has played out in a sequence of events that has somehow landed him here, noticing Obi-Wan’s ‘kad on the ground and picking it up. It’s a little charred and could use a wash, but doesn’t appear to be broken. 

  He doesn’t have time to decide if he plans on hurling it back to Obi-Wan before a vibroblade is shoved in his face, barely missing scratching his visor, and Jango doesn’t think as he flips the jetii’kad on, relieving the human of their entire arm. 

  Oh, he likes this weapon.

  The beskad is not Jango’s favourite weapon by a long shot, he’ll take distance weapons over up close and personal any day, but he can’t deny the effectiveness in such situations where he’s stupidly given and/or thrown his blasters to a kriffing Jedi. Fair’s fair, he supposes he gets to use Obi-Wan’s weapon until they find Boba, equal exchange and all that.

  He’s just thankful there aren’t any other Mando’ade around to witness it.

-

  When the ground is littered with bodies and every muscle in Jango’s body screams for rest, Obi-Wan is staring at him. 

  He still has the westar, held loosely enough that the Odus winds buffet it to match the hair that Obi-Wan had cut since their last meeting. He watches Jango with a complicated expression from several yards away, dried blood on his upper lip and Jango’s blaster in his hand, and those taab'echaaj'la Mando’ade* are yelling at him again, 

  Jango powers down the ‘kad and breaks them from their reverie, Obi-Wan blinking back to himself and offering Jango an unsure smile. 

 “Is it safe now?”

  Jango startles at Boba’s voice and quickly searches for the source, only letting out his breath when he finds his boy peeking down from the hatch of the fighter closest to them. Obi-Wan’s foundling pops his head out of the same hatch, and Jango shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.

  “Obi-Wan!” Anakin says cheerfully, swinging down from the fighter to trot over to his former master, his new knight hair looking rather unfortunate all stuck up with blaster smoke like that. 

  Boba follows easily, not looking even a little bothered by the day’s events and comes to stand next to Jango while Obi-Wan frowns at Anakin’s fresh black eye.

  “And what’s this?” he questions, reaching up to Anakin’s face before the foundling shrugs him off. 

  “‘Ran into Boba. He didn’t recognise me.”

  “He was wearing a mask!” Boba protests, making an aborted gesture to the bodies of the weapons dealers and scowling. “He needs to learn more hand to hand combat.”

  Obi-Wan laughs at that, then seems to realise he’s still holding the westar and abruptly stops. He clears his throat and quickly brushes the dirt from the blaster with his robe, then spins it around to face Jango grip-first. As if he hadn’t just cleaned Jango’s blaster in front of both their younglings. 

  Boba looks between them quickly, lips parted in surprise, and Jango really doesn’t know what to tell him. So he does the only thing he can think of and wipes the soot off Obi-Wan’s ‘kad with his cloak, closing the space between them to hold it out to him pommel-first.

  Obi-Wan blinks, looking from his ‘kad to Jango’s face, and, well, that certainly answers the question of him being aware of weapons courting. Jango takes his westar back and holsters it, still holding the ‘saber expectantly as Anakin stares insead at Obi-Wan’s limp right arm.

  “Master, are you bleeding?”

  Something icy lodges in Jango’s throat, but doesn’t get the chance to repeat the question as Obi-Wan looks down at himself and promptly tips forward into Jango’s chest with a muttered,

  “Oh, goodness.”

  Anakin yelps and leaps forward to help Jango catch him, and Jango really wishes just about any other Jedi had saved him from the Bando Gora, because they wouldn’t give him heart attacks. 

Mando’a: jetiise — Jedi pl., sing. jetii jetii’kad — lightsaber, lit. “jedi saber” jare — someone taking a life-threatening risk, not a compliment; similar to kamikaze but not a direct comparison. beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy. Kyr’tsad — Death Watch, lit. “Death Society” beskad — traditional curved Mandalorian saber Mando’ade — Mandalorian, lit. “Child of Mandalore”

*based on the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”. the idea of Mandalorian ancestors gets sketchy when lineages aren’t like. a thing. but yeah, every Mando that’s walked the path is telling Jango to climb Obi like a tree.