Where Do You See Yourself In 5 Years?

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This could SAVE SOMEONE'S LIFE.

YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE NOT TO REBLOG THIS.

I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF IT DOESN'T GO WITH YOUR BLOG'S THEME.

And yes, REBLOG. Liking does no shit at all. This isn't ig.

You reblog, people see it. You don't, people don't see it. This shit's that simple.

This could save someone's life. It's not a joke.

إنسانية 🕊️

‏نزعت الخطاف من فم احد القروش وعند مشاهدة القروش الاخرى لذلك صارت القروش تأتي لنفس المكان لنزع الخطاف من فمها علما ان هذه القروش لا تحب ان يلمسها احد.

هذا في البهاما والغواصة ،خلال الـ 15 سنة الماضية ، أزالت 250 خطاف.

the purest form of serotonin is when a cat looks at u and u go like “what?” and it meows at u

Different types of kimono. 

Jango/Kit, while on a negotiation mission Kit has an... unusual reaction to some of the local cuisine. Next thing he knows he's waking up barely clothed in a 'drunk tank' and being very cuddley to a grouchy bounty hunter. (At least Jango is trying to act grouchy. His pheromones say otherwise).

Raucous laughter sparks along Kit's nerves, sharp and mean and taunting, and he grimaces as he surfaces from the depths of unconsciousness, the taunting voice slowly sliding sideways into words. It takes a moment to make them out, another to understand them, but—

“Finally knock him out, Fett?”

“Tired of a pretty thing all over you? You could always hand him over.”

“Get karked.”

The third voice isn't taunting. It’s tense, sharp, with a warning edge, and Kit feels an arm wrapped around his lower back tighten faintly. Feels those cruel presences pass, laughing with each other, and then Fett's breath, a careful exhale.

Kit's head feels vaguely like it did that time Qui-Gon got him drunk on honey wine from a very specific plant on a very specific planet, and it’s not overtly unpleasant, but it’s rather alarming. Especially combined with the fact that Kit doesn’t seem to be wearing much more than his breeches, and even those are rolled up to his knees.

He’s also plastered face-first against a Human’s chest, nose practically buried in his shirt, and he has no memory at all of how exactly he ended up this way.

“Awake?” that sharp voice says, and the arm around his back doesn’t move, but the hand curled over his hip loosens slightly. “If you go for my belt again we’re going to have problems.”

“Not the entertaining kind, I assume,” Kit says, and his throat is dry, his voice scratchy. Carefully, he lifts his head, and every one of his tentacles feels overly sensitive, enough so to make him wince as they shift. There are pheromones in the air, attraction and low-level arousal, but he deliberately shifts back regardless, settling on the bare duracrete floor of some kind of drunk tank with a faint grimace.

The last clear thing Kit remembers is…dinner. He finished his mission and stopped at a food stall, and the owner recommended the soup. And then nothing.

Quite the soup, Kit thinks wryly. At least for a Nautolan.

“Unless you think me breaking your wrist is entertaining,” Fett says, but despite the violence implied in the words there's a flicker of something that’s almost concern as he eyes Kit. The Mandalorian armor is a surprise, but—Kit's heard of Jango Fett by reputation, and he’s absolutely certain that the man’s reputation doesn’t include anything like this.

“Justified, likely,” Kit says wryly, and settles on his knees, wincing a little as his tentacles brush each other. That’s a less than pleasant side effect, apparently. Hesitating, he looks Jango over, and then says, “You have my deepest apologies, if I intruded in any way—”

Jango looks sour, but there’s a curl of pheromones around him that are anything but—heady, sharp, dark with want, and they send a shiver through Kit's tentacles, ripple down his spine. He has to catch his breath carefully to keep from showing a reaction.

“You were drunk,” Jango says. “Drunk and handsy. I can handle one tipsy Nautolan.”

“Drugged,” Kit confesses, a little wryly, and when Jango's gaze snaps to him, narrows dangerously, he raises his hands. “Involuntarily, I assume. Whatever was in the soup I had, I believe it could be marketed as an aphrodisiac for my species.”

Some of the tension eases out of Jango's posture, and he huffs. “Perks of exploring Outer Rim worlds,” he says gruffly, and when he catches Kit's wince as he shifts, suspicion flickers over his face. “Hey. Did you—before they tossed you in here—”

Kit chuckles, shaking his head, and then regrets it as his tentacles ache sharply. “No, no, my friend, I'm fine. I've never suffered through a hangover before, but I believe this is the equivalent.”

“Your head tentacles?” Jango asks, frowning, and when Kit inclines his head, he huffs. “Then quit kriffing moving. Come here.”

Not about to turn down the invitation, since Jango apparently doesn’t object, Kit slides closer, lets himself be pulled down against Jango's chest again. A hand gathers his tentacles up, and he hisses, but holds still as Jango gently wraps a length of cloth that’s probably his cape around them, then settles them against Kit's back, and—it’s better. Like dulling a sense, and Kit breathes out in relief, resting his forehead against Jango's shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says. “That is—much better.”

Jango grunts, but his hand presses flat against Kit's back, stroking right over the spread of his silver markings. “Thank me with dinner,” he says, offhand, like Kit can't feel the heat and want that hum, low-level but unwavering, right beneath the surface.

Kit chuckles, enjoying the brush of Jango's fingers now that he can focus on it. “Looking to repeat this experience?” he asks, amused.

“It’s cute you think I need to drug you to drive you out of your mind,” Jango retorts, and his fingers dig in, just faintly, as an image rises. It makes Kit's breath catch, makes him shiver before he can help himself, and Jango smirks, all smug intent.

Kit lets him keep it, if only for the moment. He’ll be able to prove he can hold his own soon enough.

[On AO3]

also i literally do not care whether you prefer pads or tampons but the fact that in almost every situation where free period supplies are available, they’re tampons, and this is just assumed to be fine (or people like campaigning for “free tampons” rather than “free menstrual products”) upsets me bc there are a lot of people who use pads who cannot use tampons and i don’t understand why tampons are considered not just the default but the only option worth mentioning

wolves ^-^

This is truly incredible.

Omg a de-aged Obi-Wan/Jon fic. They both were de-aged to like, 14-15 and don't have their memories past that. They're trapped in a Sith Temple with Very Stressed Cody, a Confused and Concerned Rex, and Low-key Entertained and Terrified Ahsoka. Chaos, emotional pain/bonding, and stress screaming occurs

Rex feels a little like he got run over by a bantha.

“Easy, Rex,” Ahsoka says from somewhere close, and then there's a hand on his shoulder, helping as he struggles up. Rex appreciates the assistance; he feels as if his head got rung like a bell, and his body right along with it. There's no ringing in his ears, though, none of the shakiness that a concussion grenade would have left him with, and when he pries his eyes open Ahsoka looks rattled, but entirely unharmed.

“What the kriff was that?” Rex asks, putting a hand to his head. A few paces away, Cody is stirring on the stone floor, sprawled out uncomfortably, and Rex pushes up, lets Ahsoka grab his arm and steady him as he staggers over to Cody's side.

“Some old Sith trap,” she says disgustedly, and drops to her knees next to Cody, gently pulling him over onto his back. Rex crouches down as well, pulling his helmet off, and when Cody's dazed eyes flutter open, he gives him a crooked grin.

“Come on, vod,” he says. “I know your head’s hard enough to survive that.”

“Go away, Rex,” Cody says with a groan, and Rex scoffs. Before he can say anything, though, Cody's eyes fly open again, and he jerks up. “The general!”

Ahsoka turns, pointing towards the huge, heavy stone door that stands tightly shut. “Master Obi-Wan and Master Antilles threw us clear when the trap went off,” she says. “I tried to get the door open, but it won't move.”

Cody blinks for a moment, staring at the door. Then, carefully, he squints at Ahsoka, and says, “I thought Jon Antilles died on Queyta, getting the swamp gas antidote.”

Well, Rex thinks wryly. That definitely puts a new spin on Obi-Wan’s surprise when he dropped out of the rafters and sliced apart one of the half-mad native beasts that was chasing them.

Ahsoka grins. “It’s like a Temple game,” she says. “Whatever record-keeper is on duty when one of Master Antilles’s death reports comes in has to buy the rest drinks that night. I think it’s happened twelve times in the last three years.”

Jetii, Rex thinks, and rolls his eyes. Cody just looks pained.

“They're trapped in there?” he asks, climbing gingerly to his feet. “We need to get them out.”

That, Rex thinks, is an understatement. They're deep in the bowels of a Sith temple, with several dozen dangerous creatures, Sith ghosts, and a whole trap-filled maze between them and the exit. And Anakin is lost somewhere in here with them, separated early on but probably neck-deep in trouble if Rex knows anything at all about his general. They’ve got no comms, no backup, and no way out except right through the most dangerous parts of the temple.

Just another Centaxday, Rex thinks, and wonders if Fox will be willing to recommend some good ulcer medicine when the stress invariably gives him one. Or several.

“I already tried the door,” Ahsoka says, as she and Rex follow him up. “There's some kind of shield over it—I can't cut through—”

As if in response to her words, the doors shudder, creak. They bow towards Rex, Cody, and Ahsoka, like something is pushing from the inside and straining against the lock, and Cody shout a warning. He falls back, dragging Rex with him, and Rex would be offended about getting manhandled like a shiny if he wasn’t more concerned with grabbing Ahsoka and pulling her along. She eels out of his grip, though, darts in front of them and drops into a ready stance, drawing her lightsaber. The green blade ignites with a hiss just as the doors snap back to flat—

With a yelp, a flail, a flurry of cloth, two bodies pass right through the stone like it’s an illusion, tumbling out onto the floor. Behind them, something slams into the door with enough force to rattle it in its frame, and the figures scramble up, untangling themselves quickly.

Rex thinks, with a distinct sinking feeling, that he would know that red hair anywhere.

“What was that?” the teenage boy—probably sixteen at most—with Obi-Wan’s hair and accent demands. He grabs the arm of the other boy, just about the same age but completely enveloped in an oversized cloak that’s closer to green-grey than standard Jedi brown, and they scramble backwards, right into Ahsoka. She yelps, dropping her lightsaber, and all three of them go down in a tangle of curses.

Rex doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t.

“What the heck,” Cody breathes.

“Master Obi-Wan!” Ahsoka complains. “Ow, ow, you're on my lek, get off—”

Antilles scrambles up, leaping back like he just got stung, and he jerks around—

Rex catches his arm. “Sir, just wait—”

There's a wrench, a sharp, startled sound, and suddenly Rex is airborne. He yelps, hitting the ground on his back, and wheezes as all the air is knocked from his lungs. Someone hisses, and Ahsoka cries out angrily, and Cody takes a half-step forward in alarm.

And then, before anything can happen, Obi-Wan shoves himself between Antilles and the rest of them, herding the other boy back a step. “Wait!” he says loudly, and Antilles twitches, ducks his head, but doesn’t move out from behind Obi-Wan.

“Wait,” Obi-Wan says again, raising his hands, and Rex pushes up on one elbow just to take in the sheer weirdness that is Obi-Wan baby-faced and beardless, padawan braid trailing down behind his ear. “You just startled him, that’s all. He saved me from the beasts in there, he isn't an enemy. And I'm not, either.”

Ahsoka glances back at Rex as she straightens, and her expression is caught between pure bewilderment and rising horror. “Master Obi-Wan?” she asks warily. “Do you recognize me?”

“Master,” Obi-Wan repeats, bemused. “I'm sorry, you must be mistaken. I'm a padawan. I haven’t even made Knight yet, let alone Master.”

Behind him, Antilles shifts, and Rex thinks he sees him swallow. He steps forward, and when Obi-Wan turns to him in alarm, he half-raises a hand, almost touching Obi-Wan’s arm, before he hesitates and drops it.

“If you need a Knight,” he says, “I'm Knight Jon Antilles.”

Rex blinks, exchanging glances with Cody, who looks equally confused. After a moment, Rex just shrugs. He hasn’t heard of Jedi making Knight so young, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.

Ahsoka looks far less at ease with this information. “You're a Knight?” she demands. “But you're fifteen—”

“Sixteen,” Jon mutters, sort of shrinking back under his hood.

“—sixteen,” Ahsoka corrects without missing a beat, “and most Human Jedi don’t make Knight until they're at least twenty!”

There's a moment as Obi-Wan blinks at Ahsoka, and then he looks from her to the dropped lightsaber. “You're a Jedi,” he says in surprise. “I don’t recognize you from the crèche, though. Are you not from the Coruscant Temple?”

“Of course I'm from the Coruscant Temple,” Ahsoka says. She holds out a hand, calling her lightsaber to her, and studies Jon and Obi-Wan for a moment. “Do you…remember anything about the war?”

“War?” Jon asks, quietly alarmed. He steps forward—

Obi-Wan catches his arm, pulling Jon back to his side, and says, “Which war? Were we called out to negotiate? But why would two padawans be sent?”

“My Master is somewhere in this place,” Ahsoka says, and it’s a sidestep worthy of Obi-Wan. “We need to find him, but the only way back up to the main part is through that door.”

Jon and Obi-Wan glance back at it just as something hits it from the inside again, making it shudder. Obi-Wan’s expression firms into bloody stubbornness and he reaches for the lightsaber on his belt, but before he can draw it, Jon catches his arm.

“Have you tried communicating with them?” he asks softly, glancing at the doors. They shake again, and he hesitates, then says, “They have minds, beneath the rage and darkness. I can feel it.”

“They were a little too busy trying to eat us for us to try that,” Ahsoka says, watching him. “You think you can manage it? Even with how angry they are?”

“He can if we help him,” Obi-Wan says, hope rising in his tone. “The three of us together should be strong enough to influence them.” A smile breaking across his face, he turns his hand, catching Jon's arm, and says, “Let us help, Jon.”

Jon stares at him for a long moment, eyes wide beneath the shadow of his hood, and then very deliberately ducks his head so it hides him completely. He doesn’t answer, just jerks his head in a quick nod, but Rex can practically feel the rising heat of a blush. And, judging by the way Ahsoka's brows are rising, that’s not the only thing to feel.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, wow. Mas—Obi-Wan? He’s your type? But everyone in the Archives always talks about how you and Jango Fett—”

“What,” Jon says blankly.

“What,” Cody says, at twice his normal volume.

“I'm everyone’s type,” Obi-Wan says, miffed. “And I certainly don’t know anything about Jango Fett, but whoever he is—”

“Wait, wait,” Rex says, more plea than anything, and raises his hands. If this goes on for much longer, Jon is going to dissolve into a puddle of sheer embarrassment behind Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, and since he’s got an idea how to get them out of here, Rex has a vested interest in not letting that happen. “We need to focus. Sir—Knight Antilles, can you really get those animals to let us through?”

“Yes,” Jon says, apparently relieved to escape the previous topic. “I—”

“We’re helping,” Obi-Wan says firmly, and tugs Jon a step closer to him. Jon looks a little like a deer in the lights of an oncoming transport, but he allows it without flipping Obi-Wan over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Not that Rex is annoyed about that. Much.

“Okay,” Jon says, almost soundless, and when Obi-Wan smiles at him he twitches like he wants to bolt.

Cody rubs a hand over his eyes and mutters to himself, which is the equivalent of anyone else beating their head against a wall while swearing. “We need to find General Skywalker as soon as possible,” he says. “Ahsoka—”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, but heads for Obi-Wan and Jon, grabbing them both by the neck of their robes. “I'm the same age as my Grandmaster and I'm stuck in an old Sith temple with my Master missing, a legendary Jedi Master tripping over his own feet whenever my Grandmaster smiles at him, and no good way out. This is fine.”

Ahsoka, Rex reflects, has been learning far, far too much from Anakin. It’s mildly horrifying.

Jon makes a low, offended sound, but lets her steer him. “You're like Knol,” he says, as if this is some damning indictment of her character.

“Master Ven’nari?” Ahsoka says, suddenly far more interested. “Can't she breathe fire?”

Jon pauses, clearly caught off guard by this unexpected response, and gives her a wary look. He doesn’t answer, which is probably for the better. At least as far as Rex's stress levels are concerned.

“Beasts,” Rex says firmly. Ahsoka doesn’t need the ability to breathe fire. Rex doesn’t need Ahsoka with the ability to breathe fire. Not in the least.

“Who even are you?” Obi-Wan asks, cuttingly polite as he eyes them. “Planetary officials?”

“Soldiers,” Cody says. “Your soldiers. We serve the Jedi.”

Another traded glance between Jon and Obi-Wan, this time bewildered.

“Oh,” Jon says, soft. “You're not twins, you're clones.”

Cody very clearly makes the decision not to ask how he knows. “We are,” he agrees. “It’s our duty to get you out of here safely—”

From the look on Obi-Wan’s face, incredibly unimpressed and vaguely offended, this goes over with his general at sixteen about as well as it does at thirty-six. Jon doesn’t look all that much more convinced, either.

Ahsoka snickers, because she’s terrible. “We’ll get them out, too,” she tells Obi-Wan soothingly, and Obi-Wan snorts softly.

“We’d better,” he says, and turns, giving Jon a bright smile. “Are you ready, Jon?”

Jon stares at him for a moment, and then very carefully, very deliberately, he slides his hands out of the enveloping shadow of his cloak and offers them up. He’s not wearing the gloves he had on as an adult, and Rex can see Obi-Wan’s eyes lingering on the scarred skin for an instant before he reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Jon's.

“And what am I? Bantha fodder?” Ahsoka asks, unimpressed, and drops a hand on top of theirs, making them both startle.

“Ah, young love,” Rex murmurs, trying not to grin, and Cody groans.

“Can you knock me out again?” he asks.

Rex would, but the doors are opening, the Jedi are doing something, and there’s a big, ugly feline with long teeth bearing down on them, so he has slightly more important things to worry about at the moment.

[On AO3]

Hey. 

Hey, listen. 

I just want to say thank you so much for deciding to follow me. I don’t know why, but for some reason 600 of you have decided you want to put up with my chaotic energy and I just- THANK YOU~! I am drinking my coffee, trying to wake up, but I wanted to give you all a long preview of my Mando!Obi tattoo artist au. I know I talked about this like over a month ago, but I haven’t given up on it. I’ve just been…all over the place! Ahem, anyway~!  Under the cut! (also, apologies if the formatting gets weird- tumblr has issues.)

Keep reading

hawks and handsaws: nico has vibes that he’d be dooku’s ex-husband, and he sometimes drops by the nature reserve to say hi, maybe introduce his nephew, and meet rex.

“You're sure about this?” Jon asks carefully. “It’s going to be a little boring.”

“Oh no,” Rex says, perfectly dry. “I might have to sit around in the sunshine and watch my boyfriend work. I might even fall asleep here in the grass. It’s awful.”

Jon snorts, but there’s a small smile pulling at his mouth, and he reaches out to tug Rex's cap down over his eyes. “You're just trying to escape Jango,” he says.

“That too,” Rex admits shamelessly, pushing his hat back up so he can see Jon. “He’s a pain in the ass.”

Two days ago, Jon might have protested. After having Jango barge in on them just as Rex got Jon in his lap and the button of his jeans undone for the first time, though, Jon is noticeably silent, if ruefully so. When Rex raises a brow at him, he shrugs a little guiltily, and offers, “He was talking about going out tonight?”

Rex groans. “I'm too old to be planning sex with my boyfriend around my father.”

Jon goes faintly red. It’s still cute. He’s smiling, too, as he leans down over Rex, one hand braced beside his head. His eyes are a shade lighter than the spring sky, and his hair is caught back in a neat tail that makes the angles of his face starkly obvious. Rex likes looking at him, and he smirks as Jon dips down, kissing him gently.

“I'm distracting you from your work,” he says as they pull apart, but it’s not like he’s trying to stop; he gets a hand around Jon's hip, thinks about rolling him over in the grass here and stripping him slowly, exploring, taking his time. It’s a good image.

“You are,” Jon agrees readily, but he kisses Rex again, hums softly when Rex drags his fingers through his hair and tugs the band free so he can tangle it around his hands. There's no objection forthcoming, and he slides over Rex, settles above him as they kiss—

Long and low and carrying, a whistle wavers across the valley, rising and falling in a pattern. Jon immediately lifts his head, even as Rex makes a sound of protest, and his eyes widen.

“Nico,” he says, startled.

Rex blinks at him. “You know that whistle?” he asks, not sure if he’s amused or bewildered.

Jon looks vaguely sheepish. “Nico knows I forget my phone sometimes,” he says, which Rex supposes is a very generous way of putting I've destroyed three phones in the two months you’ve known me and clearly this is not a break in the pattern. “He stopped bothering to call me.”

Rex hums, mildly judgmental, and Jon huffs, pinching him lightly in the side as he slides off of him. With a sigh, Rex resigns himself to not getting any sex with his boyfriend, even in the middle of the wilderness, and sits up, just as Jon tips his head and whistles back. There's a pause, several minutes of silence, and then it comes again, this time from below them. Unconcerned by the sheer drop at the edge of the cliff, Jon leans over it, then waves.

“Nico,” he says. “Tae. The path’s over here.”

Rex raises a brow, because that name at least is familiar, and uncommon enough that he’s fairly certain he knows the owner. He can't figure out what Doom’s brand new boyfriend is doing all the way out here, though, especially in the presence of someone Jon knows.

“Path,” a man says, dubious. “Yes, I see the only potentially passable section of an otherwise sheer rock face, suitable only for mountain goats and those raised by An’ya Kuro. How delightful.”

Jon rolls his eyes, but leans down to offer a hand. “You're worse than An’ya about hiking,” he says, and there’s an indignant sound half a second before Jon pulls an older man with an impressive mustache and greying hair up over the edge.

“I would hope so,” the man says archly, taking a step away from the cliff. He catches sight of Rex, just coming to his feet, and pauses in surprise, brows rising.

“Rex!” Tae says as Jon helps him up the last few feet. “I didn’t know you knew Jon.”

“I didn’t know you knew him,” Rex says, bemused. “Hi, Tae.”

“Another Fett,” the man says keenly, eyeing Rex. “Jaster must be overwhelmed, having so many grandsons. But at least none of you take after him.”

“Nico,” Jon says, reproving, and Nico huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Yes, yes,” he mutters, waving a hand. “Nico Diath, at your service.”

“Rex,” he returns, and—this has to be the man Aayla was talking about, the professor returning from sabbatical. “You teach at the university?”

“Biodiversity,” Nico confirms. “Jon, Mace told me you were staying in town for the next few months. If Fay finds out you're living in a tent again, I refuse to save you.”

“Fay is back?” Jon asks, and there’s an undertone of something like joy to his voice that makes Rex glance at him in surprise. He hasn’t seen Jon interact with many people, and those he does interact with tend to be like Obi-Wan, always making the first move or dragging Jon somewhere with equal amounts of badgering and steamrolling. But—this is different, and something in Rex's chest turns over, warm, to see the way Jon steps towards Nico, reaches out.

Nico reaches back, gripping Jon's arm with a small smile. “She is,” he says. “Knol as well. We were planning a night of celebration before we all officially make ourselves known at the university, and your presence is required. Unless you're willing to endure Knol hunting you down herself, and heaven knows no one deserves that.”

“I’ll be there,” Jon says quietly, and Nico snorts and steps forward, wrapping his arms around him. Instead of twitching away, Jon hugs him back for a long moment, and then says, muffled, “I'm glad you're back, Nico.”

“Yes, well, I can't stay away too long or Dooku gets complacent,” Nico says, a spark of something wicked in his otherwise dignified expression. “I wouldn’t want him to think I've forgotten how to make his life miserable.”

“You're the one who married him,” Jon points out. “Four times.”

“Yes, but I also divorced him four times—”

“Twice,” Tae corrects, grinning, and sinks down by Rex's feet, shrugging his backpack off. “He divorced you the other times, Uncle.”

“Only because he beat me to the paperwork,” Nico says with a sniff. “And I'm thoroughly done with that man now, you can be sure.”

“That’s what he said the last three times,” Tae tells Rex, and Rex muffles his laughter, settling next to him.

“How’s the move going?” he asks. “Doom’s never heard of organization in his life, so I don’t envy you.”

Tae grins. “It’s good,” he says. “The new place is twice the size of both our old apartments combined. There's a yard, too. I think it will be great.”

“Good. Because next time Jango's in town, he’s your problem,” Rex says, and Tae, who hasn’t yet experienced the full force of Jango Fett crashing into his life and relationship, just laughs at the very serious threat that Rex means wholeheartedly.

“He’s not that bad,” Jon says quietly, settling beside Rex, and Rex snorts and reaches out, hooking an arm around his waist and dragging him close, until their legs are tangled and he can bury his face in Jon's shoulder.

“He’s exactly that bad,” he protests, and Jon snorts, curling a hand over his head in sympathy.

When Rex opens his eyes, Nico is watching them, a thoughtful expression on his face. Instead of commenting, though, he waves a hand at Tae, grabs the bag Tae passes him, and says, “We brought tequila. And food, I suppose.”

“It’s barely lunchtime,” Jon says, but it’s resigned more than anything. “Knol is going to laugh at you if you fall off the side of the mountain. Again.”

“Knol can mind her own business,” Nico says with dignity. “And I require tequila if I'm going to have to deal with Dooku when I go home.”

“I can't believe you're still neighbors,” Jon says, mildly despairing. “You could have moved, and then you wouldn’t have to deal with him.”

“And surrender? Ha. It’s my house and refuse to be forced out of it.” Nico pulls a bottle of very good tequila from the depths of his pack, and when Tae gives him a look, he sighs through his nose and pulls out a bag full of sandwiches as well.

Jon gives Rex an apologetic look, leaning into him. “Sorry for the interruption,” he murmurs. “Again.”

Rex chuckles. “We’ll survive,” he says, and laces their fingers together on the grass.

[On AO3]