#also he probably has a bunch of other little fidgets

[intotheelliwoods]

Wait… how do you spin a fidget spinner with one hand and three fingers??

This is the best visual I could find but, one hand and 3 fingers is completely possible! Pointer and thumb to hold the spinner, and whatever finger is left to actually spin it! Or even the pointer can spin it if you hold it down with the other finger + thumb

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 5

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(special thanks to @bucket-of-cheese for this episode cover art!, as well as @karkatwaddles @chip-the-dip @scrambledlikeeggs @kairamuwu with editing)

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Our favourites cross paths

CW: threats made with a weapon, mentions of injuries

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Time passes, though horribly slower in the desert heat.

Grian and Scar both spend their morning groggy and aching from the phantom fight the previous evening. Not to mention the little rest they were able to get during the relatively short night that this planet provides.

Now that they feel rested enough, Grian shoots up high above the canyon with a few strong beats of his wings. Scar watches him from the ground as he makes a few circles in the sky before he dives down back to join him. With a greater bearing on his surroundings, thanks to the high vantage point, Grian picks a direction that seems most prominent to head towards. He returns grumbling about how he could see something in the distance, but it looked like nothing more than a bunch of junk to him. Not much of the optimist it seems, but Scar prides himself on being able to make the most of any situation. He pats Grian's back, giving a small speech about how 'that a bunch of junk was better than nothing after all'. Grian blinks slowly, reluctantly agreeing. They have a destination now!

Grian consistently finds himself needing to catch up with Scar, occasionally mumbling about how the ground is too flat and something about bird feet. It’s obvious by how he’s fidgeting that he’d rather be flying, even though that option means either leaving Scar behind or carrying him there. And as much as Scar wants to ask, he’s also scared he might lose an eye as a result.

He leaves the slightly personal question unasked, the conversation instead being filled with Grian complaining about walking. He hesitates when their passage opens up to the blaring, exposed sun. Holding his hand up to shield himself from the harsh light, he scrunches his face, occasionally wincing when his hot metal limbs hit his skin with his heavy, tired steps.

Scar himself isn’t having much of a fun time either. The leg braces he uses aren’t meant to be put under a lot of strain for such a long time. It’s only a matter of time before they might snap. The grains of sand grating against them are probably hastening the unit's deterioration. He'll have to use Grian as support if they do break.. and go through the laborious task of requesting a new pair from the Vindicators.

Occasionally they have to take a break, with Scar trying to brush as much dust and sand from the joints of the braces, doing the most he can to slow down any decay it might have caused them. On the other hand, Grian uses the opportunity to rest, immediately slumping against the nearest wall and fanning himself with his tail.

Scar has long since taken off his jacket and tied it around his waist, relieved by the fact he'd been wearing a tank top underneath. The lack of sleeves feels like a world of difference in the heat, not that he wouldn't take it off completely if need be, despite his company. Every so often, he catches Grian's lingering looks when he thinks Scar isn't watching, his expression weirdly guarded and lost in thought. One time, when he notices he’s being examined, Scar flexes jokingly in response, receiving a roll of the eyes and quiet mutterings about indecency.

Despite how hot it is and how much his company seems to fidget and scratch at the uncomfortable feathers underneath, Grian seems insistent on keeping his layers on.

Finally, they reenter the shade, and the winged man groans, flinging around his stiff arms.

”What's wrong?” Scar turns around, watching as the strange man shakes out his feathers. Sand rains down as he does as if the sunlight has been caking him in the sand.

"I lost my helmet and, therefore, my visor. It sucks."

“Sucks how?"

"The light hurts my eyes." Grian rubs at his temples, scrunching his eyes closed.

Scar tilts his head in response, confused. It’s bright, not enough to be painful yet, but it’s clearly bothering Grian more somehow.

When he’s met with a lack of a retort, Grian glances up at Scar, quickly taking note of his confused expression. He rolls his eyes like he knows what Scar is thinking.

"I'm a glare," he says so simply, answering the unspoken question.

"Not… glare-leaning? Or an avian?" Scar, not so subtly, looks Grian up and down, the other tensing uncomfortably with a weird look to match.

"No."

"But…" Scar trails off, not quite being sure how to ask respectfully.

"I have wings?" Grian finishes for him, like he’s heard it all before. Tucking his wings behind his back on reflex, he takes in a deep breath, as if psyching himself up for a speech.

A series of looks flash across his face. Scar waits patiently, only for Grian to breathe out a quiet "Yeah," with no further elaboration.

"Glares can have wings?"

"This one can. It's complicated." Grian walks past Scar, losing eye contact deliberately as he strolls ahead. He doesn’t appear upset at least, bored is the closest to how Scar could describe it.

"But… How?" Scar asks cautiously, against his better judgment.

"Family curse from hitting a magical bird with a ship centuries ago." Grian holds his hands out, imitating piloting, before hitting his hands together with a metal clank. "BAM! Wings for all your firstborns."

"Wait, really?" Scar exclaims. Genuinely believing Grian’s story. He catches up to him with a quick jog, looking to the glare in an attempt to get a read of his face only to be met with a smirk. Oh.

"Nah-" Grian chuckles to himself, patting Scar on the shoulder.

Scar watches as he continues up ahead, looking at the feathered tail with a new perspective. A glare. That explains why his feathers look so real — they’re a feature all Glares possess to varying degrees – and his deep inky eyes that never seem to shrink, even in the harsh light. Maybe the wings are just artificial add-ons, but that doesn’t feel right — they’re far too realistic and fluid. He shakes the thought out of his head. It probably isn’t polite to dwell on it, the subject is obviously something Grian doesn’t want to talk about.

But no, Scar isn’t about to be done with this conversation completely.

"Prove you’re a glare, then."

Grian, who had walked slightly ahead, stops and turns around to give Scar an almost offended look before he shrugs, replacing it with an amused, yet tired one.

“Sure,” he says with a resigned sigh.

Without warning, everything in Scar’s sight goes dark, like an all-encompassing shadow out of nowhere, the murky nothingness only just reaching his toes. He sticks his hands out in front of him, looking at them as they become outlined by a dark void.

He knows what this is. Most glares possess this skill, it’s the baseline ability tied to their magic. ‘Darkness’ he thinks he remembers it being called. Scar has never experienced it first hand though, and he can’t help but ogle the slightly frightening power.

“Whoah-”

As quickly as it appeared, the gloom flees, leaving him with the less-than-friendly, hot reflective sands.

Grian looks at him curiously, his arms crossed.

“Okay, so believe me now?”

Scar smiles, nodding vigorously.

“That was sooo cool!!”

Grian very hesitantly smiles back, turning away before Scar can process it completely.

Despite his wary demeanour, he secretly revels in the reaction, not quite being able to help but grin to himself.

“Can you do illusion magic too?” Scar asks, making Grian's steps hesitate for just a second, the mood in the air changing quickly. His back is still facing Scar, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing the slight shudder in Grian’s shoulders, and the subtle flicks of his feathers.

“…No,” is all he says in slow response… too slowly.

Ah, so another sour subject, it feels like Scar is collecting them all. As much as he wants to pry, he feels like he has asked enough.

There’s a lapse in their conversation as Scar's eyes wander. They both continue walking, albeit slowly, probably due to Grian's obvious intent to savour the shade when passing through it.

"If the sun's bothering you that much, why don't you just do the darkness thing to yourself?" Scar inquires, filling the silence.

"That's not how it works. It's only a perception, I don't actually switch off the sun," Grian replies, his voice back with some light, the previous question forgotten.

"Oh."

"And trust me, oh how I want to switch off this sun." He holds his long claws up to the sky, imitating crushing the light that peeks from the shade touching the tips of his claws.

“I'll still get the painful headache even if I make everything dark for me.”

Scar glances down to his waist, where his own helmet has been clipped. He once again catches up to Grian, leg braces creaking slightly.

"… I could give you my helmet." He hands it to him.

Grian looks down at the poor thing with a gentle look on his face.

"It's got a huge crack in it, so it's pretty much useless. Sorry about that, by the way." He flicks a guilty look at Scar before settling back into stride ahead of him.

"I wouldn't call it useless-'' Scar looks down at it with a frown. He hopes he can repair it, it’s dear to him.

"Even if it wasn't, I would never put that thing on."

"What’s wrong with the cat ears?" Scar questions, a smile evident in his voice. He knows well that it isn’t his cute accessories that’s deterring Grian from putting the helmet on, he just thinks it’s amusing to indicate so.

He holds up the helmet up in front of Grian, closing one eye and envisioning him wearing it with a smirk.

Grian squawks out a laugh and pushes the helmet aside, "Hah. Ironically, I don’t have a problem with that, though I wouldn’t break the dress code just to put cat ears on a helmet."

"You know about the codes?"

"Sorta. I mean, I've unfortunately become very familiar with them – know your enemy or whatever."

"You really don't like vindicators, then," Scar says, with no malice in his voice. He’s more curious than anything.

"I feel like that much should be obvious."

Scar hops ahead of Grian, stepping slightly in front of him so that Grian has no choice but to look at him. "Well, I'm okay, right?" Scar smiles tilting his head.

He watches the bird’s gaze shift from the dust on Scar’s boots up to meet his eye, a brow raised.

And with a genuine smile and quiet laugh, Grian answers "Yeah, you're alright".

—

"Be careful they might be dangerous."

While navigating through a particularly maze-like part of the ravine. Grian had stopped abruptly, and grabbed Scar by the shirt mid-conversation, pulling him around a corner.

Scar attempted to ask what was wrong only for Grian to shush him, hissing about how he’d seen two figures deeper in.

Wiggling slightly out of Grian's hold, Scar popped his head around briefly, catching a glance at their new company.

There were, in fact, two figures who sat up against a stony wall as the passage opened up, connecting to another, larger passage. Scar and Grian had an advantage, as the corner shielded them from view. One figure had their back to them, their large silhouette obscuring the other figure from view. The only indication there was even two, being the distinct overlap of a conversation that could barely be heard from where Grian and Scar were hidden.

And that brings them to the present, with Scar tapping his chin, debating different ideas of how to approach them. Grian listens as he impatiently claws at the ground, grumbling at each suggestion that leaves the other's mouth.

There’s a quiet shift in the sand to Scar's side and he turns to watch as Grian shifts closer to him, his shoulders hunched slightly and wings puffed up.

Scar finds himself suppressing the urge to compare him to a pinecone.

"Why would they be dangerous?" Scar asks, tilting his head slightly. Confused about the other's comment.

Grian splutters, mouth working but not making noises aside from baffled squeaks before he eventually coughs.

"… I mean, I was a stranger a mere hours ago and I had a blade to your heart, dude." His voice pitches up at the end, causing him to flinch when it echoes slightly against the walls. He ducks as if that would stop the sound, scooting closer to Scar, further from the stranger's direction.

"….Well, you're not doing that right now." Scar smiles a wide grin, hushing his voice pointedly before shrugging.

Grian just stares at him, almost as if testing Scar’s smile, before he rolls his eyes and scoffs,

"… Can't argue with that logic."

Scar's smile grows slowly, bright and excited at Grian's agreement. He watches all of Grian's feathers stand up even more somehow, catching on to Scar's enthusiasm.

“Don't-”

"Glad you trust me!" Scar beams.

"I wouldn't go that far, trust is a strong word," Grian pulls a dubious look before grumbling and looking away. He shakes his shoulders as if trying to suppress the stress that’s putting him and his feathers on edge.

“I honestly don't think it's a good idea to even approach them– People are almost always bad news in these situations. We could just work our way around them…” he trails off mumbling to himself.

“But that's no fun!” Scar hums lightly, nudging the bird out of his strategizing. “Besides, they could help us!”

Grian doesn’t reply, just huffs with a scowl that squishes his face comically.

Scar absently scratches at his chin before he leans up against the wall pressing his forearm high above Grian, leaning over, the other doing a double take, clearly taken back by how much Scar is leaning over into his space. He'll have to put on his charm to try and convince the bird, his most effective tactic.

"You're nervous but I can assure you this, I can gain any advantage in a situation, just by talking" He gives him a cheesy lopsided grin.

"What- do you possess the ability to talk someone to death? Boredom? Into sleep, perhaps?" Grian replies in the most mocking and deadpan tone, meeting his energy.

"All of the above!!! Depending on the weather of course," He says, leaning in slightly with a whisper before bouncing back to that quietish tone of his, "and then I steal their stuff!!" Scar grins with more eagerness than Grian has seen in quite some time, causing the glare to let out a slight wheeze of laughter, raising an incredulous brow.

"Wow, you're really starting to sound more like a criminal." He veers his head to the side, grinning widely up at Scar, and bearing his sharp teeth.

Scar retracts his arm from the wall, an unsure look spoiling his smile. He can’t help darting his eyes to the side, almost taken aback by the former statement. "I mean … not if they're the bad guy, right?"

“That's a very rudimentary way of thinking.” Grian's grin falters slightly, that cold look flickering over him briefly, as his eyes narrow. He shakes away whatever thought he had, bringing the prior conversation back.

“Fine, you do you're talking thing then,” the bird swats at the air absently.

“And you'll be my hype man?” Scar bounces on his toes excitedly.

Grian gives too blank of an expression before pushing up his shoulders. “I'll do something,”

“AHA! Be amazed, small friend! At my infectious likeableness,” Scar stands up straighter and puffs out his chest, before moving to turn around the corner between them and the strangers only for sharp claws to gently grab his arm.

“Wait-”

“Oh oh! W-what?” Scar looks around shocked, but nothing is amiss, just the surprisingly warm touch of metal talons.

“You're intending to make a good impression, right?”

Scar splutters awkwardly as Grian doesn’t give him time to answer the obvious question.

“My advice? I'd hide that you're a Vindicator."

“…why?”

“Ah–” Grian awkwardly chuckles, retracting his grip and scratching at his head. “I thought I’d already established that the general public isn't too fond–” he loosely gestures Scar up and down.

Scar raises a brow, leaning on his hip and looking down at the bird. “Really? Are you the general public?” He smirks at his own witty remark.

“Just take my word for it, this definitely isn't Spawn, and I bet you haven't even travelled off planet before. You have that sparkly dumb innocent look in your eyes–”

Scar gasps and clutches his hand to his chest in false offence.

“I’m just saying, if you wanna do the whole friendly talking thing, I'd recommend not immediately making it known that you're a Vindicator.” Grian huffs.

Scar looks down dumbly at the bright blue jacket tied around his waist. Grian follows his line of sight and muffles a laugh, noticing Scar's mild panic at the glaring obvious beacon of his faction, taunting him along with a bright stitched ‘V’ clearly visible even with it tied at his waist.

“Just– turn it inside out or something–”

“Oh! Smart!” Scar claps his hands, wincing as the noise echoed against the walls. Grian glares at him.

He fumbles with the jacket, taking it off and turning it inside out before tying it back around his waist, and nodding with satisfaction. He looks back towards Grian, the glare watching him slightly amused. “Now, Bird friend, watch as I charm these members of the ‘general public’ with my insatiable charisma!”

“… You already said that. There's only so much ‘impressed’ I can hand out, I'm afraid.”

Scar ignores him as he brushes off as much dust as he can to look somewhat presentable. He leans forward with a step but stops as quickly as he started when his company doesn't make a move with him.

“You're not… coming with??”

“I am, I just want to linger back, for safety reasons– you know?” Grian still stands with his arms crossed but his face has morphed into something far more neutral, clawed feet firmly digging into their place in the sand.

“Oh! Smart!” Scar replies. He continues, but not before catching the faint flicker of a smile from his companion.

Scar confidently marches towards the strangers, too distracted by his plan to notice the quiet whoosh of feathers behind him.

“Why, hello there!”

“EEEEK!”

“OH MY GOSH–” both of the strangers scream at Scar, frantically scrambling back in the sand up to a stand.

The shorter one gawks at Scar, their left arm held stiffly as their right tugs on the other's sleeve pulling them both back further. They push themselves in front in an act that almost could have been intimidating if the other wasn't practically two times their size.

Now, up close, Scar takes the two in. The shorter one appears to be a blazeborn, fuzzy and yellow with clothes that looked like they weren't originally suited for the heat, evident by the thick winter coat tied around their waist, mirroring Scar’s, and the torn-off sleeves of their shirt. The other stands several heads taller, also strangely cradling their right arm. They’re far less identifiable, but the several neat feathers that frame their face and shoulders definitely imply that they’re probably at least glare adjacent, even with their height. They’re wearing what can be described as cowboy attire, sans a hat, and look far more in place in this setting.

“Oh, you're just a guy…” the taller one eventually speaks out after their initial panic.

“Yup, just a guy!” Scar stands up straighter, suppressing a wince as his leg braces squeak obnoxiously. “Sorry to cause a fright,” he smiles apologetically.

The two of them glance at each other, then back to Scar with bewildered expressions.

“I think I might be lost! And maybe you are too? We were wondering if you could help”.

“We?” One of them asks.

“OH! Well! I'm Scar and this here is my lackey.” He turns to look for Grian only to be met with the empty, dusty ground and no bird in sight.

“They're …not here?”

“Who-” Scar hears one of them ask. He doesn’t even have time to turn to identify who before a flurry of feathers swoops down and blocks his view.

The two figures scream for a second time as the taller one is pushed roughly aside by brown wings, falling clumsy in the sand and landing in a way that causes them to choke out a yelp.

“OW OW OW, I CAN'T SEE!” They sit up quickly with one arm hanging loosely over their chest, the other grasping and rubbing at their face and eyes in confusion. They continue to yell in panic, “WHAT HAPPENED I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING-”

“Drop whatever weapons you have,” Grian turns, holding the blaze in his grasp. He holds his wings wrapped around them, keeping their arms pinned. He uses one of his clawed hands to cover their mouth, the other holding a blue, glowing blade to their neck.

“What- what happened to the talking plan?” Scar sways on his feet. Too much is happening in such a brief moment, and all his plans for conversations are useless, blown to the wind.

“Too slow,” Grian replies bluntly.

The figure in Grian’s grasp desperately tries to muster out a muffled scream against Grian's hand, only causing the bird to tighten his hold and sword to their neck.

Scar feels lost. He looks to the other who is still on the ground, using one hand to touch the sand.

“I can't see!- It's all dark- Tango?!-”

The pure distress in their voices, mixed with the muffled yelping of the other, makes Scar falter, his mind short-circuiting in the chaos. He weirdly feels scared, that same fear of Grian and his cold look is all too familiar to barely a day ago. A fear that he apparently didn't realise still has a frightful hold on him, his shoulder pulsing passively with pain on cue with the memory.

Despite the fear, he can’t help but step forward, reaching out to diffuse the situation.

Strangely enough, Grian flinches back. He stares up at Scar like he had completely forgotten he was there, his confused look immediately being chased away as the trapped stranger shifts in his hold. His expression quickly returning to an unreadable one.

“Let them talk… maybe? Please?” Scar asks slowly. Grian looks up at him with those deep dark eyes, cold and empty before a nearly embarrassed look crosses his face. He lowers the hand that had held the stranger's mouth, but the blade, however, is still pinned to their throat.

Immediately the blaze gasps and begins yelling “Please we're injured, we mean no harm- please-”

“…. Huh,” Grian squeezes tighter subconsciously, as they kick in his grasp.

“Our arms- OW! QUIT IT- LET GO!”

They shove against Grian, his grip loosening just enough for them to push out as he moves his blade. All of a sudden the bird looks incredibly guilty.

“What the hell man!” The shorter man scrambles to their partner's side, leaning down and giving them their arm to grab onto. They keep their eyes on Grian, scowling as the other weakly uses their hold to stand up.

In an almost too cheery voice for the situation, the taller one speaks, “I can see again! What was that?”

Their gaze immediately lands on Grian, who tenses under it.

“You’re a bird?” They mutter dumbly after rubbing their eyes and squinting at him.

Grian steps back, still holding his weapon by his side. He gives the tall man a look up and down his expression twisting into something uncomfortable.

“Not one of yours,” he mumbles back.

“Sorry, sorry?” the taller coughs, completely confused, but Grian ignores them.

“You're hurt, both of you?” Grian hums, pointing the end of his sword in their direction as he makes a move to stand by Scar's side, who stands, silently wringing his hands, considering his next steps.

They both nod, fear and anger plain on their faces, each holding an arm tightly to their chests.

A quiet sort of relief washes over Grian as he puts away his sword. His expression morphing into amusement, with a tinge of sheepishness.

“Wow, that's inconvenient! You don't pose much of a threat then, huh?” He tries to joke and smile, the expression faulting only when their company makes no indication of finding that comment funny, at all.

Scar shifts awkwardly to his side, considering many different options on what to do next moves through his head before he steps in front of Grian, a goofy grin being plastered across his lips.

“So… maybe we should start over?”

“You think?” The blaze spits, their shimmering flame-like hair sparking in reaction.

“We were only taking precautions, there are dangerous people in this big universe, you know!” Scar tries to lessen the anger with that same cheesy grin.

“I'd argue, you're one of them! Or at least they are,” They point towards the bird, who does nothing but look away, crossing his arms.

“Just a common misunderstanding, we apologise. Let me reintroduce myself-” Scar tries to step forward with a handshake, but both of them move away from him pointedly. Instead, he retreats to Grian’s side, putting his hands up defensively, giving them more space to feel safe.

“Well, I'm Scar! Like I- already mentioned-” he nervously chuckles the last bit, then gestures to the glare. “-and this is Grian”

“Ah, so we're giving them our names- cool,” the other grumbles, his back practically turned to them, appearing like he’s given up on the exchange.

A tense atmosphere falls heavily on the four as awkward silence fills the air. Scar's eyes glance to the taller of the duo, who meets his gaze with a similar, nervous expression, unlike the blazeborn who stands next to them, festering with an anger that seems to almost crackle off of them in flames.

The tall one eventually finds the courage to speak, unsure and hesitant, without the anger and murderous look that their companion seems to have.

"Well, I'm Jimmy! And this is Tango!" Jimmy speaks with a similar cheer and charisma to Scar.

"Yup," the blaze, Tango, snaps with a slight snarl on his lips. His injured arm tightly held against his body, crossing over his chest as he stares daggers in the direction of Scar and Grian. There’s another pause of quiet that only causes the air to grow more uneasy, so thick with awkwardness that it can be cut with a knife. Tango and Grian stand their ground while Jimmy begins to kick at the sand absent-mindedly and an awkward cough escapes from Scar.

The former can't help but wring his hands once again, standing unsure in the moment before he decides to speak once again, "You seem tense,"

"YOU THINK?" Tango barks out, that snarl only growing angrier as he drops his hand to his side and balls it into raging fists.

Jimmy quickly tries to hop to some sort of defence, "We haven't seen anybody yet- we didn't really expect anyone to-" he’s cut off by Tango's eyes whipping over to look at him, the blazeborn pointing a finger to his neck,

"A KNIFE. TO MY THROAT." He speaks loud and clear making it obvious, if anyone can't tell, why he’s angry.

At that, Grian turns to the conversation, his tail flicking behind him. “Ah- Well, I didn't break your skin and, you know, I apologised.”

“Actually, you haven’t-” Jimmy points out, frowning.

“Oh… sorry?” Grian shrugs.

“I already dislike you-”

He ignores Jimmy turning to Scar with a neutral expression, “Right, Scar, ready to go?��

“What?”

“YOU'RE GOING TO JUST LEAVE US?” Jimmy shouts whilst Tango just looks unsurprised.

“Well, you're both injured so-” Grian says nonchalantly, not bothering to finish his sentence like it’s obvious.

“THAT'S CRIMINAL-” Jimmy squawkes.

Grian doesn’t reply, instead, lightly reaching for Scar, a weird sort of hesitance to his grasp, looking as if he’s going to grab Scar's arm, only to move to pull at his shirt. Scar doesn't move.

“We could- help them?”

Grian looks at him with a troubled look but doesn't say anything in response.

“You know?” He, in fact, makes no indication of knowing. “We have medical supplies, remember?”

Tango's eyebrow shoots up, his angry scowl morphing into intrigue. “Healing?”

“SCAR- Cool now they know our names and our resources-” the bird grumbles, Eying the two with a cold glare. He crunches up his nose, then looks back to Scar. “We're not giving them anything for free.”

“…Well I mean, we could always offer a trade.” Scar tries to smile, trying his best to appeal to Grian with a warm grin.

Grian takes in a deep breath, contemplating for a couple of seconds before he points at the strangers and clicks his tongue. “What do you two have to offer?”

“Do you have an ender chest?” Scar pipes in quickly.

“…No.”

“We don't really have anything-”

Grian hums in acknowledgement then smirks at Scar. “There you go, shall we leave then-”

Tango interrupts quickly as the winged man once again tries to pull Scar away. “We have some knowledge! You said you’re lost! I know some things to help! About this game-”

“Game?” Scar repeats.

“No thank you-” Grian now switches from pulling at Scar to pushing him.

“But aren't you curious? We have theories!”

“All good, we have our own plans, thank you.” He huffs in an effort to try and move Scar, but for once Scar has an advantage over him in height and strength. He barely moves.

“Okay! Deal!” Scar finally replies.

“SCAR!” Grian stops pushing Scar, instead staring at him like an angry feathered hedgehog. It takes all of Scar’s willpower not to laugh at him.

“We'll only tell you anything once you heal us,” Tango adds.

“Hah! As if that wasn't already a bad deal-” Grian mumbles mostly to himself.

“-What about during?”

“Okay, during.” Tango agrees to Scar.

Grian finally acknowledges the blaze, as he holds a hand to his chest and baps at Scar with the other. He scowles between them all. “Hey, hey. I'm the one with the supplies, you should be negotiating with me-”

He cuts himself off at the look Scar gives him. His lips press into a tight frown as he crosses his arms and taps his claws, the processing of his thoughts buried deep in his brow.

Scar tilts his head at him slightly.

“Ugh fine,” Grian finally relents, before huffing off to the side and making an upset display of sitting down and disrupting the dusty sand with a flap of his wings, the others coughing slightly.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Take a seat. Let me heal your stupid bones,” he finally spits when the others don’t make any motion, prompting the pair to finally move.

“Oh, it's really rich of you to think I'd let you get anywhere near to my arm again-” Tango replies, unamused.

“Well you're going to just have to deal with it,” Grian replies to Tango with a sardonic grin, “These are my supplies and I'd like to keep some autonomy in this situation.”

“If it makes you feel any better he healed me pretty well,” Scar chimes in, pulling his tank top aside, to show off the slightly bloody gauze. Tango scrutinises the wound, hissing sympathetically, looking towards Grian who’s trying and failing to look not guilty.

“… I suppose.” Jimmy hums, next to Tango.

Both he and Tango awkwardly shuffle towards the winged man, within arms reach of each other, they sit down in unison, Tango’s tail hooking onto Jimmy's ankle.

“You! Beanpole! Give me your arm” Grian moves closer, sitting up on his knees.

“Me?” Jimmy replies confused.

“Yes you, I don't see any actual bean poles around here do you? I'm talking to your daft mug.”

“You don't have to insult me so much, man-” Jimmy grumbles as he complies, as Grian makes a start on assessing his injuries.

There’s a couple of minutes of uncomfortable quiet, occasionally interrupted by grumbles and yelps. Scar stands, watching his company. He looks towards Tango, who it keeping a calculated watch on what Grian is doing.

“You didn't expect to be here…” Scar slowly sits in front of Tango. His eyes bright with intrigue.

Tango just turns to look at him confused. “What?”

“Those clothes-” Scar points at the thick coat, cushioning the blaze as he sits crossed-legged.

“Oh! OH, that's actually pretty intuitive.” He smiles at Scar and scoots closer indicating for him to listen.

“Yeah I'm not from here, I was working on a pretty cold planet, before …uh.”

“Waking up with no memories of how you got here?” Scar finishes, beaming.

Tango leans back, his grin faltering slightly. “…Yeah.”

“How'd you know that!?” Jimmy asks from behind them, apparently having been listening in.

“We're the same! Actually! We don't remember at all how we got here.”

“Even him?” Tango gestures coldly over his shoulders, not even looking in Grian's direction.

“Even him!”

“Interesting,” Tango appears to drift into his thoughts before Grian coughs loudly.

“Alright then, if you want me to do this, well, you better start to tell your story.”

Tango shoots him an angry look, then dusts off his trousers before sitting up straight, getting comfortable. He looks at Scar, coughs, and smiles.

“Well, first you gotta know some of my history.”

Scar watches Grian roll his eyes from over Tango's shoulder.

“I worked as… hmmm sorta freelance. I'm an architect, redstoner- weird lil’ guy with a nac for bizarre contraptions. I take all and any kind of jobs I can find across the universe, a travelling mechanic if you will,” Tango grins, pleased. “I'm actually- saving up so I can own a hermit settlement, start a small self-sustaining industry, build all kinds of wacky farms! Just work for me, you know?”

He pauses, waiting for a response only to be met with puzzled looks.

“Uhhh that's beside the point. What I’m getting at is that owning the land to make a hermit settlement is a lot of money and prep. And as it goes, the jobs that pay the most tend to be the most…. questionable. I like to believe I'm a good judge of character when it comes to my clients, I know when the people who are giving me a tempting offer are bad news, and I usually decline. I'm not about putting myself in trouble for a pretty price.”

Tango inhales, his thumb worrying over his knuckle, and continues.

“But there was this one job- These very mysterious individuals offered me a job to create a game! It honestly was a very tempting offer, because they were giving me so much free range with what I built. The only requirement was that any number of people could enter the game and there could only be one winner. And they offered me a lot of money for it.”

Scar clocks Grian making a small sneer.

“So I took it, I took the deal and started designing my game. I uhhh- I sort of made, think like… dungeon crawler type deal.”

“Wait but you said you didn't make dungeons,” Jimmy interrupts.

“Going to be honest, I didn't expect you to hit that nail on the head.” Tango turns to Jimmy, giving him a small smile, before patting him gently on his shoulder. “Pretty impressive.”

Jimmy splutters, his expressions flip flopping between being offended and proud.

“Anyway… as I was saying, the more I worked for them, the more I started to suspect a few things. They kept insisting on things in my design to be more…”

He swirled his hand around “Let's say lethal. And that was before I started noticing how much resources and wealth my employer owned. They kept giving me things with ease, I started even asking for stuff I knew was hard to find like enchantments and whatnot. And they didn't even sweat.”

He cuts himself off, a conflicted look shadowing his face.

“When I put my energy into a project, I put my whole heart in. This dungeon was my… my child! I’d been working on it for months! Almost years! I didn't like how they were twisting it. They kept taking away the things I included to make the game fair. And that was my last straw.”

“I ran, and I tried to take all the important endgame design prints with me. I couldn't let them use my work to hurt people in the gruesome ways that they so clearly wanted to do. And now I'm here.”

“…Oh, that's rough,” Scar replies.

Nodding Tango stares down at his lap, rubbing at the worn pads of his hands. He looks genuinely sad for a minute before he shakes that look away and carries on.

“Yeah, so what I'm saying is- I got to see enough of the kind of work these people were doing to notice a pattern.”

“The people I worked for were definitely Enders, and I believe they're probably pretty high up considering rather than taking planets and trading pearls, they were employing people to take their enemies and put them into ‘games' for their entertainment.”

“And I think we're in one of those games right now,”

Tango grins wildly, holding a finger up to emphasise his conclusion.

“WHOA, what really?”

“Ugh,” Grian grumbles.

“And if my assumption is correct, I think we've all wronged an Ender before, right?”

He shuffles so that all four of them were sat in a circle.

“I mean- me! Clearly, with leaving the job.” He points to himself and then to Jimmy. “You said something about Enders secretly operating in the town you were sheriffing.”

Grian’s gloomy expression immediately gets replaced with intrigue as he looks up from his lap for the first time during the conversation with Jimmy.

“You're a sheriff?” Scar asks.

“YES, I am for a matter of fact, from a small town on the Nether.” Jimmy smiles widely, adjusting his hair confidently.

“Now that's surprising…” Grian remarks to himself.

Jimmy either doesn't hear or ignores him as he continues. “Well it's more a self-proclaimed title, not much goes on in my town and I mostly just… give directions to the elderly and get bullied by local kids,”

“Nevermind.”

Jimmy shoots Grian a dirty look, the latter smirking back before he goes back to working on the supplies in his lap.

“But yes! Recently I tried to uncover a mystery and encountered Enders,”

“And that's the last thing you remember doing right?” Tango inquires.

“… Yeah, actually.”

He looks towards Scar “And you… what about you?”

“Oh.”

Everyone looks at Scar with intrigue. Grian has his head dipped down still, his gaze, though, points, staring straight at him.

Ah, right, not-a-Vindicator time.

“Well, I'm a mayor, as a matter of fact.”

Everyone looks at him like it was the last thing they expected him to say, including Grian.

Scar coughs, chasing off the nervous wobble in his voice and he sits up straight ready to prove his charm.

“For a pretty unknown-” Scar awkwardly trails off, not really familiar enough with space life for his own lie. “…hermit settlement! A beloved staple of the community, birds and children sing when I roam the streets.”

The others look at him speechless, he can feel them doubting him. Alright then, maybe he should learn to be more believable.

“The last thing I remember doing, actually, was chasing a criminal down an alley!” He settles on. He sees Grian go still. “It was epic and had glorious explosions and everything, a truly action-filled adventure-”

He stops when he feels Grian subtly thump him with his tail. Hiding the movement by sitting up, done with dressing Jimmy's wounds and moving on to Tango.

Tango ignores him, too interested in Scar’s story. “Was this criminal an Ender by chance?”

“Oh! Yes!” He very almost forgot that was what Tango was asking to begin with.

Tango sits up straighter with a look of triumph and excitement on his face.“That makes three out of four.”

“…Not a chance,” Grian says coldly.

Tango finally turns to him, Grian looking up whilst sorting out the supplies he has left.

“What?”

“I'm not telling you my story like we're all sat around a campfire-”

“We're trying to help, isn't that what you asked for?” Tango argues.

“This isn't helpful information, it's just a lot of assumptions and guesses.”

“Calculated guesses! And besides, what else could you possibly know about what's going on? Enlighten me,” Tango challenges him.

“I don't… but I also don't see how knowing all this even helps us in our current situation.”

Grian leans back from where he had been hunched over, closes his eyes, and flings his hand around in an almost smug way. “Yada yada, scary rich people put a bunch of losers into a death game. That doesn't help me whilst we're supposedly in one.”

“You find yourself in a lot of death games then?” Tango grins bitterly.

“I- '' Somehow that waveres Grian’s response briefly, he clears his throat before resuming. “I like information that helps. This doesn't- this doesn't fix a broken arm or get us any closer to escaping.���

“Well maybe it can- we can go ahead knowing that there's probably traps or trials set for us.” Scar says. The two look at Jimmy and Scar who had been quietly observing their conversation.

“Like the beeping!” Jimmy responds.

“Yeah-”

“OH, THE PHANTOMS!” Scar exclaims.

“Phantoms?”

Scar wiggles in the dust with delight. “Yeah! We encountered phantoms on our journey, which is a pretty odd place to find them,”

“Stole my helmet,” Grian grumbles, less happy.

“Yeah… they were definitely placed here intentionally, we almost got killed by them!” Scar exclaims. He sits up straighter and puffs out his chest. “But I fought them off valiantly.”

Tango and Jimmy share a doubtful look.

“And what about you two- did you guys encounter anything strange?” Scar claps his hands together, intrigued.

Grian rests on his arm and gestures loosely to them. “Strange enough to break both your arms?”

At that both Jimmy and Tango look at each other, coming to a realisation that makes them both grin wildly at each other.

“OH and THAT'S another thing,” Jimmy says far too gleefully.

“The game makers must have included this other mechanic to make it difficult for us!” Tango injects, matching his energy. He and Jimmy talk in slightly hushed yet excited voices to one another, Tango playfully pushing at Jimmy and whispering something about how it all made sense now.

Scar and Grian just blink blankly, clearly missing something. When neither of the two gives them context, instead excitedly making noises at each other over a discovery, Scar coughs.

“What mechanic?” He leans closer, curiously.

“We are linked! Somehow!” Jimmy exclaims loudly.

“It's probably a curse and enchantment related. But we feel and suffer the same wounds, hence… broken arms'' Tango adds.

“So you both broke your arm?” Scar hums still confused.

“No no just Jimmy, he fell.”

“Gracefully!” Jimmy interrupts with too much enthusiasm.

“Gracefully… from the top of the ravine. I was just walking nearby and received the injury too,” Tango sits back a little and loosely holds up his injured arm.

Scar hums to himself, gaze jumping between his company and their injuries. “So it's a proximity thing?”

Tango sits up fast with a gasp of excitement. “That's a good point! I don't know.”

He leans forward cautiously, still holding his bad arm to his chest as he beckons Scar to come closer.

Both Jimmy and Grian look at each other confused before Tango flicks Scar hard on the nose. Causing him to make a startled yelp noise.

With how they lean over, neither manages to notice as Grian also flinches, hand briefly touching his own nose, before he notices Jimmy watching him and stops.

“Nope didn't feel that,” Tango says, veering back to his previously comfortable position.

Scar reclines back too, leg braces creaking slightly as he rubs his nose and makes a small sad noise.

“Did you?” Tango turns to Jimmy who’s looking weirdly at Grian.

Tango nudges him, the taller shaking out of whatever thought he was having.

“Oh- no I didn't.”

He looks back to Grian who’s in the process of not so subtly shifting further from the others.

“Maybe… Are you two together?” Jimmy prompts, pinning Grian specifically with a look.

Obliviously, Scar says, “We just met,” still holding his nose.

“No, he meant the weird pain link thing,” Tango responds with a slight laugh.

“Oh!! Hold on-” Scar excitedly lifts his head up, his sore nose quickly forgotten. He turns to Grian who had been trying his best to not be noticed the whole exchange.

Moving too fast and suddenly, Scar goes to pinch his arm, only to hit his hand against metal. The realisation hits him dumbly, but not before he watches Grian cry out and pull back fearfully with an expression Scar doesn’t think he's ever seen on the man's face before.

Grian regains his composure quicker than Scar. He shakes off the scared look on his face but keeps his arms held close to his chest protectively.

Scar goes to apologise but Grian's voice interprets him. His attention directed away from Scar.

“No, we're not linked.”

Tango shrugs, titling his head at Jimmy and smiling.

“Well, maybe it's a thing specific to us,”

Jimmy pulls a slightly unconvinced face before agreeing. “Yeah probably.”

Grian finishes patching up Tango, ignoring the three as they descend into rambles and theories about it all.

He packs away his remaining supplies, looking pleased with his two patients' bandaged and slung arms, even as they pay him no mind.

He stands up, Scar is the first to look at him with a questioning expression.

“Welp! Considering I'm done… and you've given your less-than-useful information, I think it's our time to leave,” Grian brushes the dust off his trousers and holds out a hand for Scar.

“Scar?”

Scar doesn't move, he looks at the others and back to Grian, a guilty look on his face. “I actually think we should all stick together–”

Grian doesn't respond, instead pulling his hand away slowly. Scar continues.

“There’s clearly something much bigger going on here and I think teaming up is a safer option,”

The bird remains silent, his feathers betraying his blank face as they all pin. He blinks at Scar.

“I agree,” Jimmy speaks up awkwardly after a prolonged quiet.

Tango grins. “You're more than free to go off on your own,” he says snidely.

“Ah, well…” Scar splutters, standing up and holding his hands out, that's not what he meant at all, but Grian beats him to a response.

“No.”

“Wow… what a change of heart, you're scared of being alone?” Tango teases.

Grian pays no mind to the comments, his hurt look settling on Scar instead.

“Scar please, I can protect us both we don't need…” he loses his confidence, the end of his sentence teetering off.

Scar lets his arms hang at his side, as he looks at Tango and Jimmy, still sitting by each other's side. Now with both their arms in slings and, despite Tango's intimating expression, looking slightly pathetic in the hot sun.

“… they're hurting, Grian, I need to help,” he gives Grian a pleading look.

The glare stares at Scar, he seems to take in all of him, annoyed and confused. When suddenly, a brief flicker of understanding fills his features.

“… Grian?” Grian doesn’t look at him, instead, he stares at the dust to his side. Tail flicking at his side in frustration.

“I'm not leaving you,” he says simply. Refusing to elaborate.

A small part of Scar is surprised by Grian's response, his weird protectiveness over Scar, especially in context to how he’d acted towards the others. Scar can’t help but smile softly, even if Grian isn’t looking at him.

“So you'll agree to be a group?”

The bird turns to him with a hard look on his face, a disruption on his tongue before he cuts himself off, face flushing red when he realises Scar is smiling at him with a completely different energy. He bows his head slightly. “I'm staying with you, but I do not trust them.”

—

Scar sits down, explaining their travel plan, which honestly wasn't much since all they had done was travel in the direction of supposed man-made structures that had been spotted, hoping to not die in the process.

Grian positions himself slightly behind Scar as they all start laying out all their possessions. Comparing their resources with each other.

Out of everyone, Jimmy still has the most on him, carrying one container of water, which he apparently had forgotten about, he lets Grian and Scar take a swig, Tango insisting he doesn’t need it as much with being a blaze. They also have Grian's healing supplies, which at this point aren't very much, just a few alcohol wipes and gauze. Then also some dried meat Jimmy had and one package of dried cat treats that Scar had been carrying, and no one seems stoked about potentially eating.

Besides that, all they have is some random useless items in people’s pockets, all laid out in front of them. Anxious, taking in the unfortunate sight of what they have to survive on. Scar sits on his knees, ignoring how the braces creak as he leans on them.

Tango is watching Grian closely, mumbling under his voice like he’s trying to get Grian's attention, but the latter knows and deliberately ignores him.

Tango finally clears his throat and speaks up, tapping the sand in front of Grian to ensure he has his attention. “You have your weapon with you,” he says like it isn’t a question.

“Yes.” Grian doesn’t look at him, instead rewrapping a rope they had found in one of Jimmy's pockets. The rope rings slightly against his metal digits as he pulls the thread between them.

“So we all have our comms, storage, and defensive tools missing except for you,” Tango states snarkily.

“Well, I also have my comms and other stuff missing. Guess they accidentally skipped out on the knife.”

“How convenient for you,”

Grian deliberately disregards Tango's biting word, looking up at the other two. “We might have enough for a day or two more of travel? Could even hunt along the way… if there are even any animals.”

“The knife will be handy then.” Scar tries, looking at Tango with a cheery smile.

“Could also… maybe… find plants?” Jimmy says, They all look around at the dry, sandy landscape, only occupied by the occasional dead shrub, with dismay.

“How much collective knowledge do we have with foraging?”

“I used to be a baker!” Scar interjects excitedly.

“Cool!- But I don't see any flour or water, don't know how that's going to help us in this situation, bud,” Grian pats Scar on the back.

“Unless you are secretly an enderian and can just … teleport bread to us or something,” Tango adds jokingly.

“I'm not-”

“Are you?” Grian cuts in, the others realising quickly that he’s addressing Jimmy with a weird look.

Jimmy looks up confused, apparently not paying attention to where the conversation had drifted. “What?”

“You’re very tall… thought maybe-”

“Oh no, I'm a glare!” he replies.

Grian goes strangely still, that cold look filling his face. He looks like he wants to say something, but chooses against it, going back to meaninglessly fiddling with a rope.

“Well, it would have been super convenient to be an enderian with y’know …the lack of water,” Tango hums next to Jimmy.

“It might rain!” Jimmy notes gleefully.

“Rain? Here?”

“I mean maybe? These kinds of canyons get formed by water, so there's a real chance a flash flood might happen!” At the last statement, he looks nervous. ”Which depending on where we are, could help us or … be bad.”

“How do you know that?” Tango looks up at Jimmy with a gleam of curiosity.

“Well I get bored, and there's this neat little library in the Nether with a lot of unique landscapes and… “

Jimmy and Tango titter off into their own conversation about various formations of rocks and caverns in desert-like terrain. Scar's mind drifts aside as he watches billows of sand blow above them on the top of the ravine. He catches movement out the sides of his eye as Grian shifts.

The sun has moved more in the sky, the shade they had hidden in changing direction. The hot sun finally reaching them, first hitting the feathers on the Grian tail. He must have just noticed as he pushes himself away from it, a scowl on his face while he creeps away and bumps into Scar in the process.

They look up at each other, Grian jumping slightly when he notices he’s being watched, his ears pulling back as he looks away.

“We should get going. You guys rested enough?” He cuts the other two off, Tango drawing in the sand with his claws with Jimmy instructing him.

“Oh sure-” Jimmy replies. He stands, using his large tail to help push him up, before lending a hand to Tango.

Grian stumbles up into a stand on the sandy ground, hissing to himself and mumbling something along the lines of “dumb bird feet”. He looks at Scar who changed to sit with his legs in front of him, inspecting his leg braces and sighing.

“Those aren't meant for the desert, are they?” He holds out a hand which Scar takes, pulling himself to stand.

“Nope! Not really, more like indoor use.”

Grian frowns, opening his mouth to say something, but Tango cuts him off.

“Actually…” The blaze moves towards them, holding a hand behind his back, a snarky look crossing his face.

His gaze is glued directly on Grian as he pulls his uninjured hand out, holding it towards them. Grian's hands are still in Scar’s, he feels Grian's grip tighten subconsciously before he pulls his hand away in favour of crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Tango.

“You want this temporary alliance to go well right?”

“I mean… it would be convenient,” Grian frowns, confused about where Tango is going with this.

“Give me your knife,” Tango flicks his claws beckoning.

“… What?”

“I feel like it's very justified.”

“I'm not giving you my weapon,” Grian snaps, his hand moving to his side subconsciously.

Tango pulls his arm back, crossing it over with the other. “I still don't trust you, our minds would be more at ease if you didn't have that.” He looks up to Jimmy who’s looking over his shoulder, nodding slightly.

Scar looks at Grian whose back is turned to him, but regardless he can see the anger physically welling up, as his feathers stand up and his tail starts to flick back and forth. His claws hovering right above where the blade sits, ready.

“HAH, what do you think I care, there is no way I'd give it to you.” Grian spits.

Scar hears him take in a deep breath, sensing the start of something terrible happening. He takes a slightly stumbling step between them.

“I could take it,” Scar says simply. Both of them look up at him.

“I mean- you both seem to trust me more, so maybe I could carry it for now?” Scar tries, putting on his most easygoing smile. Tango's frown softens slightly, but that isn't who Scar is worried about most. The bird is now looking at him, a lot less spiked up with his mouth slightly open, his eyes searching Scar for something. He looks back to Tango, who just nods to Scar.

“Fine.”

Almost everyone lets out a breath of relief.

Grian pulls out his weapon, quickly, and grins to himself as he watches Jimmy and Tango flinch.

He hands it to Scar and gives him a weird look only he can see before his face morphs into a generally upset pout. Striding past them all, he barks “Follow,” and doesn't wait for them to catch up.

Scar looks at the weapon in his hands, remembering its hold before wedging it into his belt.

—

They continue with their walking, Grian at the front out of frustration over the loss of his weapons. Tango's prying eyes watch him from behind, insisting on being on the lookout for any funny behaviour.

The mood is off. Tango and Grian holding their weird rivalry and Jimmy and Scar lagging behind, looking at each other confused but not quite wanting to start small talk out of fear of getting on the other two nerves. They both opt instead to stare at the ground and savour as much of the shade as they can.

Tango is the first to break the silence.

“I don't think I trust you.”

He has his head facing forward, the anger in his voice enough to indicate he’s talking to Grian.

“I bet you’re one of them.”

“Them?” Grian almost laughs.

“Explains why you have your weapon and not us, why you're so reluctant to share why you might be here. And don't even think I forgot about your oh-so-welcoming greeting,” Tango responds with no amusement in his voice.

“What is your problem with me?”

“I think you're an Ender, a man from the inside sent down to watch us.” He says simply, pushing up his shoulders.

Grian snorts, drawing out his words. “Literally all you have against me is that I have a weapon and I’m a bit of an introvert, that's barely anything,”

“That's not all I have. What about your wings?”

The mood changes instantly, from bickering to an icy, quiet cold.

With that Scar finally looks up at the conversation, they have since all slowed down from walking to a standstill. Grian being the one to stop first as he scowls in Tango's direction.

He doesn't say a word. Tango continues with a malicious look on his face.

“And the arms, they're enchanted, right? I can basically smell it from here. You don't come across enchantments like that in the wild. And that's not even mentioning the level of skill that must have gone into those base robotics, for some random stranger– You'd have to be a part of a pretty powerful faction to get robotics like those and I definitely doubt you're a Vindicator.”

Scar watches Grian flash him a very brief glance at that name. Tango continues unaware.

“I've been around Ender technology enough to recognize its signatures, I used to work with it-”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Grian cuts in coldly with a flat tone.

“I think I do.” Tango challenges, bearing his sharp teeth.

“Hey, hey, what about we uhh, calm down a bit?” Scar interrupts, shrugging his shoulders slightly with an open demeanour.

Tango's wild gaze jumps to him and sticks.

“I think you guys might have all come off on the wrong foot! Ahah,” Scar laughs painedly.

He stalls slightly, almost feeling the heat from Tango start to concentrate on him instead.

“I promise you, Grian is not as stabby as he seems.”

“Oh yeah?” Tango responds incredulously. “Is that why you have a stab wound on your shoulder?” He jabs his finger in the direction of Scar's shoulder, the gauze and tank top stained lightly red.

Scar shoots Grian a look, the other's eyes blown slightly more wide knowingly.

“…Unrelated circumstances,” Scar says simply.

Tango steps closer to Scar, causing him to stumble back slightly, Jimmy awkwardly drifting over his shoulder placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder briefly. “Why are you even sticking up for this guy? Didn't you say you only just met?” Tango all but growls at Scar.

“Well… We're friends.”

“No, there's something else. Something you're not telling us,”

Scar's mouth finds itself ajar, as he tries to think of what to say. Grian is painfully quiet over his shoulder.

Tango takes another step towards Scar, his mind spinning trying to figure out a believable story.

“…We made a deal!” He settles on.

“A deal?” That seems to genuinely take Tango by surprise, his imposing façade faltering.

“Yeah.”

Tango pulls a weird expression before it changes quickly as if struck by an idea. “If you made a deal maybe we could fulfil it instead, then we won't need this guy. I have the contacts, I know my loopholes. If this deal is so much more important, that you'd associate with this guy then choose what I can offer you instead. What even would it be? to you to find yourself associated with someone like him? What was it?”

“I-…” Scar hesitates and turns his gaze to where Grian is standing. The three of them have moved a considerable distance away from him during their argument, but he still stands within audible range, watching quietly.

The bird looks uncomfortable and small, he thinks. His feathers pinning and fingers flicking at his side, right where his blade would have been.

His expression looks complicated, Scar observes, like he’s expecting this situation but still feels a sense of hurt or pain. Weirdly, his gaze is fixed on the blaze rather than Scar, but he can see him fidget and glare as if he knows he’s being looked at, trying his best to avoid eye contact.

Tango coughs shuffling forward in the sand to bring Scar's attention back to him.

Scar had almost forgotten what they had asked. The deal. He wants to know what their deal was. Technically the deal wasn't even that specific, it’s just protection. That's all Grian had promised and even with a weapon, which he no longer had, in comparison to both Tango and Jimmy his usefulness might be matched.

Grian's expression makes sense now, he’s fully expecting Scar to take this deal.

Scar looks back at Grian, catching him looking at Scar before he darts his eyes away.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t understand why Tango is so hostile, it feels unjustified. Like he’s missing something, which is impossible. He's known Grian longer than Tango. Grian is barely a threat, yeah awkward, maybe a little impulsive and snide. But Scar doesn’t believe that justifies leaving him behind. Why is there so much bitterness between his newly acquainted companions? Why is Tango so insistent on Grian being a bad person? These questions circle around in Scar's head as he tries to think of some way he can defend Grian.

“We were going to start up a very specific business.” Scar grins.

“… What?”

“Trading goods. See, I need him because he’s got those fancy wings,” he gestures towards Grian, who’s badly concealing his bewilderment, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly, no sound escaping.

“What are you trading?”

Scar mulls it over before looking at the ground and shrugging. “….sand.”

Despite everything, Grian laughs at that. Coughing and suppressing giggles when the blazeborn shoots him a look.

“Sand?” Jimmy almost yells.

Tango taps at his chin in thought. “I- I mean I could maybe…”

Scar interrupts him. “No no no, I'm a dignified salesman. I made a deal and stayed true to my word. I'm sorry but I'll have to decline the offer,” he replies with an easy-going demeanour.

“We're now a package deal now,” he walks up to stand by Grian's side, patting his shoulder roughly.

Grian's only response is to make an awkward noise and to lean away from Scar, but not enough to actually break the space they share.

Tango looks at them both, an angry look directed at the two. Suddenly, Jimmy places a hand on his shoulder.

“I think we should just play along, even if we're suspicious of someone. I think we need all the help we can get.” The taller man says down to him, smiling slightly.

Tango takes in Jimmy's look, his frown smoothing out for a brief second before he looks back at Scar.

“Maybe I don't trust you now Scar, you've clearly also got secrets you're not telling us,”

“You're getting too caught up on secrets and mysteries, and supposed ‘them’s,” Scar puts on a wide smile, waving at the air with a nonchalant attitude.

“How about… G!” He slings his arm around Grian and pushes him in closer to the other two, while the bird sputters slightly at the new nickname.

“Promise you won't stab any of us in the back until we're free from this …game?” Scar holds him by his shoulders. Grian flinches slightly as he tries to look up at Scar only to get a face full of sun. The glare looks back at the other two, not saying a word, his ears flicking absently.

“Grian!” Scar nudges him.

“Yes, sure,” he says flatly. He crosses his arms. “I promise.”

Scar beams, looking at Tango and Jimmy. “Annddddd do you guys promise not to belittle my friend here for being a bit creepy?”

The both of them hesitate, looking up at each other, exchanging looks.

“I feel creepy is an understatement…” Tango scoffs.

“We promise,” Jimmy says at the same time.

Scar claps his hands together, Grian flinching and holding his ears at the noise. “See! Solved! We're now a team!”

No one celebrates, they all look at each other with uncomfortable hesitation, not at all meeting Scar's enthusiasm. He hops on his toes, ushering the others forward, getting them to start walking again.

“Team… yellow.” Scar looks around at his company, all pulling different forms of confused faces. “Why are you all blond?”

—

After several hours of walking, the sun had begun to dip over the horizon. They were all able to confirm the revelation that this planet has a pretty short day cycle.

The journey had been painfully awkward. Tango and Jimmy spent most of it talking between themselves, sometimes hushed, which Grian pretended not to notice. He’d closed off slightly despite Scar trying to start a conversation with him several times. It was a stark contrast to how they were in the morning. Scar missed their smallest interactions deeply.

At one point Tango had instructed Scar not to walk so close to Grian, mumbling that he could take his weapon back so easily with how close they were walking. Scar tried to argue, but Grian complied, closing himself off even more as he walked ahead of them.

They’re now settling in for sleep, taking turns in pairs, Tango not trusting Grian to be lookout alone.

Tango and Jimmy lay backed up into the shelter of an overhang, while Scar and Grian sit at the entrance, a considerable distance away.

“Wow- it got dark quicker. Darker than yesterday even,” Scar hums. The sky’s a deep, dark blue rather than the red of last night. Scar shivers, it’s also considerably colder.

“Yeah,” Grian murmurs.

“I bet this is really comforting for you, gloomy dim light,” Scar leans back looking towards where he assumes Grian is sitting, it’s pretty hard to tell.

“Yeah.”

Scar turns back and frowns to himself. It seems Grian is still acting distant, even with Tango and Jimmy snoring peacefully behind them.

“Hmm … wish I could see in the dark though, can't find-”

With far too much force Scar reaches forward, ramming his wrist into a rock wall. He winces. “Ow…”

“Are you okay?” Grian asks from his side, genuine concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah… just, there's a wall there.”

Scar continues to blindly stumble in the dark, searching for his jacket. Suddenly there’s a warm glow, illuminating his surroundings. Scar's mind is slow to process as small flickers of light drift into his peripheral vision, like some combination of fire embers and little lightning bugs.

He jumps backwards, his knee slipping out from under him. “Oh oh oh– what is that!?”

He looks around in shock at the small fiery creatures, before his eyes make contact with Grian who looks completely unconcerned about them. Scar then realises the glare is actually slightly amused at Scars' fright.

“Oh, are you doing that?”

“Yeah… lights to see what you're doing,” Grian mutters somewhat shyly, looking at the space between them. Scar sits back down, reaching for his jacket now that the dim glow has lit up the area.

“Oh! Thanks!” He puts the jacket on, grumbling about the discovery that it isn’t as comfortable inside out. But at least it still keeps the cold at bay so he isn’t about to complain too much.

He watches the tiny lights float in the air. They spin and twirl into themselves, dancing around one another. Scar slowly recognizes the shapes of tiny phantoms, just like the ones from yesterday but smaller and made out of sunlight.

“… Aren't these technically illusion magic?” Scar thinks, not even realising he’s saying it out loud.

He looks to Grian when he hears a shuddered breath, “…oh I guess so,” Grian wraps his arms around his knees, pressing his face into them with a soulful expression.

Unlike the tired apathy he has been carrying, this look is pained and hurt, the little illusions dimming as if in response.

Scar holds his hand out catching one between his fingers. It flutters and whirls in his palm, never quite touching his skin. Scar can swear he can feel its warmth, even though he knows he’s most likely imagining it.

“Well …I like them. They're very cute,” Scar smiles, looking at Grian as he holds one of the tiny beasts in between his hands.

Grian looks up at him, half his face obscured, and that sad look still in his eyes.

“You’re very talented,” Scar pokes at the illusion in his hand, feeling nothing as his finger phases through it. The illusion still dancing and spinning as if it was affected by the force.

“…Thanks,” Grian responds, muffled. A small smile creeps into his features at Scar's compliment.

They fall back into a still quiet state. Scar pushes the illusion back into the air with the others, leaning against the wall as he watches them dance.

“A game huh? I wonder why I'm here…” He muses. Not really expecting an answer from the glare, more filling the air.

“Tango said that we all must have wronged an Ender in our past… But I don't think I have- aside from being a Vindicator… I wonder…” He mulls over ideas in his mind, but there honestly isn't much he can think of. He's never been that involved in the field, and he barely even knows if he'd recognize an Ender if he saw one.

Naturally, Scar's gaze drifts to his company. Grian seems to be as deep in thought as him, his brows deep and ears pinned back, upset.

“Are you… okay?” Scar asks.

Grian looks up at him, his eyes following each line on Scar's face before responding. “Have you decided if I'm a good guy or bad guy yet?”

Scar tilts his head, that’s a very particular kind of question. He leans his head back, taking in the sandy walls striped with different warm shades of colour.

“I don't…” he sighs. “I think I'm starting to realise it's a lot more complex than I thought it all was.”

“Yeah,” Grian mumbles.

“What do you think you are?”

That oh-so-familiar quiet rears its head again. Scar starts to think he isn't going to answer him until, finally, he’s proven wrong.

“… I don't think I'm either, I don't think there really are good guys and bad guys, at least that it's not so black and white most of the time.”

Scar tilts his head down to look at Grian. The bird has now wrapped his tail around his feet, he's almost perfectly wound, aside from his wings that lay out behind him, tired. He's not looking at Scar, but instead at his own illusions that continue to float in the space between them.

Scar looks at them as well. “… I think you're good.”

Grian shifts uncomfortably, raising his head high enough that Scar can see the pained grin he wears.

“Haha god–” he pulls one arm out from being wrapped around his leg and pushes it hard into one side of his face. “You really need to pick better alliances, you really don't know me…”

Scar tilts his head from side to side.

“Well then tell me… do you think you're bad?” He asks simply.

Grian doesn't answer straight away. Instead, he digs his nails slightly into his scalp and looks to his side, very quietly hissing in a breath.

“… I’m trying to be a better person than I was,” he says, almost below a whisper.

“Well, that's something! Bad people don't tend to want to change,” Scar smiles reassuringly. Catching Grian’s eyes and putting on the most friendly expression he can muster.

Grian doesn't seem to buy it though, he pushes his head back into his knees. This time leaning his face away from Scar.

They both sit there, not uttering another word for a few minutes. Scar looks again at the illusions. He wonders what it was like to summon them, and then to keep concentrating on them. Grian doesn't even seem to be paying them much mind, his head buried in his metal limbs. Yet they still dance softly in the air. Maybe it was a soothing thing to conjure and maintain. Grian's feathers certainly imply he's a lot less stressed compared to how they’ve been most of the day.

Scar watches as Grian taps his long taloned fingers against his arm in boredom, the sound resonating in their small space. Metal against metal. Scar stares absently at them, Grian’s head is turned away, so he doesn't feel so bad about picking up on the smaller details he can see now he's this close.

They look slightly scratched, the deep black of the metal is scuffed in places, turning a dark grey. Up this close Scar notices how the robotics look, unfinished. Like they’re just a frame, the mechanisms, and wires open to the world, no protective shell. He can see some of the wires have tape around them, stuck haphazardly to the inside as if they had been snagged and pushed in deeper to avoid being torn again. It strikes Scar as odd. They look incomplete, yet when Grian taps his fingers they move with the fluidity of an organic limb, the small mechanisms barely even make a sound.

“Is it true what he said about enchanted robotics?” Scar asks spontaneously.

Grian lifts his head, that cold look returning once again. He pulls his arms from being wrapped around his legs into his lap, still curled up in his position.

“So, you do think I'm an Ender,” he says plainly.

“Well– I mean– You're not doing much to refute being one,” Scar tries, chuckling under his breath.

“I'm not an Ender,” Grian responds coldly, the least bit amused.

Moving uncomfortably, Scar breaths in, dropping his smile for a genuine look. “And I choose to believe you.”

Grian looks unconvinced. “But you still think I am,” he says slowly.

“… I don't think anything.” Scar argues, interrupted by a surprising chuckle.

“Well, I knew that much already.”

“I– hey!”

Grian giggles to himself, it lays bittersweet on his face when he falls off into silence.

Scar finishes what he’d been saying. “I don't like to assume things.”

With that Grian looks at Scar, really looks at him. The deep dark pools of his eyes squint and scrutinise him. Scar thinks the reflections of the illusions in his eyes look like stars.

“You liked to assume I'm a good person.”

“That's different, I have evidence,” Scar responds cheerfully.

“And what Tango stated wasn't?” He squeaks, baffled, unwinding from his ball more to throw his arms out.

“It didn't feel fair.”

“Fair–” Grian parrots back in disbelief, almost sneering to himself.

“Besides, I feel like it might be hypocritical of me to be upset that you're hiding who you are.”

Grian folds his arms back over himself looking away. “But that's different, I know what you're hiding– I was the one to even suggest it–” He says bitterly.

“Well– maybe I also have my own secrets,” Scar winks.

With a slightly more light in his voice, Grian leans his chin on his knees. “I doubt that– you like talking too much.”

Scar laughs at that, then sits forward holding a finger up as the little illusions swim around him. “You truly underestimate the power of talking, my friend. You can know anything and be given anything by talking, whereas violence enlists the opposite. It cuts you off from ever knowing more. People love talking, and I love secrets. It's an art, really.”

“Why did you become a Vindicator then? If anything they're very for violence and anti-information,” Grian mumbles, looking up at him with a raised brow.

Scar winks again, but this time taps his nose, “For secrets,” he says simply.

Grian rolls his eyes and laughs. “Ah,” He smiles, slipping slightly at the edges. He taps at his arm again. “You sort of concern me,” he huffs. “I don't get you.”

“Well I mean secrets—” Scar starts.

Grian cuts him off, waving a hand. “No no, that's not what I'm talking about…” He rests his hand back down onto his knee looking straight at Scar. “You have this inexplicable blind faith in me and I don't understand why,” his nose scrunches up. “Now, either you're really dumb or …”

Scar splutters trying to defend himself, but Grian continues, closing his eyes.

“I don't know…” He titters.

“I'm just very curious.”

“… about me?”

“Yeah! If you're not going to tell me who you are, then I guess I'll have to get to know you,” Scar grins.

“Usually when people are investigating someone, they don't straight up tell them to their face,” Grian bobs his head smirking.

“And I'm not investigating you,” Scar argues, “it's called companionship— becoming friends. You do have those don't you?” Scar tilts his head.

Grian grins up at him. “Well, you see—” Leaning forward, beckons Scar to follow his movement, before pulling back suddenly.

“That! Was obviously an investigation,” he laughs unfooled.

“Worth a try,” Scar shrugs, also leaning back.

They both become quiet. A cool breeze blows at the feathers on Grian's tail. The little light illusions move through the air slowly, unbothered by the physical realm. Grian holds his hands out, as they all drift over to him, curling up neatly in his hands.

He looks at Scar who’s watching, intrigued, and flashes his teeth in a smile, before closing his hands together, extinguishing the light. Only slight shimmers make it out past his fingers, as Scar watches him push his palms hard against each other still looking at him.

He opens his hands to reveal one creature, slightly bigger than the ones from earlier curled up in his hands. Its form is slightly more detailed, its warm light shimmering with blues and pink at the tips. It bares its tiny teeth as if yawning, and stretches out from its sleepy curl. Grian pushes it up into the air, the small creature imitating catching air in its wings and drifting off into the space in front of them.

“I uh—” Grian interrupts nervously, pulling Scars' gaze away from the illusion. “Thank you! For sticking up for me back there.” He holds a small smile, pained at the edges.

“I honestly wouldn't have held it against you if you took their offer and ran… but—” He coughs and shakes his head. “I guess what I'm saying is it was nice, very foolish… we literally have so many lies to navigate now, it’s a walking nightmare… but it was very kind of you.”

Scar beams, almost wiggling in excitement. “Hey! We're a package deal now!”

The bird rolls his eyes but keeps his smile. “Ugh.”

He pulls his legs out in front of him, his wings lifting off the dusty floor. He shakes them off from the dust before folding them behind his back neatly. He gives Scar a tired look.

Scar shuffles forward waving his hands out, not done with the conversation just yet.

“Seriously! I like you!” Grian flicks him a nervous look, making a confused noise that almost sounds like a chirp. Scar itches his head and elaborates. “I'm glad we've gotten to meet each other again. Under different circumstances.”

Grian's wide grin falters. His eyes drift to the left side of Scar's face, darting away and looking at the ground instead.

“And let’s hope we leave this one better then, aye?” His hesitant grimaces switch to a small but genuine smile.

“I owe at least that to you,” he adds.

Scar nods.

It never occurred to him that they’ll have to part ways at some point, for some reason that thought never crossed his mind, and it makes him sad. He’s a Vindicator and Grian was, probably still is, a criminal. It would be hard to meet up with someone actively imprisoned, and that’s even if Grian cares enough to risk that. Considering he said the words leave, he must have assumed they'll likely never meet again.

It makes Scar feel a little sour, he was having the most fun time here, even with the lingering death and tense energy directed at his new friend. He'd had more fun being kidnapped and disregarded on some random planet than he ever had on a shift.

Scar watches the illusion spin, he doesn't need to dwell on it too much, this adventure is starting to appear long and treacherous, he should just enjoy what he has left of it and Grian’s company.

Scar puts light into his voice, eyes still set on the glowing creature.

“Now shall we discuss at length about our sand trader backstory?”

Grian snorts.

He looks at him to watch Grian fake an obvious yawn. “Wow! I'm suddenly very tired.”

Scar smiles more genuinely this time.

“I’ll be called ‘Scorn’ and you'll be my faithful lackey ‘Giran’”

“They already know our names why-” Grian wheezes, before holding his palms up. ”You know what- nah, actually I'm asleep right now- and actively not engaging” He lays down closing his eyes.

“Best friends,” Scar continues. “Found abandoned as children together in a sandbox, oh that could be where the trading started!”

Grian rolls over away from Scar, pulling his wings pointedly over his head.

“I'M SLEEPING! Can't hear you over how loudly I'm sleeping right now-” he says slightly muffled, starting to laugh. Before he chuckles loudly to himself.

He suddenly sits up quickly and holds his hands tight over his mouth, Scar noticing the noise of someone grumbling tiredly.

He sees a shadow of Tango toss in his sleep before settling again.

Scar and Grian both exchange a look, Grian trying his hardest to hold onto a laugh before he coughs one into his hands, hushing him. Scar joins in wheezing.

They both sit, in a warm glow, laughing quietly between themselves as the night continues.

[deadghosy]

AND NOW….WHAT WE ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR…. PENGUIN! READER IN COURT.

HAZBIN HOTEL X PENGUIN! READER pt.4

Prompt: after lute’s acting out and hell’s celebration. A court was ordered for the custody for you.

“We are here in court today to discuss the home and place that reader should be in” says sera as she eyes Lucifer and his daughter that’s beside him.

Charlie smiles at the thought of winning this time as she smiles at her father who seemed to be a nervous wreck. He is hair was messy but almost kept as he kept fidgeting with his hands.

“Okay let’s start,” she says as she pulls up some cards. “Please no definitions this time.” Sera says strictly. Charlie gulps as she pulls out another bunch of cards. “Okayyy..no defining..but I have kept record on how comfortable they are with the hotel and the residents” she says with a small smile as Lucifer glances at his daughter hoping she could change the seraphim’s mind.

“Do you have any proof of this suppose claim?” Sera says with a raised brow. “Why yes! I do and my dad also has some. Right dad?” Charlie says looking at Lucifer who jumped at the sudden spot light. “Uh- yeah, yeah. I have some proof and rebuttals.” Lucifer says sitting up correctly.

Sera and Emily look at each other as a ball rises into the room. The angels seem to look each other and watch the ball carefully. Charlie smiles ready to show them how you belong in hell with them, for family of course.

“Oh oh oh, I would love to watch this shit show.” Adam says pulling up popcorn out of nowhere as the ball in the court starts to play. Lute grabs two movie glasses to wear with him and herself.

*flashback*

You were sleeping peacefully in Lucifer’s bed as he made you another duck toy as you woke up to smell pancakes beside you. You grabbed the pancake and ate them with a cute smile and squeak/quack. Angel busted in the ring leader’s door to grab you up and take you shopping as you got dressed.

Charlie and vaggie were talking downstairs as Lucifer was after Angel trying to pack up reader’s small little bag just incase there is trouble, like a small phone, small juice box, a rubber duck that turns into a monster to protect the penguin. And while type of stuff. Of course Angel rolled his eyes and took it for you as you two exit the hotel with vaggie and Charlie saying bad. You looked visibly happy as Lucifer gave one more goodbye kiss to your forehead.

*end of flashback*

The court chatters seeing such wholesome moments like that in hell. Adam rolls his eyes as lute basically breaks a mug beside her in anger seeing the angels nod and smile.

“How do we not know that you forced them to basically like that shit show of your hotel? You bride them with something?” Adam says rolling his eyes “Probably threaten them like the bastards you are.” Lute says as she glares longer at the two Morningstars.

The angels whisper gossiping about this. Charlie looks nervous as Lucifer looked as if he got sent to a death sentence. But Charlie then stood up with a nice compute looking around. “Don’t you ever think about what they want?! They’re our friend, heck even our family at most. PLEASEE…we just want them to be here with people they feel comfortable and loved around.”

“BLAH BLAH BLAH!” Someone says, ruining the soft moment as the court looks at Adam and lute who are scowling at the demon princess. “Why keep spitting these bullshit out your mouth and just admit that heaven is their rightful place? I mean, HAHA- they love me and plus they love the food here even better.” Adam says with a snarky smirk and lute smiling evilly.

Charlie’s demon form was slightly slipping from anger at adam’s words before lucifer had put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Adam, that is no way to talk to my daughter” Lucifer says with a scowl at Adam. Adam just smirks as lute was beside the first man throwing her middle up at him. “Ah please, you’re gods most hated thing to ever exist. Why let an ANGEL, who is supposed to be here, go live with you?”

Charlie opened her mouth to speak, “it was a rhetorical question.” Lute says with blunt venom. Charlie closed her mouth embarrassed. The court whispered and gossiped with a few nods as they did agree you were one of them that accidentally got sent to hell instead of heaven itself. 

Sera felt a heated stare from the devil himself, he kept his deranged look from the stress of this. The last time he had to be in court was when he got sent to his own kingdom.

“DONT you care Sera! They are just a person who can’t control who loves them! They love us…and maybe..you guys as well.” Charlie says as she hesitated on saying how you loved heaven as well. She stared around sera as well as sera closed her eyes not wanting to hear it. Emily glanced at the older seraphim uncomfortably.

Her first sentence made it feel like Deja vu in front of the whole court as Adam exclaimed, “HOLD ON HOW BITCH! You don’t get to sing in court ever! Plus.” He says smirking. “Of course they love us, we’re fucking heaven for crying out loud.” Sera sighs, “Adam, please no interrupting in court.” Adam scoffs sitting back down with lute who glares at Lucifer with full of hate. “Fuckin' bitch.” Adam grumbles under his breath.

Charlie growls under her breath to Adam as she pointed to Adam, “well, what do you have for claiming they even love heaven at all! What and where is your proof.” Adam smirks as lute flies, getting a presentation. “I’m glad you asked bitch, LUTE HIT IT!” “GREAT PLEASURE SIR!” Lute yells back smiling as she starts up the slideshow.

*flashback*

You were cuddled by Adam as he was hand feeding you some of your favorite chips flavor. You made a nice purr sound as you snuggled against Adam, adam’s tough facade faded as his eyes soften. “You like me right? You won’t leave me?” You nodded to Adam as you nuzzled your face in his pudgy body. Adam smiled and looked forward at the tv.

The next day was you and lute having a flying race. With your cute chubby penguin body, you couldn’t fly well. But lute just smiled and picked you up to her chest and starts to fly around heaven. You smiled as you quacked out how beautiful and exciting this felt to fly with someone you deem who you liked. You clearly liked the fresh and heaven air as lute put you to the ground to go get ice cream with you.

*end of flashback*

Adam smiles with a laugh as lute and fist bump at the presentation they made of you basically feeling cozy as heaven here. The angels awe and coo at adam’s part of the flashback as some clapped at the nice friendly encounter you had with lute in the second part.

The court whispers again as Emily and sera look at each other. Emily grabs onto sera’s hand as sera glances at Emily and her hand. And finally at the Morningstars who have a pleading smile as you are beside them playing with a train you. Sera lets out a deep breath and opened her mouth for the whole court to hear.

“The court has spoken. The rightful place the reader belongs in, is……”

CLIFF HANGERRRR💗

taglist: @caffieneaddictt18 @galaxywing-has-adhd @aria-tempest @chefysawesomeideas @zamadness @libraryraccoon @ilovelyneysm07 @speckle-meow-meow @timeageusveryquickly @skymac712 @loyx2 @nicoblob @badatpunz @listenerchan

[courtingchaos]

Unclean

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Warnings: Religious themes, menstruation: sex and talk of, fingering, blood in various places, allusions to physical abuse (not reader) it’s period sex!

A/N: Listen, I am an ex-for-almost-20-years-Catholic who grew up around a lot of Southern Baptist, so excuse my (probable) misinterpretation of Leviticus okay? I just think Roy Tillman is a real Old Testament guy. I’ve had this little one shot in the wings for a while and only got the guts to finish it recently. I’m also deeply aware that I am interpreting this character much differently than the fandom at large so like, peace be with you.

18+ NSFW No Minors

Nothing but low lights behind the pulpit and a few along the aisles to let you see the outline of him in the first pew. Leaned forward, still and quiet in the cold dark that seeps into the small wooden church. Outside, the calvary congregates and converses after their Sunday dinner provided by their shepherd and in here, in the small family chapel, it’s just the two of you in the glow of old bulbs. Warm yellow gives the bridge of his nose a highlight and shines off the sun bleached strands in his hair. When your footsteps reach his radius he looks over his shoulder, tense and sharp, but the golden glow reflects off his eyes to give him a softer look than he deserves.

You stop two pews back and he gives you a once over, nervous eyes flitting from your head to your feet and up again before he begins chewing on his bottom lip. “You go home?”

“Yes.”

“Why you still in your dress?”

“It’s still Sunday.”

He laughs through his nose and turns back to the pulpit, thumb rubbing lightly against his reddened lip. “Did you stop at the house?”

You step forward one more length of pew and stop again to watch him fidget with the vape in his hand. “No, Roy wanted to talk to my father so I came back out here.”

Gator hums, a twitch of his lip letting his displeasure show for just a moment. The smack of the metal against his palm is loud in the small space like the yell you know he’d like to let loose would be. Sharp and mean like his demeanor, trying to be like his father but just south of right.

“Did you eat?” You ask while creeping up beside him. The smoke from the pit nearby has snuck in through the gaps in the doorways and mingled with the dry smell of wood and old hay. This chapel has always reminded you of an attic with its exposed beams but the scent of decades old pine makes you the most nostalgic.

“No.”

“Not hungry?”

He looks up at you before he sits back against the bench, takes in your pieces before the whole of you, eyes flitting again from your open coat to the hem of your dress fluttering just below your knee. Vape set aside he reaches out to drag a finger up from your knee and under that hem where you keep some of your secrets. Lines of ink not even your parents have seen, another cut you’ve inflicted like the hundred others while trying to claw your way out of this compound.

Fingers dig into the back of your thigh to hold you in front of him, lets the heat from his palm sink in while he doesn’t answer you.

“What was this morning about?”

He tilts his head in lieu of opening his mouth.

“Roy was on his ‘god honoring woman’ kick again. Did Karen piss him off last night?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t home.” His other hand snakes between your thighs to hold higher up. “She didn’t look upset.” He drops his gaze then to stare at the yellow flowers dotted over the black fabric of your dress, the one your mother bought you as a threat veiled in a peace offering.

“A little too much Leviticus for my taste.”

“Mm.”

Your coat lands on the floor behind you and his fingers inch higher on the inside of your thigh. He seems fixed on the way your dress bunches over his wrist instead of the soft touch behind his ear where you tuck an errant strand of hair finally falling out of its place. Outside there’s a muffled uproar of laughter that makes you cast a sharp look through the foggy windows and Gator takes the opportunity to move his warmth away to pluck at the buttons at the top of your dress.

“Little low cut for church.”

“My mother doesn’t think so.”

“I’ll thank her later.” An actual smile this time as the first button slips through silky cotton, followed by two more before you stop him. The wood creaks under your knee as you shift your weight to it, sliding it up against his hip. Again his hand finds your thigh, up high to find his favorite ink, a simple black line cross that his thumb rubs small circles into.

He hasn’t noticed yet that you tucked your underwear in your coat before you walked all the way out here. Risky since this morning left you with a bloody visit and now you sit unclean under the rafters his family raised. Your dress slides up easily enough, almost up enough to share your secret, and finally he pulls you close. Tugs at you to get you over his lap, your other knee colliding dully with the bench back.

It’s like a switch with him sometimes the way his mood will turn. Sour petulance that makes you roll your eyes will break for roaming hands that map out your body. Sullen quiet suddenly loud with his wants, with his questions, with his panting and moaning. Any place he can have you but more often in places that would bring down his father’s ire if you were found.

Flush against him now he pulls you down to meet the seat of his hips before he pushes your dress up around your waist and pauses mid grope to laugh.

“Does your mother approve of this too?” Fingers move again along the crease of your hip until they reach soft curls. He catches your eye and doesn’t look away as he dips his fingers into your heat, his lip caught between his teeth again, this time with a smirk. He pushes up slow, thick fingers dragging against oversensitive flesh, his palm flat so you can grind against him. Words seem caught in his throat, probably something goading and whispered, something laughed out on a breath. You know he wants to make you blush about how wet you already are and how loud you’re panting but he changes his angle and moves his hand, pulls it back in front of himself and stops to stare at the red staining his fingers.

“Oh.” You don’t pretend to sound surprised. He frowns but doesn’t push you away like you thought he might’ve, instead he seems frozen in place and you don’t miss the blush beginning to trickle down his cheeks. “It’s okay.” You grab his fist hovering between you. “It’s okay.” You repeat and he looks at you then, wide eyes searching for something. Leaned in close you bring his hand up slow, up towards his lips parted around a whispered sound of protest.

“Is-isn’t this breaking a r-rule or something?”

He doesn’t curl his fingers away when you press them to his mouth, a long line of blood from his cupids bow to his chin. With your free hand you fumble with his belt and his pants, keeping his doe eyed gaze glued to yours.

“Your father walks in here without burning.”

Confusion has nestled its way into his features, eyes squinted at you until you wedge your hand in between thick fabric and hot skin. His gaze droops when you pull him free, mouth splitting open with a quiet gasp. You move then, sitting up on your knees to look down on him wanting and blooded, dragging your hands down his long arms along the back the of the pew outstretched to grip the hardwood with white knuckles. Fear, you think at first, from the wild print you’ve left on his face. Anxiousness maybe that he might be found like this, not just compromised but marked now, cut off from the flock finally.

“Gator…” You barely whisper and he’s chasing you upwards. Against the restraints of your hands on his wrists he pulls when your lips don’t descend to meet his.

A choked off whine, “Please.” His hips wiggle between your knees for some kind of friction, anything to get closer. “C’mon, come back.” He pleads through clenched teeth, tacky red turning matte on his full lips. It draws you back in and he smiles when you close the distance with a brush of a kiss, something light that makes him huff before you consume him.

He doesn’t taste like when you bite your cheek or suck on a paper cut. It’s a foreign taste on a familiar tongue, faint passion fruit from his habit and a metallic tinge that makes you groan into him. He feels good. Pinned like a fluttering moth looking for an escape, for a saving grace that he seems to find in your lips and the dip of your tongue. His breath comes in sharp puffs through his nose smushed against your cheek and again you hear him whine when you don’t let him raise his hands.

A shake of his head to break the kiss to get his point across to take a deep breath-

Outside there’s heavy footfalls on the old wooden steps. Both of you freeze like deer, your eyes trained on the heavy door and his boring through your chin, waiting to bolt at the first sign of discovery.

Muffled voices, a click of metal and your heart in your throat when this unsuspecting intruder has a change of pace. A muffled question. A pause. Quiet laughter and parting footsteps.

Your fingers simply drape and Gator takes the opportunity to surge into you. Hands grabbing at your hips to hold you closer, pushing you down on him. He guides himself in with his thumb, a quick brush over that ache of yours amplified through thrill and nature.

You miss him watching your face scrunch up in apprehension. Lips parted like his, pink lipstick smudged with blood, only you hiss out an “easy” that he answers with a shush. Lets his hands run back up under your dress to find his favorite little scar of ink, smearing red along the way. Almost dry now but his fingerprints in your mess between the two of you make him forget his reservations for a few minutes. He forgets the crowd outside and the house ten minutes away. Pushes the expectations away. He instead watches you relax into him, the way your hands unwind from his shirt only to feel them slide up behind his neck to wind back up in his hair. Your tongue rolls over your bottom lip before you bite down on a moan when he bucks his hips up gently.

This wet heat, new to him in this taboo, draws him in when you roll your hips in earnest suddenly. You’ve angled him to find that magic spot he’s usually still searching for by this point, your head rolling back on your shoulders to ride your knees raw against the wood. The deep heat of you almost scorches him, a small voice in the back of his thoughts reminding him of hellfire and naked founts.

“Fuck.” Said out loud in the hopes of chasing away a voice tinged with vitriol and a release of the climbing pleasure up his spine. You writhe in his lap and he gropes at your hips, slides long fingers down and under to grab at your thighs. Slick with sweat you slip in his grasp, heavy breaths blown over his locks when you finally reach behind him to hold onto the bench.

The open top of your dress brushes his face enough times he bites at the buttons, finally catching them between his teeth. Through his lashes he watches your face, glued to the peek of teeth behind your lips. The way you glitter in low light and muggy air. The dip of your collar bones when you roll your body into his and he can feel you tighten all around him, core and arms and air.

A not gentle hand suddenly wrapped around his jaw, fingers prodding into his mouth to hang and pull. Wandering lips messily find his own and then trail off over his cheek to end at his ear, your peak whined against him. Pulsing that makes him hold you closer so he can chase after you to find his own end.

He’s been on the precipice since you threw your coat on the ground and all it takes is a few gentle thrusts before he chokes on a groan and suddenly he feels bottomless. No floor, no bonfires, no congregants too close for comfort. Just your face in his neck and the shared messy warmth pressed between you two.

There’s a swing of headlights over the front of the chapel that breaks whatever tandem calm you two have created. Separated wordlessly with barely a glance at the extra mess, Gator quickly readjusts his pants and you snatch your coat on your way to the small ladies room in the foyer. More muffled voices tonight that intrude on your privacy while you scrub smudged lipstick off your face and rebutton your dress, jumping only a little when there’s a knock at the door.

“You fall in?” Your father jokes on the other side.

“Give me a minute!” You snap while trying to slide your underwear back on. A final look before you walk out to make sure the surface of you is presentable, no visible marks or smudges. Out in the entryway your father gestures at you to follow and Roy gives you too long of a look when he waves. You wonder if he can see it all over your face even though you scrubbed the evidence off. Wonder if he can smell it on you two like a predator sniffing out wounded prey.

Can he see your handprints all over his son? Invisible blood that marks him different now. The tang of sin sits all over your tongue and when you run it behind your teeth to savor you catch Gator staring again. Catch him watching your hands twist in your coat pockets and his eyes flit back up to your mouth. You can feel the faded touch of him worrying at your tattoo even across a courtyard.

“Hey Gator?” You holler at him while climbing into your father’s truck. “Don’t forget dinner.” A simple smile for him before you slam the door, a break in the tension and your phone is vibrating seconds later. You wait to look until your home but it still makes you laugh even when you’re starting your laundry.

Thank your mom for me.

[aroacewxs]

sharing some of my rui headcanons :]

i mentioned this in that rui gender poll from a while back, but i am personally a believer of any/all pronouns rui with gender that cannot be labelled whatsoever. i think he'd generally consider and present himself as male, but doesn't have many strong preferences about it. doesn't actively make the effort to dress "femininely," but he'd probably fuck with long skirts if given the opportunity!

and all of you know how much i base my personality off of this by now, but. aroace rui :) aroace rui who has always understood romance as a concept, a trope. he can pick up on romantic cues, but purposefully chooses to pretend they don't exist. the mere thought of him experiencing romantic attraction fills him with so much disgust he has to distract himself for hours. i'd ramble a bit more, but then we'd be here for too long..

i think he'd have really good sleight of hand! he's always had an interest for things like card/coin tricks, and picked up more after learning from kaito :) he always has a little trick or illusion up his sleeve and occasionally performs them for kids at phoeniland or just on the street!

despite having really good dexterity with his tools and tricks, he is terrible with sewing and needles. tsukasa has tried everything in his power to teach him, but nothing stops him from accidentally pricking himself.

incredibly susceptible to cold temperatures. is usually wearing a couple more layers than necessary

doesn't get sick often, but when he does, the illness hits him like a TRUCK. it takes him at least a week to recover. he's huddled up in blankets like a poor and frail victorian child, and he can barely work up an appetite. the kicker: he doesn't realize he's feeling Bad until somebody points out how horrible he looks. and that's when it settles

always needs something in his hand to fiddle with! super super good at spinning his pens and pencils (sleight of hand), and is often found twiddling with his longer strands of hair. he also has a bunch of miscellaneous screws and trinkets and trash in his pockets that he keeps to fidget with.

rui has intrusive thoughts (projecting).. most of them come from his deep fear of hurting others and anxiety regarding social perception and safety

this is already kind of canon i think but. whenever rui ever makes the effort to actually clean his room (shocking), he almost always gets distracted by something he finds, and soon enough, cleaning is no longer of his concern.

shitty handwriting. he CAN write neatly, but he just chooses not to

i think he'd be really good at game pigeon word hunt. and sudoku. and crosswords. all the word puzzles. and it pisses tsukasa and nene off a lot. emu is his worthy rival

sensitive teeth. can't bite into ice cream...

this is a given, but aside from theatre, i think he'd be super into other performance arts like ballet. he'd be really intrigued by how storytelling can be completely reliant on visuals and motions with no words and lyrics. ballerina rui au is also something i've brewed in my brain a while ago but the logistics are funny

his opinion on mint chocolate ice cream: taste is perfectly fine but he doesn't appreciate the chocolate chunks at all

weird sock collection. he will die if he doesn't have a funky pair of socks on his feet at all times. aside from when he sleeps probably

lots of unfinished word documents.. he's had a few aspirations about writing an actual novel instead of a script, but the ideas are like ping pong balls in his brain that interfere with his other priorities so he never actually gets much writing done.. one day he will though

that's all i can recall for now.. i'll make more soon if i think of more! this is also a humble request for any other rui headcanons you may have that aren't mentioned here.. hehehe

[live-laugh-legolas]

hi!! if you're still taking requests I'd love to requests headcanons of the fellowship with a reader with adhd?

(if you need pointers of specific traits to include plz feel free to message me!)

thanks so much!! love your stuff :)

I tried to include spectrum of traits and just general experiences with adhd, but I definitely do steer towards my own experiences a bit. I actually found this one a little difficult so I don’t consider it my best, so I apologize.

The fellowship (+Faramir) x adhd!reader

Aragorn:

-Gives lots of gentle reminders and subtle pushes

-He is very good about showing you while explaining something so it’s easier to understand

-Because sometimes just being told goes in one ear and out the other or just doesn’t even make its way into your brain

-He will listen to you ramble on about a hyper-fixation with no complaint

-Seriously he will always listen and never tone you out to be “background noise” (damn I need an Aragorn in my life lol)

Legolas:

-I don’t think he knows much about it but he learns fast and is very perceptive

-If you are very hyperactive and talk a lot he is super patient; and probably a little entertained

-I think that elves could be prone to sensory overload sometimes if they are really stressed, so he knows how to help if you experience this

-Will take you somewhere quiet and will give you something to hold to fidget with

Gimli:

-He may think your leg bouncing or fidgeting is done because you are stressed; which maybe you are; so he will try and calm you down either way

-Honestly I think he might not really do anything different, like he just is like “welp that’s y/n”

-But not in a dismissive way you know?

-If you drum your fingers a lot he will join in and create a little song

-He also isn’t bothered if you just talk to fill silence, even if you are just kind of narrating the obvious (I do this and am always told it’s because I must like the sound of my own voice, but he would never think this)

-He may be a little concerned if you just zone out randomly

-Will wave his hand in front of your face like “dude, you alright?”

Boromir:

-I think he may not be the most helpful in terms of organization

-But he likes to help you get some energy out so you feel less jittery

-He also isn’t bothered if you interrupt him, because honestly he does the same thing

-He understands that you don’t mean it to be rude, it’s just sometimes your mouth works before your brain can stop you

Frodo:

-He is so patient

-Feels bad when you are stressed and will help you with out standing tasks like cleaning so you can focus on whatever it is you need to

-He’s also really good at explaining things in a way that is easily digestible

-Like either very simplified or using comparisons to things you enjoy or are currently hyper-fixated on

Sam:

-Very productive himself so he probably doesn’t initially notice if you aren’t

-However he will notice if you are forgetful about self care

-Did you forget to eat? Sam has a biscuit ready for you and he will make you eat it

-He will also help you make and keep a schedule if that is something you struggle with

Merry:

-I think Pippin could have adhd so Merry has a good understanding about it

-He will make simple tasks into games to keep your focus

-This also helps to make tasks feel less daunting

-He will also be completely honest with you if something is becoming a problem

-“you can’t forget to turn off the stove because you remembered you needed to send a letter”

Pippin:

-I wouldn’t be surprised if he also had adhd

-I imagine he will start a bunch of tasks but never finish any of them

-You two can be dysfunctional together

-So either nothing gets done when you two are together, or you both hyper focus and will clean the entire house in a few hours

Gandalf:

-He is really good at telling when you are overwhelmed

-Like if a task feels too daunting or you get choice paralysis

-He will break things down to simplify whatever it is you are struggling with, and will aid you in getting started (because let’s be honest, just starting is the hardest part)

-He will never let you get down on yourself for things you can’t control; “you are not lazy, you are overwhelmed”

Faramir:

-This sweet man would be super supportive and helpful

-He may feel a little overbearing sometimes but it’s just because he is worried and doesn’t want you to feel dejected or insecure

-If you ever feel overwhelmed he is right there

-He also is super smart and patient so he doesn’t mind if he needs to re-explain something or if he has to repeat that same thing multiple times over time

-Won’t judge you if you forget something and need to ask again (I always ask what words mean even if I have been told a million times and have googled it)

[yummycrummy]

p1 hcs becuz I am normal abt characters 

-his real name is Rick but he prefers to go by Dude (I like to think that p2's name is Rick too but we aren't talking abt him rn) 

-in his 20s (like...26 or 28???) he looks older to some people though, if he even goes out

-has severe generalised anxiety disorder, PTSD, hypochondria, schizophrenia, social anxiety, and OCD 

- has Anthropophobia, Ataxophobia, Catagelophobia, Claustrophobia, Daemonophobia, and probably way more

-started to take medication at some point but eventually stopped because he thought they wouldn't work and make him more paranoid 

-he owns guns (A LOT of them) probably like, 25. he keeps them perfectly clean and safe, stocked up on his wall or in his panic room. (we'll get to that part soon) he'd probably have a collection of other weapons too, like a bunch of knives and axes (he also keeps them very clean, obsessively) 

-owns a little radio so he can listen to MTV, music that he's into, like Nickelback, KMFDM, Judas Priest, Oingo Boingo and Black Sabbath. helps him relax when he feels like he's really losing it. (he also tries to listen in on the feds, like if they're spying on him. he's that paranoid.)

-cuddles with champ often. especially when hes in bed. he loves that puppy as much as life itself (he'd kill for him) 

-gets sunspots when hes out in the sun for awhile 🌤

-smokes pot frequently. his house probably reeks of it, and so does he lets be real

-smoking too much of the pot can fuck him up, yet he doesn't stop. he doesn't know what else to do, and he doesn't trust doctors.

-fidgets alot. holds onto his cross when hes scared or in need of comfort. bites his nails too.

-has acne scars

-sensitive to bright lights (why he wears sunglasses all the time)

-gets sick really often. all the time. almost died during a few probably

-has shit posture 🦐

-breaks things when hes overwhelmed or angry

-has a bunker/panic room in his basement. keeps way more weapons down there, including MRE's and dog food as well. he thinks about the world coming to an end and so that's basically why he built it. 

-hardly ever leaves his house. feels like the government is going to come for him, so whenever he sees a black vehicle outside, like a van, he freaks the hell out. If he was going to go out and get the mail that day you can forget it. 

-cant hold down a job for long. Idk how this man even has a house (government probably gives him money) that is until he eventually gets evicted (hope this makes sense enough im sleepy)

-can't drive even though he took his learners as a teen. he just can't. makes him more nervous and unable to focus on a lot of things at once, so he either walks or takes the bus. 

-kids would often call him a demon or pull his hair. they thought he was a freak since he never liked to be around any of the other kids, he was always off in some corner or inside at recess, so he was sadly the target of their taunts. 

-his parents weren't redheads like him (recessive genes) so when he was born his mother thought he was the spawn of the devil. she never wanted anything to do with him, as did his dad, so P1 desperately tried everything to get their attention/approval, but nothing ever worked. he eventually left home when he turned 17. 

k thats mostly it ty for reading if u did eee

[danieyells]

Hi! Say, which characters do you think are more top leaning, and which ones more bottom leaning? Or switches? Or, if you think they would lean towards a certain type, but under X circumstances would go the other side?

So to clarify, for the sake of making sure we're all on the same page how i'm referring to everything

Top - generally does or is most in control of the penetrating

Bottom - generally being penetrated or being ridden by the one being penetrated

Verse - top and/or bottom

Dom - generally leads and controls the interaction

Sub - generally is controlled and led throughout the interaction

Switch - dom and/or sub

THIS IS GONNA BE A LITTLE LONG. Tl;dr: lotta tops and doms because of how many strong personalities we've got going here.

Jin: likes to be in control and finds defiance annoying. Distrustful of others. A dom and a top, but if he trusts someone or he otherwise felt comfortable being somewhat vulnerable around them, he might bottom. Occasionally bottoms to keep uppity folks in their place, to show he can dom even from the bottom. Also if you(read: Tohma) can wrestle control from him he'll bottom and maybe submit to some degree, but he'll mouth off about it the whole time. Before things went south, he'd place his vulnerability in Haku and also let Haku dom or top him.

Tohma: he is a servant to his king--and largely only for his king. He'll sub for Jin, but he also tries to maintain control in most situations and his Vagastrom nature means he likes to get a little rough and rowdy now and then. He'll bottom, but he will remain very in control the whole time. He's a bit more tender with Alan, and will let Alan figure out how he wants to do things, because Alan is a bit too shy to really understand things like this and he would want to be patient with him. Mostly a top and a dom though, but understands very well that things are rarely so clean cut, so he won't really be ashamed or embarrassed if he ends up submissive or bottoming.

Kaito: O-of course he's a top! Totally in control! No doubt about it!!! I mean, that's how guys are supposed to be for girls right!!! . . .that is to say, verse switch, tryhard dom with girls, leans sub with boys and people he trusts. He's able to play the part of a top, but unless he's gotten very comfortable and confident it won't be. . .natural? He has a very heteronormative way of viewing these things(he very much thinks he's straight) so if he's with someone smaller or 'weaker' or more feminine than him, he tries to play the part of a top. He'd be too nervous to try with someone else. But also, he's a total people pleaser. If someone he 'should' be topping wants to top him he'll sputter and fidget and say he'll think about it--but since he's a little desperate sometimes he might agree. If he reaches the point of attachment/attraction to someone that he turns down the bravado a bunch, he'll be a lot more openly submissive and nervous, and quicker to agree to something like bottoming because of how much he trusts them. He does want to be better as a top and a dom though--but if his partner likes him more as a bottom he won't worry about it so much.

Lucas: does not know what any of that means. You're gonna have to walk him through it. 100% a verse switch who will do it however his partner wants--he wants experience doing it every way though so, expect very frank requests for who's bottoming/topping and subbing/domming once he's been introduced to the concepts. He would probably like topping more because it feels like a more active role for him and he prefers to put the effort in. I think you would think he doesn't want to be vulnerable, but I think he's absolutely fine with it with someone he'd actually be close enough to have sex with.

Alan: also would be confused about any of this. When you explain he's embarrassed and possibly even more confused. Like Kaito he has a very heteronormative perspective of sex and in his mind he is a Big Strong Man and thus should be on top. But also he's worried about being big and strong and on top. He finds a lot of relief and comfort in being submissive and/or bottoming--harder to do any damage if he's not in control. But he'd be a total gentle service top or dom from the bottom--lots of gentle encouragement and guidance--but also be a submissive bottom if you're someone he'd be afraid of hurting. He'd be shy and flustered either way. He'd be so scared of doing any harm--and he's rough by accident, just because he's not used to being gentle. But he might get so gentle it's unbearable. . . . All in all, tends to bottom because he's worried about the harm he'd do as a top. Switch because he'd feel more comfortable being dommed as to avoid doing harm and he isn't very experienced, but also has some issues with authority and once he gets comfortable he'd start to have his own ideas of how things should be done and might be more willing to dom. Also if he's not afraid of hurting you he'll be more interested in domming and topping. Obviously he would never but bottoms and subs with Dante.

Leo: Dom. Verse as long as he's in control. Leo is very comfortable and confident being in charge and is very very good at being a mean, controlling, dominant top. But he can also be a total bratty bottom if he likes you enough for it or you have the balls to pull and push him into it. Just don't forget that he's a ghoul and while he's not the physically strongest of the ghouls he's still much stronger than a human. Romeo is probably the only person he'll eagerly meet on equal terms in bed(partially because Romeo is so fussy about sex anyway) and he expects Sho to submit to him most of the time. He doms from the bottom a lot, but has no problem topping at all. He likes his partners vulnerable--often tied down and at his mercy--but he also likes to push people into domming him instead. Mostly by pissing them off until they turn the tables, at which point he's bratty and mocking and usually whines afterwards about how rough they were. He plays the part of a subby bottom well, and he might crack and be a cutesy(sassy, bratty--) bottom bitch for you if he's somehow unable to turn the situation around, but he's naturally very in control.

Sho: 90% a verse switch. Goes with the flow of his partner--whatever seems to work best for them works well for him. The other 10% is mostly top and dom, particularly if you tease him a little too much he'll put you in your place. But he's also very prone to teasing and seeing if it gets him begged or pushed down. Bottoms with Leo, tops with Subaru, he and Alan figure it out as they go. Mostly tops with Hyde because Hyde is simply too lax to care either way and Sho has frustrations to work out.

Haru: has not thought about sex since 1962 he is simply too busy MM THIS IS A HARD ONE i think Haru is also a 'go with the flow' type. He's way too busy to pursue sex himself most of the time, so what's brought to him is what he's happy with. (Usually what's brought to him is a horny Towa, at which point he is usually fucked in the grass, cuddled for a while and not allowed to get up, and then Towa wanders off to the next thing that caught his interest without any further concern for Haru.) I feel like he leans sub though--it isn't that he isn't in control, but he'd rather let someone else do the work for once! . . .also he's not very in control. /o\ Bottoms to Towa and Taiga, usually subs with Romeo, bottoms to the janitor. Loves using toys because he spent so much money on all these random sex toys but he never really got to use them.

Towa: Dom/top leaning switch/verse. He loves doing it however it happens, especially if it's with someone he loves, but he has a lot of confidence in himself and his strength and he loves how much weaker others are than he is. And he likes to remind them. Believe it or not he's a lot stronger than most people. As much as he likes being told what to do, it's more that he likes being in control of whether or not someone gets what they want or need and being asked/begged to be the savior. Otherwise he wouldn't have had to think about it when you beg him to save your life.

Ren: sex is already such a hassle and you wanna overcomplicate it more??? Ugh, whatever is the least effort. It really, really depends on his partner and the situation he's in that led to sex happening. He'll put the work in if he likes you, if nothing else. He'd probably be nervous about bottoming, though, but ultimately go with 'whatever, i'll try it' if you want to. He'd end up liking it since he can kinda lie back and let you do everything though.

Taiga: massive sadomasochist so he can't help but be verse. Not great at subbing, he's too controlling and pushy and aggressive. But he'd love for someone to actually be able to put him in his place--they'd have to earn it though. Like physically fight him or otherwise wear him down(drugging him is fine) or something to make him submit. Like he will physically fight for it. You wanna fuck him you've just gotta say so and he'll let you pound his ass all you want, but if you don't want him to be directing you or putting his legs around you and fucking himself on you or pulling you or something you need to like beat him. Don't be afraid of beating him, he loves it! Just know that the second you start he's going to fight back and you might end up with teeth in you. Or worse. He'd absolutely roll over and be a good boy for Romeo now and then. . .if Romeo weren't so fussy about sex to begin with. Tops Haru and Romeo.

Romeo: you know how i said Ren finds sex to be a hassle? Romeo will make you feel like sex is a hassle. Romeo doesn't like being touched or being dirty or sweating too much or risking anything he doesn't like happening to his body or jeopardizing his appearance(disregard that he's a ghoul and anomalous medicine means he's not likely to have any lasting marks from most injuries, let alone your average sex based injuries) so getting him into bed if he doesn't trust you to be clean and competent is nigh impossible. And no, he is not going to bathe you to his standard. Filth. ONCE YOU GET PAST THAT HURDLE THOUGH. . .heavily leans dom verse because he hates not having control and would probably have some rules about how he's to be touched and such, but he loves to be worshipped and appreciated and attended to. . .but also he has no problem using someone else's body as stress relief or controlling them, but he's also such a fussy little pillow princess that he's a good bratty/dom bottom. But you have to get his trust for him to let you have control over him like that. But also he'd love competent control and instruction. . .on the other hand if he really liked and trusted you he wouldn't mind being pushed past his [initial] boundaries and being roughed up. In particular, I imagine he'd love if Taiga did this, but Taiga for some reason doesn't push and they never get anywhere. Tops with Kaito, bottoms with Taiga, switches with Leo assuming they don't get into a lot of frottage and mutual masturbation and other more 'equal' activities, usually doms Haru, doms most of his underlings but might let them top for good behavior(there's rarely good behavior.) Switches with Hyde.

Ritsu: Has no experience but is familiar with the concepts. Believes he'd make a better dom as he's more stringent with rules and regulations. Also very heteronormative--if his partner is smaller/feminine/weaker, he assumes he'll top and dom. However he'd like to be more familiar with all sides of the experience, and wouldn't consider himself anything concrete. Switch and verse, as scheduled and as needed. Consultation is recommended to minimize prep times.

Subaru: okay first of all. He doesn't even like touching people. That's just so much to go through before you start sleeping with someone. Touch them and you get fragments of their memories? And then you wanna be touching for at least a few minutes at a time???? Dom because he needs to be in control of the contact aspect for his own sanity--if he trusts you to be considerate of that, generally submissive. Verse otherwise--he's an actor and has been since he was 4, if he knows anything it's playing roles. And he wants to please his partner more than anything, so he generally works with what suits them. However his lack of experience leads him to bottom a lot more. Bottoms to Sho and usually to Haru and Lyca, although he doms Lyca even while bottoming. Not that Lyca listens very much. . .he's a bit of a weak dom but he tries.

Haku: while i personally think he isn't as heteronormatively minded as Kaito and Alan he is still very 'this is how guys are, i am a man i don't know what you expected' so he does have a very 'boys top girls' default. . .but he has no problem going against that. He's another 'we'll see how it goes' character who works with his partner to see what meshes best with them. He thinks the whole dom/sub top/bottom thing is a bit of a pain--interests and feelings are more fluid than that. Just see how it goes when you get in bed. Maybe set out a plan beforehand. But no need to categorize. He won't fuss either way. Total verse switch.

Zenji: CANNOT TOUCH YOU. But assuming he was able. . .oh god. I don't even know. I don't think he'd be picky tbh. A good artist knows how important perspective is--so why not try it however you want it? Even if it isn't what he was expecting or planning? He'll work with you, what would you like to do? He wants to please you! Maybe favors being on top because if he can touch you he really wants to. He wants to show his partner to the full extent of his ability how good he can make them feel. On the other hand, he'd be a giddy, excited bottom who'd love being attended to in every aspect and who wouldn't be able to take being teased too long. I think he'd just be so eager no matter what. To be in someone's arms, to be touched and heard and acknowledged. To sing for someone when they touch him and to make someone sing for him when he touches them. Just very much a verse switch.

Edward: SO WE DON'T KNOW A TON ABOUT EDWARD YET. But from what we do know. . .I think his laziness would get the better of him and he'd want to bottom. He rubs me as a sweet, teasing bottom. Might play innocent with you. BUT THESE SRE JUST IMPRESSIONS BASED ON RUI'S CRITICISMS. MAYBE ASK AGAIN IN A COUPLE WEEKS WHEN WE'VE GOTTEN THE OBSCUARY CHAPTER.

Rui: so he can't touch you. Like, he can, but you'll die. So. . .getting that close is a little scary for everyone involved. Anyway Rui is the one character who's canonically said he doesn't swing that way(while talking to Tohma--in Japanese he says "I'm nly interested in girks") which doesn't mean ANYTHING in fandom so I can do what I want with him kekw. But it does suggest More Heteronormativity but perhaps a little more strict. Plus since he's scared of touching people even with clothes/fabric between, I think he would feel more comfortable in control of the situation. He's not a hard dom by any means, he's very chill, but it helps him feel comfortable due to the threat of his restrictions, same with Subaru. He'd probably be on top just because you'd probably be playing with a lot of toys and he'd rather control that too unless they were toys that could be used at a bit more of a distance, unless you were pegging him with clothes on. He'd still be worried about that contact through clothes could still be dangerous, but it would definitely be another way to go about it. . .if you could convince him to try it. All in all I think he'd lean dom/top just because it gives him a little more control over what could be a potentially deadly situation.

Lyca: Definitely depends on the partner but. . .leaning verse sub. Wolves are pack animals and he understands he's not really the 'leader' here. He'd want to defer to someone with more experience--although he's not a "good" sub, as he doesn't listen very well and just kind of does and says whatever he pleases most of the time. But he accepts punishment(with some fuss.) He'd also probably want to 'fight' for if he tops or bottoms, though nothing crazy like with domming Taiga. But he has no problem taking it if you've earned it(he likes topping more but he doesn't not enjoy bottoming.) on the other hand he also doesn't have a problem being the one in charge--it would feel good to have some control back after being locked up for so long!--but I feel like he wouldn't know what to do with it. He seems fairly simple-minded so far, so maybe he ends up more of a dominating top when his rut rolls around. Breeding seasons and all that. Probably ends up topping a lot just because there are more bottoms around him tho. Subs and tops Subaru, tops Ed. Bottoms to Haku.

Yuri: if it's his mama he'll do whatever they want. Definitely a dom, it's even in his character profile. But he's the "I'm too busy for such things" type. May or may not want you to beg for his attention. He's a total control freak I think, so he'd want to top too. On the other hand, it's important to bottom too, for the Knowledge and Experience. . .but he's not a test subject, that's mostly for Jiro and the pc and other experiments! . . .but for the pc, whom he's decided is his mama, he'd do whatever they're interested in. He's weak to his mama, he wants them to be happy and to feel good. . .he'll consider being submissive or bottoming for them, but he mostly goes from cruel top to service top. Tops Jiro. Nicolas is, in Romeo's words, a prude, but he would top Nicolas too.

Jiro: doesn't really like things without a point. I guarantee you his thought process is "You want to have sex? I don't think it would be advisable for either of us to have children at this point. . . .why else if not for that? Oh. For personal pleasure and/or intimate bonding. That sounds fine, then. I'll let you know when I'm not busy." Since it's for pleasure and not for business he'd just ask his partner what they want. He's definitely more submissive like that. . .unless an idea's caught his mind. Then he might be more dominant to satisfy that curiosity/interest. Bottoms to Yuri, switches with Nicolas.

HOPE THAT ALL MAKES SENSE ANON.

[the-s1lly-corner]

GENERAL JAX HCS

mix of a bunch of stuff, probably going to be writing random stuff while waiting for requests to come in so i have something to do side note i never actually felt a knot in my neck form, only wake up with them after getting them in my sleep... until today, felt one form right in the back of my neck while i was just. standing and oh my god it sucks so much i hate knots but actually feeling it. develop. right there. sucks more i think anyways this is a mixed bag of just basic jax hcs + stuff that can tie in with other characters or the reader, we'll see since i write these notes before doing anything else

would this really be a jax hc post by the silly corner if i didnt mention the fidget headcannon? literally the hc that i bring up the most in my posts when theres readers who have accessories or tails or what have you?

i think hes going to mess with anything he can get his hands on; usually passing them between his hands or perhaps tossing them around in the air and catching them.. if its something bouncy hes going to be bouncing it along the ground while he's walking.. i think sometimes with other characters, he does try to mess with them out of habit (plus given how he snatches zoobles arm it kind of. shows hes comfortable doing that sort of thing, you know?)

sometimes messes with ragathas bow, or zoobles antennae (though with zooble its more on purpose and to annoy them).. i think you get the idea

speaking of ragatha i think they would be good friends, i mean i personally think if ragatha didnt like jax she would keep her distance from him (though to be fair we still only have the pilot so far + i think ragatha would still be polite if she didnt like him)

as for his dynamic with zooble i think they kind of egg each other on, but on the rare occasion they do agree on something they do so begrudgingly

i think his ears twitch when hes thinking or when hes irritated, not huge movements... mostly little... twiks, you know?

i dont think he really has fur personally, and if he does its really short and smooth... in my opinion he looks like he would be made of the same material as those small squishy animal toys

these ones, i got a handful of them and theyre genuinely so soft and squishy, me thinks jax would feel like these things

on the off chance he needs to cook for whatever reason, hes a terrible cook. like i think he can make one meal but outside of that hes a disaster in the kitchen... also doesnt make a good kitchen partner because hes going to think its funny to hand you the wrong thing when you ask him to pass something

malicious incompetence but hes doing it to annoy you and will probably give you the right thing after a few rounds of messing with you

no one is safe from his antics, assuming he and ragatha are good friends, shes still subject to his jokes at the bare minimum

so.... if youre friends with him youre at least going to go through the same thing

i dont think he would be a good secret keeper most of the time. like yeah sure if its something serious and important i think he would put aside his douchbagie-ness for once and keep it

but if its something outside of that? yeah no you're have more luck confiding in caine, who imo would pounce on the opportunity to gossip

probably shouts random stuff, like "hey caine, (reader) thinks youre (insert outrageous lie)!" just to mess with you. does this to other people, usually ragatha or gangle... sometimes does it to kinger, i think... only reason he doesnt do it to zooble is because they will get his ass, and hes giving pomni a 'grace period' before he decides to drag her into his shit

hes an ass but i dont think he would just jump on someone/j

speaking of, while he can be mean to some people i do think he has his limits, like hes not going to kick you while youre already down or make fun of you for something you cant really control or manipulate you by hanging something over your head (see the secret keeping thing, while he will tease you about more basic stuff if its something serious hes not going to do it imo)

you know?

though i do think hes the type to steal something from someone in order to make them talk to him; especially if he has a crush on someone... hes just a little shit like that

has this LOOK on his face when the person comes to retrieve their thing, and tbh... i can also see him waving it around over their head (hes tall, and if they can still reach it he probably jumps.. gets on his toes.. stumbles away and holds them back ect) just to keep them around for just a little longer

whether this is actually successful in getting with the person romantically depends... personally it wouldnt work for me but hey, some people find that behavior endearing and/or will be able to eventually pick up on what hes doing

does not like being vulnerable, this goes for really anything regarding feelings as he thinks it ties in with weakness (spoiler, it doesnt)... probably has a "eeeewww feelings..." mindset (though might still let you vent to him... will act uninterested but if he really didnt care hed just walk away.. more actions than words, this one is)

rarely talks about how he actually feels about things if the feeling in question is anything less than indifference or amusement... though hes not opposed to expressing anger or annoyance... will let you do what you will with that information...

naturally because of him being weird about his feelings, romantic feelings fall into the "eeeeeewww feelings..." category so hes not going to be blunt, again, actions over words here... and even then the actions here are mostly him messing with the person and trying to get them to spend time with him as a result (even if its not... hanging out..)

[dootznbootz]

You mentioned Telemachus having sharp Naiad teeth. Imagine if he used those teeth to take out all the suitors. With Odysseus’ help of course.

Sadly, would probably leave him open and vulnerable to attacks :'D So he probably wouldn't unless really desperate.

Sharp naiad teeth are more for "I can rip through any fish scale and bone and be fine." as an adaptation for water life than for battles between mortals. Odysseus watches so lovingly seeing his Water wife and Water son devour whole fish.

Telemachus is around 37.5% Naiad and he'd probably be using water from the canals to trip suitors. Even then, he can only work with a certain amount of water. Penelope has MUCH more control and she's kind of there as well. Imagining Odysseus seeing a bunch of dudes drowning, only to realize it's not Telemachus, itches my brain. He starts cackling and gets a special bloodlust when he realizes she's "there". It's another reason why he's so hurt when she firsts rejects him as "We were basically flirting during our dinner, you drowned some suitors. You KNOW it's me! WHY?!" but uh...He doesn't know that Athena had to tell Penelope not to drown the "stranger". She was mostly trying to make sure Telemachus stays safe and along with you know, killing the suitors now that she has "permission". There's more to it but yeah lkasjdf sounds nuts but I think it'll work.

Penelope looked him in the eye during that dinner, tears still damp on her cheeks, and says "You say all these things but My Odysseus, who fidgets with his clothing and who bounces his knees in time with my own, would never leave me weeping while he sits. He would throw his arms around me!" "...He would if he could." Then he goes to sleep outside and she's pissed and he's a mess. :D The "Beggar" looks nothing like her husband but he moves and talks just like her love, his voice unsteady as he praises her. What the fuck is going on? Basically she knows it's him but also is like "Why would he keep himself from me?" Like how Odysseus tells HER during the treebed scene

And Athena is editing her fanfiction document for these two as "You little fucks weren't supposed to be doing this! I kept your tears from falling, Odysseus, why do you have to be such a sap?! Shit! Back to the storyboard."

Anyways!!! :D

Naiads usually don't bite people unless they feel they have no other option. Odysseus is an exception as he does have ONE "special bite" from his special wife because he's a little freak who wanted it rdtfygufgh. Penelope bit Palamedes on his forearm as he held her back as he took Telemachus from Anticlea and Penelope rushed after him. Odysseus is haunted by the image of both his wife and son sobbing while her teeth are stained with blood. He gets sick pleasure seeing that scar on Palamedes' arm before he gets him killed.

And as a whole, there are actually a couple "rules" Naiad born soldiers have to follow that are very important within war.

With battle, even if you ARE naiad born, you have to ask the river god "Hey, this is getting really bad. Can we work together for this?" As River gods are usually like "I am here for your consumption, bathing, and healing. You will not use my water for violence." (Why Achilles gets his ass kicked and why Naiad born soldiers don't just "drown people")

If someone/something is attacking your river or YOU, like an animal wreaking havoc (like the big catfish! :D ) or a person trying to kill a single naiadborn, then self defense is fine. Daphne got turned into a tree because Apollo outranks nymphs and the river gods. River gods don't fuck with Olympians but he still wanted to protect her.

Though once you have your own water source (canals, vase full, etc.) you're technically free to do whatever you want with it. (Penelope loves this loophole 😈 The Palace waters are hers. and Telemachus' too but you know.)

With the war aspect, however, there are so many wounds that are like "wow, you probably have an extreme infection or should've killed you eventually". BUT it's convenient when you have Naiad born soldiers that can "heal you up" (Penelope's brothers are part of Menelaus' army btw!!! :D )

It's kind of why it's become a "If a man is still alive when they're picked up and rescued, that doesn't mean shit. A naiad born person will fix it before they even bleed out. If they don't die instantly, they just come back."

Same with fighting among nymphs btw.

Even if you're naiad born, you can't just act like how you do at home with a foreign river. Feel free to jump and swim and wet your scales but stay out of their business. If the naiads of Athens decided to punish people by poisoning the waters, you, as a Spartan naiadborn, do not meddle! Can't start purifying it to give to the citizens. Maybe for your OWN people who came with you on the foreign expedition if you ask but don't meddle with foreign river problems. Each culture is different.

Took a while for Penelope to adjust and improve relations with Ithaca naiads because of this. And when Tyndareus and Icarius were exiled, it was a culture shock for them as they're 50% naiad. Even with non-naiadborn, it's a shock. Menelaus and Agamemnon were in Sparta during their own exile had to adjust too, though Menelaus definitely fit right in. (I'm so excited to write about 18-20 year old Agamemnon's first interaction with 9 year old Penelope. It's a misunderstanding at first but it's wholesome. Spoiler: Have you ever been in a place and then a random little kid starts talking to you and then they give you a leaf or something? YEAH >:D It's that but sillier. It's cute.)

Honestly, I'm playing around a lot with the whole "Sparta being very military-focused" thing as it's really kind of fun to think of people having children with naiads/naiadborn as somewhat of a strategy. If you can't have demigods, nymph born children are still better than fully mortal ones. It's why there ARE so many naiad born and why interactions are basically informal in Sparta in my fics compared to other places. Like Ithaca.

I got really offtrack but in conclusion: There are special rules and customs of each freshwater source. And how battles are affected by it. Telemachus doesn't bite any of the suitors but probably uses water to help him and to heal his and Eumeaus' wounds.

[youreirrelevant]

I'd Love To Take You Down And Leave You There

pairing: kendall roy/reader

summary: You feel kind of stupid for asking him to coach you, cause, like. Who doesn’t know how to do this? Still, he sounds pretty while he does, voice deep, enunciating and hitting the consonants in this really satisfying way. And, unbeknownst to you, he’s getting a very sick feeling of glee talking you through it. Heart hammering against his chest, too excited to see what you’ll do.

“Then you just inhale. Quickly.”

words: 9506

tags: EXPLICIT, angst and a little fluff? weird power play stuff, coerced drug use, and therefore dubcon, choking, slapping, hair-pulling, manhandling in general, SUPER unhealthy relationship, emotional manipulation, friends to lovers ig, unprotected sex, drug and alcohol use, suicide and death mentions, degradation, corruption kink?? sadism and masochism and also sadomasochism, spitting in someone's mouth, references to sexual acts like shining a shoe with your tongue, face-fucking, and water breathplay, non-negotiated kink

a/n: idk i watched prague and saw how Kendall could be a manipulative sadist (along with his established masochistic tendencies) and decided to go with it.

35 Hudson Yards. Limestone and glass; eight sleek tiers. Wealth, abundance. An eighth of an ounce. Crazy. Some things slotted into place so easily for Kendall Roy, and others, not so much.

You have to tip your head back to look up at it. So far back your mouth has to fall open.

-------

You’d been to the old apartment, or at least, the old building. Dragged to Greg’s party, though if it was even his to begin with was debatable. He seemed worn out about halfway through, slumped above his guests. You felt deep empathy for him then-all the people and the noise, it was exhausting. And if it had been where you lived, well, you’d probably be a little more than tired. Angry, really. The friend who had brought you there had gone off somewhere, with someone, else, and you felt practically paralyzed by the intensity of it. Flush with one of the pillars between the windows, trying not to look as overwhelmed as you felt. The lively atmosphere had been fun at first, but now you’re alone among a bunch of bodies-people you don’t know, a place far out of your reach.

The edge of your phone hit against your palm in a slow, steady tempo, your other hand swinging it, needing something to fidget with. You could’ve looked at it, scrolled through Twitter or something to pass the time, but you felt the need to watch, see where everyone was and what they were doing. Hypervigilant. Which is how you saw him, headed your way from your left. His eyes looked dark in the low lighting, lingering on some of the faces he passed, some of their bodies. But he kept moving forward, seemingly your way, so, your eyes didn’t leave him.

A woman passed him as he emerged into your little bubble by the windows, and his head swiveled to check her out, too. Your eyes swept over his profile quickly, pouty lips and prominent nose, thick lashes and the gentle slope of the back of his head. Baby hairs neat at the nape of his neck. A little rush of heat ran over your skin, and you bit the very inside of your bottom lip. Your hand had stilled, phone heavy where it lay. Finally, he looked at you, first his head and then his eyes soon after, gave you what seemed to be the required once over as he sipped some drink from a can. Like something you’d see at a frat party, juxtaposed against the high ceilings of the apartment, and the dark sweater he wore that just looked expensive.

“Hey, you, uh, tweaking over here? Take something too strong?”

Words slurred on a deep voice, and he sounded more curious than concerned. Did you look that nervous? There was an urge to try and hide your phone out of embarrassment, still poised as it had been when you had checked him out yourself, but you instead clung on to it tighter. You must’ve taken too long to answer, because he took another sip, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“Uh, no. I’m just… not big on parties,” as if to illustrate, or to make sure that’s actually where you were, you glanced to the crowd. Your stomach turned at the sight of it, at the knowledge that there was so much space and it was all filled up.

“Uh-huh,” he sounded condescending, dismissive. His eyes scraped down your body, slower this time, and you couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw or was judging you deeply. You tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, only allowing yourself to press the toe of your right shoe into the top of your left. There was just a small gap between his eyelids, the length of those lashes almost touching his cheeks, and you hated how you were annoyed with him but felt a weird, compelling force drawing you toward him. Gravity.

Somehow, over the music and voices, you heard him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if he’d made up his mind. Not that you could tell what his decision was from it.

“So,” he looked back up to you, put his free hand in his pocket, and you saw him sway a bit on his feet, “did you come here with someone?”

You rotated your phone in your grasp, the screen now pressed into your left palm, fingers and thumb wrapped around the edges.

“Yeah, just my friend. She ran off with someone earlier.” To do who knows what.

He stepped closer to you, narrowed his eyes a bit like he was trying to remember, see if he knew you. How he wouldn’t know by then-

“What’s your name?” You felt like you were being interrogated, like you weren’t allowed to be there or something. Brows pinched and rose in the middle, imploringly, lips pursed just a bit. Still, you gave it to him, with what you hoped was a normal and not at all suspicious amount of hesitation.

Dude didn’t even have the decency to give his back.

“Do you have her number- your, uh, friend? Like, could you text her to tell her where you are?”

Okay, you were really confused. She already knew where you were-

“You know, if you wanted to leave? With me?” There was an edge of annoyance, like you should’ve known that’s what he was getting at, where all the questions were headed. And maybe you should’ve? You looked off into the middle distance, frustrated and looking for answers. Pressed your fingertips into the bridge of your nose.

“You’re kind of rude. I’m clearly anxious and you come over here and ask me a million questions, and you don’t even give me your name, and aren’t you drunk?”

His face split in a big, toothy grin, filled with way too much mirth and incredulity. Corners of his eyes crinkled up prettily, and despite your glaring you’re charmed by it.

“I’m Kendall,” he says it like its so fucking obvious. How would you not know? Your eyes flickered around again, as if you were searching your brain for actual clues. He stood there, watching, and you felt stupid.

Wait…

“Oh.” He nods his head exaggeratedly at your realization, eyes closed, eyebrows raised again in a superior way that pissed you off but made your stomach flip. It was surprising. Flattering, in a way, that he’d shown interest in you. It wasn’t supposed to be, as if he deigned you, a mere peasant, worthy of his time. (And he probably knew you were one, too, with that heavy appraisal he had given you earlier. Just from the material of your clothes, the way you held yourself.) You tried to put aside the other reasons that it was flattering-that you found him attractive. And charming. Somehow.

“So?”

“You’re drunk,” you reiterated.

Kendall smiled again, like he knew something he shouldn’t. Then, he sighed, through his nose.

“One more question. It’s the last one. Promise,” you gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he meant to cross over his heart, but instead he crossed his fingers. Drunk.

“Sure,” the disbelief in your tone was clear.

“Can I at least get your number?”

Surprised again, written all over your face in the way it slackened, eyes widened. You really thought he’d just move on, (and he would, afterwards, for the night.) Blinking it away-unaware of the way his sluggish mind tried to figure out the length of your lashes as you did it-you moved your phone into your back pocket, and held your hand out for his.

“Yeah, sure,” pressed your lips together to stop from smiling bashfully, your mood turning on a dime from the question.

Kendall handed it over-you wondered if he had more than one, if he carried them both? Or all? With him everywhere, and what he used for his business phone, since this was an iPhone-and you entered your number and name into his contacts. He watched as you did it, noted the way you didn’t give yourself a cute little nickname, or use emojis. It’s your full, government name. He also watched the way you went into the notes section, and stop-started several, embarrassing times, on putting in where you both met. The implication-that he’s so drunk he wouldn’t remember-made you reconsider, but the fact that he actually might not had you eventually doing it.

You gave it back with a nervous smile, and his index finger brushed yours as he took it. It was so, so stupid how you had to stop yourself from reacting, like this was Pride & Prejudice or something.

“Well, I’ll… see you around.”

“Uh, yeah,” hopefully.

When Kendall turned from you, you made the decision to find the friend who dragged you here in the first place.

And he, well. He could feel all that weight settled on his shoulders again, on his chest. Seemed like it could pull him through the floor, through all of them, and down into the molten earth where he belonged. Where he’d burst into a cloud of red steam, the pressure finally released.

Until then, a little thought kept him above, like a bobber on the water, half submerged-

You were really easy.

----

It’s dark out; a little late. A chill in the air, a little more than what one would expect for an April night. You’re trying your damnedest to see the top of this building, where he is. Like you would see him looking down, down the length of his nose, and almost all 92 stories of this thing, to your minuscule-insignificant- form at the bottom. The idea makes you tingle all over.

You run the pad of your thumb over the freshly filed-short edge of your nail, the one on your index finger. It wasn’t for him-your irregular, at-home manicure just happened to have… happened, the day before. He messaged today, a few hours ago. At dusk, the shadows long outside your apartment window. Asking you to come over, very nonchalant. Said he hasn’t seen you in a while, which is true. You didn’t get to see him often before, but after his press conference, you were lucky to get even a text. Not that you expected it, thought that he would- or wanted him- to prioritize you. He had kids and a divorce and this legal battle and his family.

No, definitely didn’t feel that pull in your chest, that need to see whatever he felt you deserved to. Cracking him open, like a door pulled apart by a crowbar. When you relaxed, the shards would almost fall right back into place.

Walking through the lobby, up to a desk, (that you found out was for the hotel in the building,) asking where the elevator for the penthouse was, (there were four,) you feel so out of place. Worried that you’re somehow going to put chips or scratches in the marble floor as you move across it. The elevator itself is spacious and luxurious, which you’re thankful for because it’s a long ride. Polished, mirror finish walls, so you can watch yourself anxiously pick at the sleeve of your jacket. Watch the numbers climb as you did, a sleek digital readout above the doors.

You’d heard he was unraveling. Confident and self-assured before, but now he’s backsliding. It made sense; there were awful, shameful, things being said, that hurt his credibility. Some of them by his own sister. (And you felt so fucking ridiculous, because this stuff would come out and you’d cringe, but you still felt bad for him. Remembered that vacant gaze that threatened to suck your very heart from your chest; a black hole.)

A crisp, modern ‘ding!’ and the doors slide open. You knew it would open right into his apartment, but it was still weird. Like you were intruding. You step into it, look down at the dark wood floors-those are definitely actual wood, not the cheap laminate (duh!)-and decide to take off your shoes. Straight off the elevators is a hallway, to the right. It opens up to a massive… living room? That feels insufficient, but you can’t think of the proper word for it.

Everything is cream, gray-blue, pops of dark wood. It’s not as sterile as other places, but it still doesn’t feel much like a home. The room is divided into four: a couple seating areas, a bar. A dining room, hidden by an obnoxiously large fireplace. You find him in on the L-shaped couch. Hunched over a round, glass-top coffee table from his seat on it. (It was clearly dragged closer, rug bunched up beneath it.) A scene from a movie; a rolled bill, a vehicle to bring the coke from the table into his nose. The hand on the opposite side is plugging that nostril, pushing the outside against his septum with his index finger. Kendall audibly sniffs, his brows furrowing a little bit as he does it.

You’re frozen in place. Mesmerized by it, by the way he sits up straight and looks up to the ceiling, savoring however it's making him feel. Intruding- you shouldn’t be here. You’ve come around after the drugs have been done, when he’s already chatty and touchy, pupils eating pretty hazel eyes. But it's on the table, and he cut the lines himself, and he’s wiping away whatever fell to his philtrum with his knuckle. It feels way too intimate, and you feel like you should leave, but another part of you wants to see more.

Kendall’s dragging the proximal section of his index finger under his nose, all of his fingers curling as his hand tilts back, and he looks at you without an ounce of surprise. If anything, he looks at you like you’re doing exactly what he wanted, standing just at the entrance of some room that was too damn big, holding your shoes in one hand, not sure where to put them. You look sweet, like you always do. Unfamiliar with it all, the skyscrapers and the money and the people.

And, of course, the drugs.

If you had to guess, you’d say there’s fourteen feet between you. He doesn’t stand to greet you, and you don’t move, either.

“Hey. How was the, uh, the ride here?” Perfunctory; he asked that every time you met him somewhere, every time he sent a car for you. Sometimes he seemed to care more than others. The words jumped off his tongue, rushed, for him. But it felt more like he was just trying to get it out of the way.

You bring your shoes over to rest in front of your thighs, laying them lengthwise, slipping as many fingers of your right hand into the collars as will fit beside your left. You try not to spend too long studying him, try not to find weird patterns in it all. He’s wearing all black, a thick sweater with the sleeves pulled halfway up his forearms, (lean and spotted with the occasional mole or freckle,) slacks that pull taut over his thighs, and hang perfectly creased from his knees. Dressed dark, like when you first met. Big hands hang loosely between his parted legs, and you make it a point to not linger there, eyes darting back up to his.

“Yeah, it was… okay. Y’know. Pretty normal.”

He’s looking up at you from where he’s still perched on the edge of the couch, the only real giveaway that he’d just done something being the way he taps his finger against the back of the opposite hand. Incessant, maybe a little faster than he meant to. That- as you thought of it, privately, stupid, not at all attractive- pinky ring he wears sometimes feels heavy and cool on his skin.

“So, did I, like, come here too early, or…?”

There’s that smile again, a mischievous little v. A secret.

“No, you, uh, got here right on time, actually.”

Kendall always said some shit that sent you reeling. Something weird. He either thought very hard about what he was going to say, or not at all. You scratch the skin just behind your right ear, leaning your head into it, eyes narrowed as you think.

“O-kay?”

He moves to cut the cocaine into smaller, shorter lines, and you watch, mouth falling open, arm relaxing to allow your hand to curl into a loose fist in front of your throat. The cogs were turning, and you didn’t like how the teeth were fitting together.

“I want you to try this.”

A little tug, not even a full rotation on the handle of the fishing reel.

“The coke?”

Stops dead in his tracks, the heavy, metal card coming to a halt midway through dividing the aforementioned drug. He looks at you like you’re fucking stupid, a nasty habit of his, and you scoff, looking at him like he’s fucking insane.

“Kendall-“ you never call him Ken, not even when you’re being soft with him. You’d never admit to it, but it was deferential. And he’d never admit to it, but it hurt.

“What? I know you want to,” he’s being playful about it, singing the words, like he’s asking you to do something benign, like fucking- Skinny dipping. Smoking weed. Drinking some liquor out of a parents’ cabinet. You try to ignore the almost tactile, magnetic feeling, bringing you toward him. Toward what he’s asking of you. Toward what you sadly want.

“No, you don’t know, actually.”

He rotates slightly to face you better. His eyes are hard. Knowing.

“Yes, I do. Come on. Fucking, get over here and snort this. I wanna see how big your pupils get.”

What?

Butterflies, heat seeping downward, you tuck your bottom lip beneath your teeth. Skimming just beneath the water's surface; trembling with the effort to stay submerged. To say no.

“They’re small lines. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

He promises. You guessed he would know, how much was too much, when to stop. He could be a dick, but he’d never let you get hurt. (Right?) Rationalizing it; just once would be fine. Lots of people did it casually. It might be fun. It could be a bonding experience. You might understand him more. It might impress him. You’re gripping your shoes so tight that the fabric squeaks. Looking everywhere but him, brows furrowed in thought, knowing that the only thing that would sway you is the way he looks.

Fuck. It's painful. It literally hurts. The curiosity is pulling at your chest. Despite yourself, you look to him, like he could give you the answer, (though it really wasn’t a question.) You see the way he’s still watching you, his breathing a little heavy from the way his heart is surely racing, chest rising and falling, pressing against the confines of his shirt just enough to be seen.

It all crumbles. Your resolve, your posture, literally slumping in defeat.

“Fine.”

You move to close the distance, and it feels so much wider than it looked. Kendall looks downright victorious, eyes glittering with pride and excitement. Sitting next to him, placing your shoes on the floor and flexing your hand from its tense hold, and trying not to touch his knee with yours. As if all your thoughts would transfer through diffusion, and he’d jump away. Really know.

Nervously, you wipe your hands on your thighs, attempting to still the shaking. The proximity lets you smell him; a spicy, woodsy cologne, the crispness of his soap, the sweetness of cigarette smoke. Familiar, and sorely missed.

“So, uh-“ a breathless, stunted laugh, “how do I-“

Long fingers reach out to pick up the rolled bill-you see the familiar orange and blue of the 100- holding it delicately as he hands it to you. Looking to him with an anxious little smile, and he gives you a patronizing one back. It’s almost soothing.

“You just hold one end up to your nose,” you lean forward over the table, thick clear glass, that reflects the image of the powder back at you. “Its easier if you plug the other nostril,” he supplies, and you feel kind of stupid for asking him to coach you, cause, like. Who doesn’t know how to do this? Still, he sounds pretty while he does, voice deep, enunciating and hitting the consonants in this really satisfying way. And, unbeknownst to you, he’s getting a very sick feeling of glee talking you through it. Heart hammering against his chest, too excited to see what you’ll do.

“Then you just inhale. Quickly.”

Nodding, trying to look confident, but your hearts going so fast you wonder if any amount would kill you. You bring the hundred up to your right nostril, plug the left, line up- then pull away, sitting up straight. Roll your shoulders back, take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Like jumping straight into the pool to get the shock of the cold over with, you do it. Fast. And then recoil, face scrunching up at the sting, a floral scent leaking through the pain. Kendall claps you on the back, like you’re bros or something, says something to the effect of ‘atta girl,’ but you’re just trying to right yourself. Wondering why your heart is still racing, when you did the thing that scared you.

Duh. Fucking, duh. That’s how it's supposed to feel, dumbass.

In a way similar to what he did earlier, you look at the ceiling, eyes fluttering as they make their way. Not out of appreciation, though. Just trying to feel it. His hand rubs over your upper back in wide swipes, and the touch is searing. You definitely got what you wanted, ‘cause he is impressed. Beaming, eyes all over you, taking in the way you shake, the quickening of your breathing, the way you wet your lips and swallow hard.

Up in the air, dangling on his hook.

You practically toss the money onto the coffee table, needing to get your jacket off. Now. Fastened with big metal buttons that feel like ice against your fingertips. He watches you fumble with them, and without a thought reaches out to help, scoffing, like you fucking asked. Like he doesn’t know the way it cuts through the drugs to almost stop your heart. Your hands just sort of hang in the air as he does it, as you watch him, fingers nimble as they break each button’s hold. Nauseous, self-conscious at your ragged breathing when he makes quick work of the fastenings over your chest, holding your breath so you might not push into him.

“You don’t have to- you don’t have to fucking-“

But you don’t move to stop him, and he grabs the fabric under your bust, bunching it up to lift the hem away from your hips so his hands don’t have to be in the junction of your thighs to undo the last one.

Oh. Okay.

Mercifully, he doesn’t push it off your shoulders, too. You do it yourself, feeling infantilized, letting it pool on the cushion behind you. You realize you still have a sweater on beneath it, an itchy wool mix, and you feel a little flash of anger. Short nails scratch deep through the material on your arm, and you turn a bit to face him better.

“Well? How does it feel?”

It's like everything bubbles to the surface when you see his face up close, the lights catching his eyes in this perfect way that makes the golden brown and flecks of green shine in a thin line around his pupils. Unabashed, your own pupils like saucers, letting in more light, more him. Sweeping over the straight line of his nose, the five o’clock shadow, and where it's darker above his upper lip. Pink lips, (pinker than normal, surely flushed from the drugs,) that look absurdly soft and plush, that you’ve seen stick together just a bit when he goes to speak.

“Uh, it, uh, it feels-“

Those very lips pull upward smugly, and your eyes flit to his, caught. But he doesn’t seem phased, just makes sure you’re still watching, turns his head, and wets the tip of his finger before dipping it in one of the lines, making a little crater in the soft powder. You squeeze your wrist tightly, and try not to think of the way his tongue glistened, how soft it’d feel. Or how firm it could.

Fingers then curl around your chin, pulling down softly, and you hesitate, but offer little resistance as he tugs a little harder, tells you to open your mouth, his voice low and raspy.

His finger slips under your upper lip, the delicate skin catching on it, lifting to reveal your teeth, and presses against the hard ridge of your gums. Warm and slimy beneath the broad, squared pad of his fingertip. Kendall rubs the coke in, tingly numbness left in his wake. You’re looking at each other so intently, his eyes half-lidded as he watches what he’s doing, thick lashes creating a dark band. You lean into his touch, eager for more, for something else, fingers inside other places, wetter and more forgiving.

The air is humid between you as he pulls his finger from your mouth, and you can’t help but look down at it, see the shine of spit. Literally biting your tongue, to stop yourself from asking him to force as many digits into you as he can. He takes in your pensive face, wonders what you’re keeping from him. He has ideas, obviously. Suggestions, even.

"Do you want more?”

Didn’t you just have more? You chew on your lip, take stock of how you feel. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth; you can barely feel your teeth where they dig into soft skin. Everything else is still very much there, the heat and thrum of your heart all over. The anxiety. This itchy need.

And want. Greediness, for him, and more. Just to see. Seeking knowledge.

“Is that… safe?”

One of Kendall’s broad hands rests on your arm, a firm and reassuring press. You look up at him with big, glossy eyes, and he feels his own need that he needs to scratch. The other side of the coin from yours.

“If you do just a, fucking, little bit, then, yeah.”

He drops his hand so he can turn away, towards the coffee table, and you miss his touch and full attention so much you could cry. The credit card clacks against the polished surface, and you lock your fingers to stop from touching him. You wished you had no inhibitions. You wished you could cross the threshold that he had, touch him in ways friends shouldn’t. That’s what this was supposed to be, getting over whatever childish bullshit kept you from honesty. Get it out, get it over with. Maybe the drugs will smooth it over, mixed with water into a paste to fill the cracks.

Kendall cuts bigger lines, and smaller. Thinks of the weight of that, what it means. What he was doing to you. What you were letting him do. A touch, a look, a change in tone. He’d sat at the water's edge, hook beneath the surface. A novice; everyone else’s coolers were full. Plenty of fish to be eaten, but he was about to starve. Weeks since a catch. The sun was low on the horizon, glittering red and orange against the water between the shadows of the trees.

A fish on the end of his line, hungry for the bait. A fight so weak the pole barely bows. Then, he has you, the tiniest, saddest, most-insignificant little thing he’d ever seen.

Gasping and wriggling in his palm. He has all the power, to let you have the water. To eat you.

Learned behaviors.

He inhales a long line for himself, thinking too damn much. Burns throughout his nose and sinuses, but he doesn’t do much to show it, just scrunches his nose, licks along his upper incisors. He feels hot and reckless again, heart racing against his breastbone to propel him forward, into action. Pushes his sleeves back up around his elbows, and you watch, see the way his fingers grip the fabric, the way muscles tense under tanned skin. He unrolls the hundred deftly, folds it over lengthwise to try and stop it rolling back in on itself. Then, he scoops some of the cocaine up in the valley created by the crease. Turns to you again, and you bring your knee up on the couch to face him better. With his left hand he makes a loose fist, thumb resting on top of his index finger, creating a nice flat surface to sprinkle some of the drug onto.

“Here.”

You’re looking at him with those fucking eyes again. He’s almost overcome with jealousy; the boldness of it.

“Um, off your-“

“Uh-huh,” drawn out, a little impatient, wondering why you were acting weird when his finger had just been in your mouth.

No big deal. Totally normal. What was snorting some coke off each other’s hands between friends? You lean down a little, maintaining eye contact to see if he’s joking. Kendall raises his hand a bit to make it easier, thinks thoughts that are only natural when you’re high, and him. The upper ridge of your cupid's bow touches the back of his hand, first, and you jump back, readjusting the angle. He wonders if you’ll reach out and grab his arm, maneuver it down so you can be above a little more, but instead you just sit a little straighter, and he knows then that you aren’t high enough to be fucking honest with him. (Maybe after this you would be.) The hard tip of your nose presses into that delicate skin, right next to where the webbing between his thumb and index finger begins. Like last time, you do it fast; your lips brush his wrist, you don’t get it all.

It hurts worse this time. It's all worse. Your ears ring, your heart beats so fast you wondered if there was any equation in the world that could calculate just how fast. Your hand reaches out to grasp his upper arm, holding on tight in an attempt to bring you back to earth. Eyes squeezed shut, feeling like you can’t breathe for a second before the heavy, panting breaths come. When you’re finally convinced you won’t die, you open your eyes and look at him again. Take him in as a whole, from widow’s peak to slightly dimpled chin. Freckles, shine on his face. Nothing in the way; the wall is gone.

You kiss him so hard your noses crush. It hurts, and you pull away with a huff of laughter before going back in. Hand cradling his jaw, index finger resting over his ear. Rain after a long and humid day; it felt like a release. Relieving to do it, and to know that he wants it, too. Kissing you back just as feverishly, hand sliding along the side of your neck to slip his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull. Gripping tight, pulling your lips from his just long enough for you to gasp in excitement, repositioning you so that he has control. Little puffs of air from your nose against his cheek, while he slips his tongue into your mouth.

Every sensation is intensified, brand new. Sends a fresh bolt of anticipation through you. The taste of his mouth and breath, pulling back just to feel each other’s lips again. Wanting to savor it but wanting to go forward and see more. His nose is tucked into your cheek; he can smell your skin, feel the warmth of your flush. It's messy and sloppy but it feels a little sweet to him, because it's you. An air of tenderness, a care that he did not deserve.

Kendall pulls you by your hair to lay you back on the couch cushions, torso following yours, lips still pressed together, perfect pressure. Legs are pulled up to be level with bodies. One of his thighs slips between yours, and the barest amount of friction makes you sigh. You’re so wet, the muscle of his leg pushes sticky cool fabric against your cunt. You don’t miss how hard he is against your hip, and the further confirmation of reciprocation makes you feel weak, makes your heart flutter even more. Somehow.

It feels too cute. Too virginal- innocent. Like the heavy breathing and hurried pulses are from nerves, from inexperience. You feel empty. You want everything he can possibly give you. You want him to take his shirt off so you can see the chest that will sometimes strain against buttons on crisp white dress shirts; you want him to keep it on so it feels even more hurried. You want him to touch your clit, with his fingers or his tongue or his fucking nose. You want him to slap you, your face, your pussy. You want him to say something so fucking mean it makes you cry.

He slips a hand under your sweater, presses against the soft skin of your stomach just enough for it to dimple. It's hot; he can feel your pulse against his palm, rapid and hard. The little gap created by his wrist lets cool air in, and it feels so fucking good. You arch your back just enough to push against his hand, pulling your hand away so you can grab his. Kendall’s eyebrows raise in surprise as your fingers dig into his wrist, as you use the grip to rotate his hand and push his fingertips below the waist of your jeans.

And he doesn’t move. Let’s it rest, pulls his head back so he can look down at you with a restrained smile. That was audacious, honest, real.

“Kendall, fucking-“

He applies pressure to that sensitive portion of lower stomach, letting his closed-mouth grin spread across his face. Playful; Duchenne. Boyish.

“Come on. Please?”

Using both hands to unbutton, unzip, just to be faster. Because, despite the teasing, he really did want you wrapped around him. Wondered just how wet you’d be, how tight you’d be, how soft. Once his hand is beneath the soft fabric (not expensive or lacy or mesh; he’s kind of shocked at the idea that you didn’t wear anything special on the off chance something might happen,) he doesn’t mess around. Sinks his middle finger between your lips to press against your clit.

There isn’t much room, between his thigh and the jeans, so you scoot away a bit, part your legs to make some. His hand follows, uses the spread to press his index and ring fingers into your vulva on either side of his middle finger. Swirls them; they glide so easily you feel a little pang of embarrassment. It’s already so much, senses heightened. Feels like he’d been doing it for a while, halfway there. He presses harder, and you let out a startled little moan.

Then, he’s slipping lower. His inclination is to tease, to dip his fingertip in and see how you react. But he sees the way you’re getting so excited at just the prospect, lip bitten white, eyes looking down to see whatever you can of his hand in your pants, willing him to do it. So, he does. Two fingers, all at once, until his knuckles are flush with your skin. You make a shocked sound, like a scoff, wiggling your hips at the stretch. He seeks out, and finds too fast, that rough spot inside you. Curls his fingers and presses deep against it, so precise that your knees wobble, you groan.

He starts to fuck you with them, slow but rough. Exacting. Your head tips back; it’s perfect. You wanted this so bad, for so long. Thought about it all the time. Stared at his hands and studied the width of his fingers and tried to imagine just how much it’d ache.

“I still can’t believe you actually fucking did that.”

Dragging your eyes up to his, trying not to think of the fact that the oft-mentioned coil is already beginning to tighten.

Right. The coke.

Another breathless chuckle. Anxiety surges in your chest. He sees it- quickens his pace to make your eyes flutter.

“Um, well-“

“But you would do anything I told you to.”

It was like you were trying to hide behind a piece of straw. Of fucking course he could see you, see through you. He pressed a little and you gave. He pulled, and you followed, on a leash. Anything, he could say anything and you’d do it. Let him fuck your face. Polish his shoes with your tongue. See how long you could hold your breath underwater, (because he’s holding you there.) If he gave an ounce of affection in return, that’s all you would need. This, well this was almost too generous.

Slower now, more sensual, long drags against your g-spot that made you whimper. You kinda hope his sleeve will fall down his arm, and rub your pubic mound raw.

“Is it too much?” It’s not sweet by any means. Either way, he plans on giving more.

“N-no. It’s-“ He doesn’t even let you finish, just starts fingering you almost viciously, digits hooking over and over to pull and pull it out of you. Kendall couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to make someone cum this much. He thought that, maybe, if he gave you something, if he gave you a few things, it’d make up for all the taking.

“God.”

You’re so close- he can tell. Your hips jump up to try and meet his fingers, and he has to pin them down so he can be more precise. It practically makes you melt- the manhandling. Every ounce of heat, all the buzzing, itching want, pooled in one spot, ready to pop. Quick bursts of moans, every exhale, thighs shaking and hands grasping. At his shoulder, feeling the flex of his trapezius as he holds you down.

You get so tense you forget the need for air, big pauses between these tiny breaths.

“Breathe,” honey? Baby? Girl? Just a little something, to bridge the gap.

He sounds strained, like he’s fighting against you. It tightens more, impossibly. Then finally, finally, clamps down and holds, and as it lets go-

“Fuck!”

Slides into pulsing, almost gripping so tight he can’t move his fingers. Frantic breaths, patchy moans. Kendall feels you soften further around his digits, thinks about how perfect you’d feel around his cock. And Christ, do you want it. You hadn’t even fully come down from your orgasm before you were thinking of the next, of cumming around something more substantial. It’d be so easy, too- always so quick to after the first one, and even quicker after the next. A dam breaking. Raining harder.

His fingers slip from you, watery strings of wetness between them. And before you can tell him not to, tell him to wipe it on you so it could be dirty and messy and dry down flaky on your skin, he’s sucking it off them. Inhaling deeply. Groaning a little. Really enjoying it. It makes your mouth water; it makes you want to reciprocate. Some other time, hopefully.

You sit up a bit, reach forward and grab the waistband of his slacks, pulling him forward. They feel crisp and starched (do they starch them?) He almost wants to stop you. Is this too far? Is this unfair? You were both high, but there was a clear imbalance here. And he was afraid, that if they kept going, he might lean into it. He’s sat up on his knees above you, and you straighten further, slipping your fingers deeper into his pants to get a better grip on them, nails smooth and scorching against his skin. They slide to meet in the center, grab the flaps of the fly, and you look up at him through your lashes. Eyes dark. Demanding.

“Fuck me?”

Looking down his nose, a strange mix of emotions. You’re too good for him; he shouldn’t even be bothering with you. He knows what you want, and he always has. Pushing each other, but he does a little harder and you fall back. Scramble to be at his feet, and stay there. It feels good to do it. To see a flash of hurt across your face, and the knowledge that your blood runs hot from it is incidental.

He grabs your face, pinky ring digging into the ridge of your jaw, unforgiving. His index finger and thumb press deep into your cheeks; he can feel the upward sweep of your cheekbones. His palm squishes your lips back against your teeth. Your eyelids droop a bit, savoring the pressure. Slowly, you work the button through the hole, testing him.

Kendall slaps you. Really fucking hard. No build-up to it or anything. It’s loud, the metal on his finger feels like it burst blood vessels. He kept his fingers spread a bit, messily, for extra coverage. A thick thumb hits your nose so hard your septum aches. He follows through, too, doesn’t let his hand bounce back once it makes contact. It's a miracle you don't moan.

Just as you’re about turn your head to face him again, working your jaw, his fingers are digging into your cheeks again, so much rougher than last time. Pushing your head back, eliciting a pained noise from you.

“Lay back, if you want me so fucking bad.”

He shoves so hard your neck hurts from the force. You blink up at him, but do as he says, hands pulling away and moving to the place where the cushions meet, tucking your fingers in nervously.

“No,” grabbing a wrist roughly, jerking upward. Awash with shame, hurting for the pride you inspired in him earlier.

“Take your pants off.”

Nodding hurriedly, hands shaking and unstable like they were before. But this time he doesn’t help, backs off the couch so he can do the same. He can feel your eyes all over him; you wanted to do it, but he looks pretty doing it himself. Trying to take it all in, in case this was it. A drug-fueled fuck. You’re distracted, going slow, and he glances your way reproachfully, from where his head is tucked down to watch himself. So, you rush, finally getting the zipper down, hooking your thumbs beneath everything, jeans and underwear. Pushing it down your thighs, watching as he does the same, takes himself into his hand.

You could die. You could burst into flames right then and would be no hotter. Surface of the sun; lightning, even. Paradoxically, you’re frozen, fabric around your knees. Your mouth hung open slightly as he strokes himself a couple times. Remembering the shitty estimates of the size of his hands, and trying to figure out how big he is. Not huge; he didn’t look impossible. But it’d be tight.

The utter lack you felt, (inside, physically,) had you returning to the task at hand, even more eager. Pushing your clothes off your feet, tossing them maybe a little dramatically. Kendall is stepping out of his own to move toward you, and he does hear where the fabric hits the floor a little too far away. And it softens him a little, endears you to him, hurts his heart knowing that you want him that bad. (He, also, feels a little cocky about it.)

Part of him wants to take his time, get a good look at you. Use his fingers to spread you, see parts of you he knows you never thought he would. It was only a matter of time. Galaxies on a collision course; irrevocable changes. Parts of you sent careening into outer space. Was there anyone in the andromeda galaxy to know it would happen? He barely even has to nudge your legs apart, hand just sort of resting atop your thigh as you do it yourself.

He leans over you, and yeah, it’s on a couch, and there are stimulants coursing through both of your veins, but it’s missionary. It’s too intimate, you’re looking up at him with so much want and affection, as if you can’t see what’s wrong with him. That he’s an addict, a fuck-up. That he hurts everyone around him. That he killed someone. He was so sure, that anyone could look into his eyes and read his thoughts and know.

Things keep moving, despite it. He reaches down with a hand to line himself up. He can’t see, but his head just happens to press against your clit in a way that makes you jump. You feel like you’re too excited, and it was probably a mixture of the coke and months of nursing a pathetic crush on him. So hurt by his cruelty, but so enamored with his praise.

Finally, he’s pressing into you, and the stretch makes you whimper, makes your legs part further, hands moving to clutch at his sides. (And your hands are met with fabric, again, and you feel that same anger go through you, slipping away just as fast as it had come on.) His hand rests at the juncture of your hip and thigh, gripping tight, trying to steady himself because it’s always a lot when you’re high like this.

Hips meet, and your head falls back at the feeling, letting out a groan of relief. His lower stomach presses against your clit in a way that makes your skin buzz. You can feel him in your chest; it almost makes you anxious. It’s so much. You open your eyes up to look at him, and his lips are flattened together slightly, he’s almost glaring at you. It feels like your heart is inflating in your chest. He sees you capitulating and it pisses him off.

His hand presses against your sternum to push you further into the couch. Uses his other hand to tilt your hips up, gets up on his knees to rest your ass against the tops of his thighs. No preamble, no easing into it. A rough, unrelenting pace, that has you wincing and gasping in surprise.

The noises you make are almost shameful. Choked sounds of impact, moaning like you’ve been deprived of it for years. You’ll keep realizing what you’re doing, and biting your lip to stifle some of them. You look up to him and see the way his face is pinched in concentration, his eyes watching where your hips meet, the way his mouth will fall open and his brows will wobble like he’s restraining himself, and you feel the need to, too. Clapping your hand over your mouth, hurried breaths making noise over your fingers. And it kind of does it for you. Makes it feel wrong. (As if it wasn’t already.)

Kendall glances up to see you doing it, and he gets a fistful of hair at the scalp, pulls so hard you yelp.

“You were so fucking desperate, and now you’re, what? Embarrassed?”

Your hand is gripping the back of the couch. You want to touch him to appease him, but feel like you aren’t allowed.

“No, I-“ You really are trying to sound serious, but it just sounds breathless and needy.

“Not getting what you want? Am I not being mean enough for you?”

God. You really were transparent. Glass, with all your thoughts printed out in neat script and pressed between the panes. Him knowing hurt; him indulging it made you want him forever.

“N-no.”

He’s stunned, honestly. That you would want more. Less, so, that he did too. Wanted to see how far until you’d break. If you even would. What all you would give to him. His hand slides up your chest, wraps around your throat, and you sigh like it’s perfect. Your knees shake and you clench around him. He makes his own muffled sound, lets out a huff of air, and it makes you ache for him.

“Why do you want me so bad, huh? Is it the money? Need someone powerful to put you in your place?”

So heavy. A whirlwind of emotions; you want to kiss him, you want to tell him he’s so pretty and perceptive and smart, but he’s wrong. That he’s everything. You don’t want him to stop.

“Kendall-“

“You’d let me do anything,” like you needed reminded, “let me drag you down, let me ruin your life. Because you’re so fucking needy.”

Jesus. You wanted to look away; he was right, being proven so every second. Because you were right there, shaking and electric and scorched. It was wrong. He needed you, and you were being selfish. Taking.

“Please?”

Jam-packed with so much emotion it filled him, made him sick with it. Needing him to be nicer to himself, but meaner to you. Like that made any fucking sense. He needs you to cum, to see, to give it to you. The world served up on a platter, if he could get it off his fucking back.

Your lips are already parted, so it’s easy enough for him to slip his fingers inside, press your tongue down. It’s the hand that was in you earlier, and there’s still a lingering taste of yourself, of his spit, the salt of his skin. You do reach out to touch him, then, hand slipping underneath the hem of his sweater. Fingers resting in the groove of his spine. His skin is so soft, hot. Maybe you’re asking too much. Maybe you’re hurting him. He had rubbed your back earlier, in this casual way, like it was nothing. He probably didn’t have some stupid epiphany, then, like you were now. Didn’t feel the life thrumming in your body, and realize that you were just a person.

He spits in your mouth, so disdainfully, and it’s almost tragic how fast you come apart. Clenching over him, so tight he can’t help but groan, (which makes it more intense, makes it all so much worse,) fingers digging into his back, crying out with each wave. Feeling the electricity spark along your nerves.

And as it goes, it feels like something’s pulling behind your ribs. Tugging on your heart, or poking at a bubble, trying to puncture it. Behind your closed eyelids, your eyes sting. Your throat feels tight. He pulls his fingers from your mouth just as it pops, too much. Every sense too alive, brain too wired, emotions too high. Tears slip over your cheeks, your lip wobbles as you let out this pathetic noise, mouth now closed to try and muffle it.

Kendall sees it. There’s no mistaking the way your face falls. He rests his hand on your cheek, goes to stop, and you huff wetly.

“Don’t.”

It was petulant. Okay? He complies, regains a steady, (but slower,) pace.

You slump into the couch. Liquefying, pooling into the creases of the fabric, slipping between the cushions, dripping onto the floor. Still so sensitive, crying out like you’re right there again, but softer, milder. He’s not sure what to think. He finds you so pretty like this it’s unbearable. The beginnings of a bruise along your jaw, from his ring. Lashes stuck together and glossy. Skin flushed. Pink and wet. So pliant. Completely vulnerable.

And honest. Giving him everything.

“I love you,” painfully heartfelt.

Water over him. God. He didn’t deserve it. He should have to die of thirst. Of hunger. In the desert, vultures circling overhead. Should’ve never been able to sit down by the water and wait.

Your hands are on him, cradling his face, pulling him down to kiss you. It should be slow, it should be tender and gentle. But he won’t let it be. Like you were, earlier. Forceful, desperate. As if, if he pulled away, took a breath, you’d rescind. You’d take it all back. Selfish. If you were going to give it to him, he wanted it all.

Now he’s losing his composure. Brow crumpled, moaning behind his lips. Slipping his hand beneath that stupid shitty cheap sweater to work its way under your (stupid, shitty, cheap,) bra, to feel your pebbled nipple, to see how soft the skin of your breast was. You jolt and arch into the touch, and he bites your lip. He’s getting close; he kind of wants you to cum again. It’d probably be easy, it doesn’t seem like you ever went back down to the base of the hill. Moves his hand down to find your clit so swollen, and you jump at that, too, trying to clutch at the short hair on the back of his head. You cried from the last one and he’s still giving you more.

Kendall’s right. It doesn’t take much, he could probably (probably,) count on both hands how many times he circled his fingers before you were falling again. So sweet, fingers slipping down the back of his neck, molding to him, yielding. You look up to him with so much heat in your eyes it burns. It could go on forever.

It can’t, really. It really is a lot. He looks down where his hips press to yours again. Sees himself disappear; sees you take him. A hand finds your waist, trying to steady himself. You still want him so badly. It’s like each time you see him is the first. He’s shaking; you’re flattered. Grinning like an idiot, and hoping he doesn’t notice. Watching the way his chest heaves, the way his bottom lip hangs to reveal his teeth. Eyes closed, hips going slower like he really wants it to last. You can’t help but tighten around him at the sight, and he gasps, spits out a startled ‘fuck,’ before he’s pulling you down over him, fucking you so harshly you’re stunned.

“Jesus,” it comes out of you so shakily, you almost laugh.

Clutching the armrest behind you, riding it out. Eyes glued to him cause you just have to see. His scrape over you, taking in every inch of you, too, the way you’re still breathing heavily. Can hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears, the way you’re still making eager, hurried sounds. Your eyes meet and his immediately fall closed. Finished. The heel of his hand presses into your lower ribs. Black sleeves have fallen down his arms, and you miss the sight of all his scattered moles. Slow again, moaning softly, and you’re practically giddy that he’s doing it. His hips stutter, press against yours in ways that make you see stars. And then, he stops.

“God. Fuck.” Weak, low, broken. He feels light-headed, all the air from his lungs.

It’s bittersweet. He lays his head on your chest and almost forgets. What he’s done, what he did to you. Drugs, dragging people down. Metaphorically. Literally. He doesn’t say a word, lies there motionless. Listens to your heartbeat, slower than it was before. Studies the fibers in the couch. He can’t say it back. He wants to so badly and he can’t.

You can feel it. The mood shift. It’s a mix for you, too. You know that what Kendall did was wrong. But, you feel fulfilled. (Encompassed; eaten.) You kind of don’t regret it. Know you should, at least the cocaine, but you don’t. It was fun. You did bond with him. Understanding him, though? Another good yank, almost making a hole in the door. (In a house, engulfed in flames; you’re trying to get a door open to go deeper.)

“That was, uh. That was a lot,” it’s a little playful, but he doesn’t laugh.

“Uh-huh.”

Muffled. You can hear how his cheek is pressed against your clothes. It hurts and warms your heart all at once.

“I think the coke was too much.”

“Mhmm.”

It’s not dismissive. Just distant. He almost sounds sleepy, if you didn’t know any better. You run your fingers through his hair, and he can hear the way your heart races a little at it. He huffs through his nose, the corners of his lips turn up a bit, just enough for him to feel.

You press your lips to the top of his head, not kissing, just resting there. Breathe deeply, smell the powdery, masculine scent of his hair product.

“I’m not naïve, you know.”

He tenses, not sure what you’re getting at.

“You don’t have to tell me everything, but I do want to help you.”

Murmured into his hair- he feels your breath against his scalp. He wants to melt. Downward, swallowed into the earth, every part of him recycled.

“I don’t think you can.”

Beneath them was an art structure, 150 feet tall, closed from the public because too many people jumped off of it. Sometimes, Kendall would stand in the elevator, on the way up to his penthouse, and think that someone should close that off, too.

[muekyn]

shy!armin headcanons

a/n: ok so this was supposed to be shy!armin but i guess i just made him awkward??? so hope you like shy awkward armin fluff t/w: maybe slight suggestive at one point?

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

meeting armin was, interesting, to say the least. you met him at a mutual friend's house party. he seemed out of place, a nice young man surrounded by a bunch of sweaty, boozed up people. he simply stood to the side, awkwardly speaking now and again while your mutual friend, eren, shotgunned a 16 oz tallboy. the night for you two ended once eren got too drunk and needed to be taken care of by armin.

you would definitely say he was polite, kind, and thoughtful. it just seemed as though he had little to say.

armin was admittingly, very shy. and when he saw you it just made it ten times worse. he was stammering and tripping over his sentences, running out of things to talk about. the mere sight of you made him beyond flustered. his mind was like a broken record, repeating the thought "oh my god they're so cute and they're talking to me what do i do what do i say oh my god"

he hoped he would see you again, just to make up for last time. he made sure that next time he saw you, he had things to talk about, even if they led no where. he even looked up some conversation starters online.

ever since your first meetup he's been crushing hard!!! at first it was really bad, he could barely let a sentence out. but as time goes on armin realizes you mesh with his temperament, and is more willing to talk to you about practically anything.

fidgets with his fingers. usually is standing like the "had to do it to em" guy. he just doesn't know what to do with his hands

mumbles!! trails off of his sentences bc he isn't sure if what he's saying is interesting

if he has something to say in a group setting, he usually waits until people are done talking to speak. most of the time this causes him to wait a little too long, and the group has already moved on with their conversation. because of this, he can be especially quiet with large amounts of people.

you think he's quiet with friends? just wait until you see him interacting with a stranger. that boy can't hold a conversation. usually says a grand total of three sentences to somebody before he can't come up with anything else to say. he'll quickly shuffle away before there's an awkward silence.

he also has a hard time making prolonged eye contact. (especially with you!!) doesn't know how long and when to make eye contact, so he usually is looking away from people when he speaks.

the more you're around armin the more he comes out of his shell, especially when it's just the two of you. he's even confided in you that he wishes he had more confidence so he could do the things he wants. (*hint hint* you)

touch starved!! usually pulls away instantly the second he feels someone's skin touching his. however, if you accidentally touch him, he reciprocates the affection instantly. if you brush your hand against his, he'll brush his hand back with a playful smile on his face. if you lean into him, he'll place his hands on your shoulders and pull you in closer.

wants to buy you gifts but isn't sure if that would be overstepping his boundaries. he has bought a few things here and there to give to you when if you two start dating. he keeps them wrapped up nice and neat in his closet, hidden from anyone just in case they were to ask.

armin talks to you the most out of everyone. despite this he's still rather quiet, choosing to spend his free time with you by writing or doing work. occasionally he'll ask you for tips. he loves the creative energy you two bounce off of each other.

definitely has looked up "how to get a person to like you" and "how to know if someone likes you" on google after meeting you

has written out a script for what to say when he confesses feelings for you. he's revised it three or four times at this point. (though, in reality, he's probably just going to accidentally admit he likes you)

[infriga]

AAAAAHHHHHHHH THE LIVE ACTION WAS SO GOOD AAAAAAAHHH

Luffy was so perfect, they all were, but as my favourite character he had a lot to live up to and he was AMAZING

My favourite aspects/moments:

- Luffy was so tactile and physically affectionate. I'm glad they weren't afraid of having him be touchy feely with his crew and friends. Plopping his head down on top of Nami's head when she's cracking the safe, literally draping himself overtop of Zoro and hugging him when he wakes up after the Mihawk fight, clinging to Usopp when their ship gets attacked by Garp as they leave Syrup village, hugging Coby when they say goodbye the second time, even just the small moments like when he puts his hands on Kaya's shoulders while giving her his speech about his dream and the Merry during the dinner, he is so affectionate with everyone and loves his friends so much I'm gonna cry.

- him walking on the table in Kaya's house during the dinner while giving his speech then handing his glass to Kuro gkdgkdhj that scene was so funny and was such a Luffy thing to do, and everyone's reactions plus Kuro's apoplectic rage in response had me dying

- Luffy's anxiety when he's worried about Zoro after the fight with Mihawk, like all his fidgeting and not wanting to eat and talking erratically, it really reminded me of his anxiety when Nami gets sick after Little Garden, as well as when he refuses to eat for a while after Marineford. It's just a nice touch because the one thing that can get him to lose his appetite is the thought of losing someone close to him, and one of the few things that can make him openly anxious is when he's not sure if one of his friends will be okay and there's nothing he can do to help. His anxiety in that scene is portrayed so well.

- Sanji trying to get him to eat and suggesting a bunch of different foods he can make because he's trying to help Luffy feel better was also so cute and such a Sanji thing to do 🥺🥺🥺

- Sanji and Zeff's dynamic was done soooooo well, the actors had so much chemistry and the dialogue was so good between them. Also I love how much of a spitfire baby Sanji was, and his and Zeff's first meeting was actually amazing with Sanji being like "I'D RATHER DIE THAN LET YOU SEASON MY FOOD" fhkxgjzgkxgj

- so much swearing, I loved it lol. In Japanese they swear a lot but a lot of subtitles don't really translate the extent of it, and the official manga translation definitely tones it down, as does the dub, at least compared to the original Japanese. Sanji even said "shitty restaurant"! He said the line!!

- idk if this an unpopular opinion or not, but I actually like the changes they made to the Syrup Village arc. That arc in the manga/anime is probably the narmiest, and as fond as I am of earlier arcs, that one would probably not translate well to the style and pacing the live action had going for it. They adjusted quite a few of the fights to fit a live action series as opposed to a serialized shounen. But One Piece has never really been about the fights, so as long as the essence is there I'm fine with it. And tbh, turning Kuro into a slasher villain stalking Kaya through the house actually worked surprisingly well. It made for a fun deviation from what fans would be used to, and played around with the genre without sacrificing the essential plot elements or character dynamics. Also using Kaya's house instead of a random beach actually made for a nice setting and environment that I think felt more fitting to the One Piece vibe, ngl.

- I like what they did with Koby's story. Having his character development lead up to him standing up to Garp rather than Alvida actually worked pretty well, and felt really natural as his story progressed in Parallel with Luffy's. And having his story involve him confronting his ideal of what a marine should be vs the reality of what marines are fit the story really well. I love the scene where he and Luffy tell each other to become a good marine and a good pirate.

- I was shocked that they revealed Garp's relationship with Luffy so soon, but honestly, it works better than I expected. I think they actually did a really good job integrating him into the earlier arcs, and it provided a good glimpse into some of the world building that will come into play later, like the relationship between the warlords and the marines/government, while also providing a more significant marine threat early on. I am a bit sad we don't get Luffy's canon reaction where as soon as he even hears his grandpa being mentioned he gets like ptsd flashbacks lmao. But I'll admit, the "talk" Nami gets Zoro to have with him after everyone finds out is hilarious. Zoro not giving a shit about who Luffy's grandpa is and being like "ughhhhhhh fine I'll talk to him" when Nami pressures him into it, then giving the barest minimum effort and Luffy is just like being Luffy and fiddling with his hat and answering the questions so non-chalantly, then Zoro is like "good talk" and bails, they were really on that shared idiot wavelength lmfaoooooo.

- Zoro's bickering with Sanji was great. I particularly like how prickly he gets about Sanji acting so familiar towards Nami and Luffy despite only just joining, because Zoro would totally be peeved by that, like excuse u simp waiter those were my friends first and I called dibs lmao

- Zoro's goofy moments like trying to sit down with the swords and when Luffy was manhandling him after his injury lmfao, I'm glad they didn't have him be serious all the time and let him be an idiot occasionally. He was so hardheaded and proud and cocky and sassy in all the right ways. Also loved when Nami was trying on clothes and Zoro is like "I'm gonna wear black so you can't wear black" like a diva LMAO

- uh, they did NOT have to go so fucking hard with Buggy, but they did and I am grateful for it. His actor is so fucking funny, and his lines are so good, they fit Buggy so well. And Luffy constantly getting his name wrong made me laugh every single time lmfao. Also when he gets mad at Luffy thinking he said "nose" and squishes his face, and Luffy's like "well now that you mention it wtf IS up with your nose?" LMAO did I mention yet how much I loved Luffy?

- having Buggy trap Luffy in a glass box filling with water worked so well for the circus aesthetic because it's really similar to those acts where people escape from a box filling with water. It also made sense for Buggy to use that against Luffy with the sea water. Also the effects for his fruit powers looked so good and creepy.

- they didn't shy away from gore! The manga is actually super violent, even relatively early on, but I got so used to the reduced version in the anime I actually was surprised at how graphic some parts were. They straight up had Zoro slice a guy in half and did not shy away from showing his sliced meaty bits. Also Zoro casually bringing Mr. 7's torso to the marines with the hair sticking out was badass ngl.

- the main cast were all sooooo good, I can't even pick one out as being better than any of the others, they were just all perfect. They really felt like the characters. Obviously Luffy stands out to me as my favourite character, but I loved them all so much. Sanji, Nami, Zoro, Usopp, they all were portrayed so well too. Absolutely perfect casting. Whoever was in charge of casting is the absolute GOAT

- Zoro and Nami bickering like siblings the whole time was great, especially how they were only unified in their exasperation over Luffy's antics lmfao.

- "Think he has brain damage?" "I think that every day" EGHSKSCHLACHSK

- the villains were all the perfect amount of hammy, hats off to their actors they all looked like they were having so much fun and they did so well as each character. And Arlong's actor managed to include Arlong's SHA HA HA HA laugh and actually make it sound pretty natural so fucking kudos dude that's awesome.

- when Sanji fishes Luffy out of the water at Baratie and they tell him Nami is gone, he looks so sad and pathetic just laying there wet on the dock I wanted to hug him so bad 🥺 he was already anxious about Zoro and then they lost Nami too and he was so worried about his friends.

- Sanji's simping was so funny. The scene were he's like "NAMI!" with his arms open as she comes out of the collapsing building in Arlong's Park and she runs right past him to hug Zoro and Usopp instead WGHOVSHOD it was so in character. dude is mega down bad fr and they portrayed it in such a funny way.

- I was kinda shocked at how well the outfits and costumes translated to live action. Like the show was extremely faithful when it came to character designs and outfits but it managed to make them feel very natural to the setting. It was honestly so cool. Like when Gin stumbled into the kitchen and you can instantly recognize him from his outfit, but it looks so natural like they made the outfits feel like something real people would wear. And the Strawhats had some absolute fucking DRIP yo, implementing a bunch of their colour spread outfits in the different episodes was fucking inspired, and they looked so goddamn good. Oda is a fucking fashion savant I swear like the clothes he designed look so damn good in real life.

- Luffy still had his asexual vibes in full force which I'm so happy about. Like when Nami is getting dressed for their dinner with Kaya, and asks how it looks while posing, and Luffy is like "... you look like Nami", that was SUCH a Luffy line lmao.

- when Usopp and Zoro were teasing Nami about Sanji's flirting (Zoro's rapid fire "madam"s lmfao) and everybody was joking around together while Luffy watches them with the most fond look on his face it was so cute ugh my heart

- Having Zeff help to treat Zoro using fish skin grafting was a really cool addition and a great way to show his expertise as a former pirate.

- omg when Luffy gets all defensive of Sanji after only knowing him for like a day (because he's Luffy), and he tells Zeff about Sanji feeding Gin thinking he'll be all mad but instead Zeff looks proud and says "what a good kid" OMG MY HEART that was so cute 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 Zeff's dad vibes we're off the fucking charts. And they kept the "li'l eggplant" nickname, Zeff was so good goddamn like he was honestly one of my favourite parts. How the fuck they managed to make his mustache work so well and look so natural I will never know but god damn I was so impressed.

- holy fucking shit, the Baratie looked so fucking good. It was like seeing the manga/anime come to life. I wanted to fucking go there so bad. The little mouth balcony thing, the floors, the roof mural which didn't get any attention but was just casually made to be incredibly detailed and beautiful?!?! The colours and the bg characters, holy shit the set was just fucking amazing.

- The ships looked so good. Luffy choosing Merry 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I also liked how Usopp was introduced, it fit his character and the adjusted pacing pretty well imo

-I didn't know how to feel about Shanks in the preview images, but in motion he actually works really well. And Yasopp and Lucky Roo were so good. I love how they had Shanks mime cocking a gun and shooting it to signal to his crew to start going ham on the bandits so it looks for a moment like he shoots someone with his finger gun. Also Yasopp's trick shots were awesome, as well as Lucky Roo literally beating people with a chunk of meat lmfao.

- Mihawk was serving absolutely cunt. He was there to slay and slay he did. No notes, A+ performance.

- Zoro and Nami's actors really nailed their big emotional scenes. They captured the expressions and delivery perfectly, especially Nami screaming Arlong's name and stabbing her tattoo, she managed to match the intensity that the original voice actor had in the anime surprisingly well.

- Helmeppo's actor was so funny. His dickish goofy way of laughing worked so well for his character lmao, and having Zoro give him his signature haircut was 🤌🤌🤌 idk WHY they had him naked when he was playing with Wado Ichimonji but it was so funny.

- the scene where he convinces Koby to slack off and have a drink with him, Koby takes several shots, then blurts out that Garp is Luffy's grandfather was great lmfao.

-Zeff's interactions with Garp were great too. I love their talk about there being a new generation coming into its own now and it's getting to be the time where they should step back and let the new kids have their turn. It was a scene I could absolutely see happening in the manga.

- I like how at first Garp seems more reserved and serious than he is in canon, but as more time passes the more it's revealed how unhinged he is and how he absolutely is related to Luffy. Like when he screams after Luffy takes out their main sail, only to start laughing and act proud. Or when he gets pissed off at Mihawk refusing to capture Luffy and just has a tantrum in his office throwing shit around. Or when Zeff convinces him to stay for a meal by mentioning meat and he's like 👀👀👀. Koby saying he should have realised Garp and Luffy were related because of how much they both like meat had me laughing out loud.

- I like how Bogard got a slightly bigger role. He always had a really cool aesthetic, like an old time gangster with a samurai sword is actually really cool, so it was nice to see him a bit more than we get to in the manga/anime.

- They did a great job showing off how terrifyingly strong Garp is. When he's going after Luffy and just demolishing him as well as the environment. His hits felt like they hit hard. Also when he grabbed a canon ball and threw it at the Merry I was like YES!!! I was really hoping they'd show that if they were going to involve him in the live action series earlier than in canon.

- the show really managed to capture that fun swashbuckling vibe that comes with pirates. Also the ships and sets looked so good. And I like how they made reasonable changes to ship designs without going too far or making them too "realistic", they kept the fun aspects of the ship designs. Like Garp's ship looked damn good! Alvida's ship was still pink and covered in hearts!

I could gush for hours about everything I liked. There were like a few tiny nitpicks, some of the child actors weren't the greatest (Usopp and Kuina's being the worst ones), Usopp didn't get as many important scenes in Syrup village (though he did get a nice scene where he refuses to leave Kaya even after she slaps him and accuses him of lying about Klahador/Kuro, and they also kind of made up for not having more big scenes for him by giving Nami some extra development with Kaya in a way that fit with both their characters and storys. It was cute!), they left Hachi out of Arlong's Park which could impact his story later on (if they ever get that far 🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞), which kinda sucks because I've always loved his redemption story. But aside from that honestly, I have very few criticisms. This felt like it was made by people who love One Piece and wanted to share it with both fans who have always wanted to see the world and characters they love in real life, as well a new audience that might otherwise have never gotten to see it. What few changes they made were ones that made sense for condensing the story, adjusting for the change in genre and medium, and they all still fit the world and didn't actually sacrifice the important aspects of canon. And they captured the heart and essence of the story, world, and characters so well it almost feels like a dream.

Like, we all got so used to live action adaptations falling short of that, of missing what makes the originals work. But the One Piece live action feels like it gets it, like above everything else the strawhats are a family, and Luffy is the embodyment of joy, and freedom, and the pursuit of dreams, and letting yourself just believe for once in something bigger than yourself even when you're a very small fish in a very big pond. The attention to detail, all the little references and foreshadowing and stuff in the backgrounds. The casting was mind bogglingly good, even minor characters like Sham and Buchi were so good and had so much character and life to them. Even with the characters they mostly had to leave out due to pacing and time constraints, just their designs alone were given so much attention. Like the Mayor of Orange town, or Patty, or Gin, who were only briefly shown in reduced roles, but were still so instantly recognisable. And the wacky designs of the manga were adapted to live action so well I was flabbergasted at how well they worked and how good they looked even though they barely toned down any of their weirdness or goofiness.

I was initially worried about the main characters saying or doing things that felt out of character, especially my boy Luffy, but there was never a moment where I felt like they weren't their characters. Sure, they weren't exact 1 to 1 copies since a lot of the Japanese dialogue would sound stilted in English without an adjustment, even the typical translated versions are more attuned to the sensibilities of people who are used to reading or hearing translated dialogue, so there were obvious adjustments that had to be made to the way some characters talked and the lines they said, but they made it work and feel right for this version of the story, and the characters still felt like themselves in all the ways that mattered.

Iñaki as Luffy was amazing, I am so happy with his performance. He really embodied the charm and cheer and charisma of Luffy perfectly. I got to fall in love with Luffy's character all over again with him and that is such a gift to get to experience that more than once 😭😭😭😭

God. I'm so emotional. I wanted this to be good so badly. I wanted this, of all series to escape the live action anime curse, because I knew if any could, it would be One Piece. And it was even better than I'd hoped. Was it perfect? Probably not, but I don't care. There wasn't a single moment where I wasn't enjoying myself and having fun, and that was all I wanted was to have fun while watching. It captured that feeling of the east blue arc, the nostalgia, so well.

If I gush any more this post will be way too fucking long. There are obviously more things I could talk about and comment on but I have to stop at some point or else I'll be writing this post forever lmao.

I will be reblogging stuff about the live action obviously, so reminder that my spoiler tag is gonna be "OPLA spoilers"

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

BLACK TIE OPTIONAL: PART TWO

Summary: The last time we saw Vanessa, she was swooning over Dean’s lasting impression. Now, we fast-forward a year to see what she’s up to.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x OFC Vanessa Martinelli, Sam Winchester x OFC Emma Olsen (background)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, HBO RomCom bullshit, IDK if this is angst or not, but there are feels

Author's notes: Follow-up to Plus One.

We’re skipping to the actual rehearsal because, as an ex-event professional, I tend to get bogged down by etiquette and details instead of the shenanigans that Dean and Vanessa have come to be known for and which we all love. So, we will remain in tight focus on those two and in vaseline-lensed focus on the event itself.

Thanks, as always, to @stunudo and @brrose-apothecary for pre-reading and being my friends.

PART TWO

“Dude, this food,” Sam whispers, scanning the room. “But this place is huge and heavily staffed. Remember the last time we were in Chicago?" 

Dean ignores Sam’s concern over supernatural crime families in favor of delicious, impeccably presented food.

“It’s just... tacos? But not.” Dean stares at the spread of the taco bar. “Sorcery.”

“Dean... Lassiter? Duval? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Dean shrugs. “That was, what, two years ago? Not our problem — especially if you stop saying their names out loud.”

Then his eyes go wide. “What is this?!” He scoops mango salsa onto his plate like he’s never seen a mango in his life.

Sam pulls a face, realizing that Dean has probably not ever seen a mango in his life and remembered it fondly, and chooses not to tell Dean that there’s fresh, healthy fruit in what he’s putting on his plate. He’d rather Dean be pleasantly surprised by the topping.

“Hey,” Emma pops up next to them, fidgeting and forcing a smile. “Our table’s over there whenever you guys’re ready.” 

The boys stare at her for a moment because her voice is pitched higher than it was when she was visibly more relaxed in their suite, and her smile looks painful. She motions to a table where Vanessa appears to be barely surviving the onslaught of three other women. 

“Hopefully sooner rather than later?” Emma turns back to face the boys with flushed cheeks and pleading eyes. 

Dean peeks around her. “What’s up over there?”

“Nicole’s grilling Van about you being here and asking a bunch of questions about you.” She motions to Dean and Sam respectively before reaching between them for a tortilla chip to scoop into the mango salsa before shoving it into her mouth.

“Who’s Nicole?” Sam asks, also scooping into the mango salsa.

Dean rolls his eyes and answers with his mouth full. “The bride from the last wedding, total ‘zilla.”

“God, that salsa’s good,” Emma mutters, licking her lips as she swipes the salt from her fingers. “Anyway, we need you.” 

Sam draws a breath, getting pulled into the verdant depths of Emma’s desperate gaze. He soaks in her anxious vibrations for a moment, then deftly sets the spoon aside to give her his full attention and warmest smile.

“Lead the way,” he says, stepping away from the table with his plate in one hand and the other on the small of her back.

Dean watches his brother glide through the crowd like a white knight. He considers making a joke of asking Sam if he lost his soul again somewhere between the guacamole and sour cream but opts out, realizing that his little brother is as committed to showing up for Emma as Dean is to Vanessa. He follows the couple to their table without any wisecracks. 

Sam wedges his gigantic frame between the pack of bridesmaids and a couple of chairs; one he pulls out for Emma, the other he barely squeezes himself into. One of the women scoffs and stumbles like Sam shoved her or something, which he didn’t, but he does remain a buffer between his date and the Mean Girls.

Dean is inspired.

He winks at his brother and Emma as he swaggers past the group of women. Two of them he doesn’t recognize gawk at him as Nicole glares. 

He sets his plate on the table and mirrors Sam’s actions by pulling out and patiently holding Vanessa’s chair for her. “Hungry, kitten?”

Vanessa grins and wiggles out of the circle of women.

“Hi, Dean,” Nicole says like they’re old friends or enemies. He forgot how fucking bitchy her voice and facial expressions are. He thinks she must be a miserable person and not just on her own wedding day.

He tosses her a polite nod. “Hey, Tracy.”

Vanessa tries not to cackle at his consistently intentional misnaming of her frenemy and Nicole’s subsequent sneer of derision.

“I am hungry,” she says, smoothing her skirt and pivoting to take the proffered seat, but before she can sit down, Dean leans into her with a conspiratorial smirk. 

“Missed you,” he coos, kissing her smirk.

And sparks fly.

--

They’re seated with Nicole and Katie and their respective partners, which should be uncomfortable since Nicole is doing her best to make it so, but Dean can’t be bothered to care. 

Vanessa’s skin is like a fucking beacon to his senses. He can’t keep his hands or lips to himself, and Vanessa purrs like a real kitten in response. Dean starts to feel a little high from the simple acts of a traditional couple.

“Sir? Another tequila?” 

“Uhh,” Dean blinks, pausing to look down at his half-empty rocks glass. He’s ordered two tequilas on the rocks since they’ve been downstairs, which isn’t a lot for him, but he doesn’t want it to be, either. “You know what, I’ll take a beer.”

“Yes, sir.” The server produces a small drink menu. “We have a selection of—” 

Dean waves his hand. “Just somethin’ three-point-whatever.” He leans nearer to the server but doesn’t lower his voice at all, so everyone within earshot can hear him. “Don’t wanna disappoint my girl later, know what I’m sayin’?”

He winks before settling back into his seat with his arm stretched across the back of Vanessa's chair, and the server discreetly nods and tucks the menu away. “Yes, sir.” 

“You could never disappoint me,” Vanessa reassures him like they talk this way all the time. 

Nicole and Katie give each other a look while Zach and Ryan appear to be rethinking their beverage choices.

Dean knows, though, that he could and will disappoint Vanessa. Not tonight, probably, but it will happen. Instead of saying that out loud, he focuses on showing her a good time like he planned. 

“So,” Nicole sighs as she tosses her used napkin to her plate. “Are you guys coming to Brando’s?”

Dean arches a brow and shifts his gaze to his brother with a pointed look.

“Babe?” Sam looks at Emma. “I know you’re tired, but we can probably go for one, don’t you think?”

Emma grins. “You’re right. We should show.”

Sam nods before looking back at Nicole. “I’m sorry, we’ve had dinner together and still haven’t met. I’m Sam, Emma’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend. What about Joshua?”

Nicole motions across the room where a group of Abercrombie rejects are measuring each other’s dicks. The guy doing most of the talking has his arm tightly wrapped around a girl who appears no older than 18 and is absolutely enthralled by the conversation. 

“Apparently, the new girl enjoys lengthy descriptions of his watch collection,” Vanessa mutters at Dean’s side.

Dean can feel his lip curl because he looks like the leader of that pack of douchebags he hustled the night Rowena tried to kill him. The first time.

Nicole turns back to face the group. “Last I heard, you were still crying your eyes out over him.”

“Hmm.” Sam furrows his brow. “That must’ve been a while ago.” 

The smirk on Sam’s face sends Dean into the stratosphere.

“Well, let’s get the bar outta the way.” Dean pushes away from the table to stand, holding out a hand from Vanessa. “We still got catchin’ up to do, kitten.”

Vanessa takes his hand, barely stifling a giggle.

“Yes, Dean, we all know what you mean by catching up.” Nicole rolls her eyes as she stands, smoothing the front of her dress. “Also, did I miss the memo on matching our dates like it’s prom?”

“C’mon, Nicki,” Zach nudges his wife.

Katie and the groomsmen have warmed up to the brothers and don’t seem to have ever shared Nicole’s animosity toward Vanessa — and, now, Emma by extension — and Nicole herself has evened out a bit, but she’s still got some snark left in her.

“What? We aren’t matching. Katie and Ryan aren’t matching. But Van and Dean look like they’re headed to a red carpet somewhere.”

“A red carpet or prom?” Emma pokes the bear.

“Shut up, Emma.”

Nobody hides their snorts and laughter as they all leave the table to head out for the bar.

Before they can get out the door, the mother of the bride stops them. She’s petite with dark red hair, dark eyes, and a bright smile.

“Oh, Van, you look so pretty.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Ricci.” Vanessa hugs the woman.

Dean watches Vanessa twirl at the woman’s request to see the back. He didn’t realize it before Nicole said something, but the flowers intertwined with black lace skulls on her bodice match his dark red pants.

“What a unique dress. You have such great taste! All you girls look so pretty!”

There’s a chorus of “thanks, Mrs. Ricci” from Katie, Emma, and Nicole.

“How long are we staying out?” Sam asks Dean, pulling his attention from Vanessa, who shines like a diamond in a coal mine. 

“Up to them, I guess,” Dean mutters, never taking his eyes off her. 

“Well, you kids have fun tonight,” Mrs. Ricci says. “But don’t stay out too late! And don’t let Toni drink too much. You know how she bloats, and we can barely get her into her dress as it is.”

Vanessa looks desperate to run from the extended conversation. He doesn’t want to insert himself unless she asks, but decides to test the waters. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you ready?”

Vanessa looks up at him with relief and gratitude, clasping her hand in his. Butterflies flap their wings in her gut, and she tries to remind herself that the look in his eyes is temporary and meant as a show.

“Well... who’s the handsome gentleman, Van?” 

Vanessa smiles, turning back to face Mrs. Ricci. “This is—” 

“Dean.” Dean extends his free hand to Mrs. Ricci, and she accepts. He turns her wrist and kisses the back of her hand. “I’m this beautiful girl’s plus one.”

Mrs. Ricci raises her eyebrows and nods, eyeing them closely. “I see... I didn’t know you had someone, Van. You make a lovely couple. How long have you been together?”

“Little over a year, ma’am,” Dean easily answers.

“Well, then, I guess you’ll be talking marriage soon as well. You better catch that bouquet tomorrow!” Mrs. Ricci teases Vanessa.

“Oh, we’re all set!” Vanessa chirps, not realizing how what she’s just said sounds.

“Really?!” Mrs. Ricci’s eyes go wide. “When’s the wedding?”

Vanessa blinks as her skin prickles. “Next fall?”

“Congratulations!”

“Yeah, congrats, Van,” Nicole deadpans with a roll of her eyes because even she knows this is all an act. “Are we going or what?”

Vanessa keeps her eyes on anyone but her date for the rest of their night out. 

--

Dean gently closes the door to their lock-off, shutting out Emma’s squeals of delight and Sam’s laughter. He watches Vanessa busy herself around the room as he unfastens the cuffs of his button-up and rolls up his sleeves. 

He isn’t well-practiced in relationships. He and Cassie always fought, and Lisa was easygoing. His relationship with Vanessa was never supposed to reach this level, so he isn’t sure how to break the tension. 

“Hey.”

Vanessa's wary gaze doesn’t quite meet his. “I’m just gonna brush my teeth.”

She motions toward the vanity and takes the last few steps barefoot to get there. Dean appears behind her in the mirror as she reaches for the toothpaste. 

“Give it a minute.” Dean touches her wrist.

Vanessa tenses. “I don't know why I reacted that way.”

Dean shakes his head. “Turn around.”

She sighs and slumps in defeat before turning toward him with her eyes on the floor.

“Look at me.”

She swallows and reluctantly drags her gaze upward. “Dean, I’m sor—”

He pulls her in, wrapping her in his arms. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She asked when we were getting married, and I said next fall.”

Her voice is muffled against his chest, but she sounds miserable, and Dean can’t help but chuckle.

He pulls back to look her in the eye. “Who’re you worried about? That old lady?”

Vanessa blinks away the onslaught of embarrassed tears from her eyes. “You, Dean. Aren’t you... freaked or mad or...”

Dean shakes his head, grabbing a tissue for her. “Why would I be mad? Or freaked.” 

She takes the tissue, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall. He likes being with her, but he isn’t marrying anyone any time soon — they both know that. What bothers him right now is that she regrets such a simple blunder.

Vanessa dabs at the corners of her eyes and sniffles. “I said that... so now you probably think I’m clingy. And now I’m crying.”

She throws her hands up in the air and focuses on Dean, who’s watching her with a quiet smile and, if she isn’t mistaken, amusement. 

“Why are you smiling like that?! You didn’t sign up for this!”

“Nessa.” Dean pushes away from the wall to gently grasp her shoulders. “If you had any idea what my brother and I do? You’d get how you could never turn me off short of becoming an actual fucking monster. I can’t quit you.”

Vanessa closes her eyes and sighs. “The problem is that I like you, Dean. A lot.”

She opens her eyes, and Dean’s face has shifted to an unbearably soft melancholy. He nods, holding her gaze. “Yeah. Me too.”

“But we barely know each other,” she continues, taking a step forward and smoothing a palm down the sateen placard of his black button-up. “And you have some secret and dangerous job that I’ll never understand.”

“What makes you think it’s dangerous?” Dean sits back against the edge of the bathroom counter, wrapping his hands around her lace-enveloped ribcage, and lets her wedge herself between his open knees.

Her eyes land on his mouth. He’s so beautiful. She’s told him a dozen times. But he’s also a walking, talking mountain of trauma, and Vanessa guesses that damage extends beyond physical.

“Scar tissue, for one.” She reaches for his right hand and raises it between the two of them, knuckles up. “And busted knuckles?”

“Just a bar fight, honey,” Dean mutters, and Vanessa huffs a wry laugh, rolling her eyes up at him again.

“Maybe, but I doubt it.” She doesn’t drop her gaze as she dips in to press a kiss to his healing knuckles. “I’ve never known what I wanted in the long run, but... I know I want you. Now.”

Dean eyes her quietly for a moment before dipping in to kiss her. “You got me.”

He kisses her for a long time, pushing one hand up into the back of her hair and resting the other over her clavicle and breastbone. His thumb and first two fingers dance along either side of her neck, and she moans into his mouth.

He stands and steps away from the vanity, pulling her with him toward the bed, kissing her the whole way. She works on the buttons of his shirt as he opens the zipper of her dress. Black and red lace and chiffon flutter to the floor, and she walks over it.

Once she has his shirt undone and pulled from his pants, she slides her hands over his hot skin and pushes the garment to the floor. Dean stops at the edge of the bed with his hands on her waist as she pulls his belt and oxblood pants open and off. 

“Hey.” Dean clasps her hand in his before she can reach inside his boxers. “Just listen a minute, OK?” 

Vanessa slowly brings her anxious gaze to meet his. 

“You’re, what, 26 years old?”

She drops her eyes and starts to pull away. “Twenty-seven, and I don’t need your condescension.”

“No, no, no.” Dean grasps her wrists in his hands and pulls her in again. “Not condescending, reassuring. Nessa... you don’t need to have anything figured out right now. You got your whole beautiful, perfect life ahead of you to fuck up and win.” 

Her brow furrows, and Dean grins.

“Sometimes I wish somebody’d told me that when I was 27.”

Even if someone had told him, Dean had and has a different life than hers. His path was cut out for him long ago, and all he can do is live it, get up, and kick ass. It still would have been nice to hear.

Vanessa turns into him again, resting her hands on his beautifully scarred and tattooed chest. She lightly traces a long-healed gash until she runs into his tattoo and circles it. 

“You my guru, now?” She flicks her eyes up to his.

Dean shrugs, sliding his hands up her sides along her bodysuit's soft, plain black fabric. “Can be anything you want.”

She closes her eyes and leans in to kiss his sternum. She hums and drags her lips to one of his nipples, gently pulling it between her damp lips. 

Dean groans, smoothing a hand down the back of her long, wavy tresses before briefly pulling away.

“Just—” he sighs and closes his eyes from her wide, bright gaze to compose himself. “Believe me when I say that one little slip of the tongue ain’t enough to ruin a great weekend with one of the most gorgeous, delightful women I’ve ever been with in my life.”

Vanessa tosses her head back and laughs. 

“Seriously,” Dean continues as Vanessa pushes him back to sit on the bed, giggling the whole way. 

“You smell good, you’re beautiful.” As he lists off the things he likes about her, Vanessa climbs astride his lap. “You laugh at my terrible jokes. Your voice alone is enough to give me wood, I’m not even kidding.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

She wiggles a little, making him whimper and grip her hips, and drapes her arm over his shoulders to finger the velvety nape of his neck.

“Thank you. I like being with you, too.”

He smiles, and she pitches forward to kiss him. 

“Then why don’t you tell me about everything I missed,” he mutters around her lips.

“When?” she breathes into his mouth.

“When I wasn’t with you, and you couldn’t get off without me.” Dean holds her close as he moves back to the mountain of fluffed-up hotel pillows.

“Mmm... Which time?” She steadies herself as he gets situated, watching his skin ripple over muscle.

“Start at the beginning.” He settles in, giving her his full attention, his hands sliding up her thighs to shroud her hips. “What made you realize thinking about me— about us together’d do the trick?”

Vanessa bites her lip, her cheeks flush dark pink, and her eyelids flutter.

Dean chuckles, reaching up to pull the front of her strapless bodysuit down, freeing her breasts. “Did you think about how I held you up and drilled you ‘til you soaked the bed of that swank hotel?”

“Jesus.” Vanessa grinds over him, leaning backward on her hands, and arching her spine. “Yes...”

He cups and squeezes one breast, then hooks three fingers around the front of the thong bottom of the body suit to knuckle at her opening. 

“Did you think about me for seven days after?”

Vanessa nods, blindly grinding against his hand. “At first, it was your voice— it was when I was alone. I tried to remember... the way it rumbles your chest when you call me kitten.” 

“Uh-huh.” Dean does his best to keep his voice warm and deep. “You’re so slick and hot right now, kitten. I’m here now.” 

Vanessa lurches up and forward to brace her palms against his chest. “Keep talking.”

“You look so pretty, grindin’ against my fist. All open and juicy, so sexy. You gonna get yourself off like this?”

“God, Dean.” Vanessa grips his wrist and ruts against his knuckles hard, digging her blunt fingernails into his chest.

Dean hisses and whispers. “Do it, and I’ll fuck you just like you want. ”

“Oh, fuck!” She comes, shaking and panting, then collapses over him.

Dean slowly removes his hand from between her legs and wraps his arms around her while she catches her breath.

After a few moments, she speaks. “Then I was with this guy.” 

“Hmm. Did he make you come?” Dean rolls her to her back.

“You know he didn’t. I told you that.”

“Did you?” He peels the bodysuit the rest of the way off her before throwing it across the room.

“On the phone. That’s why we’re having this conversation, I assume.”

“Ahh, yeah, you did.”

He shoves his boxers over his hips and flings them to join their other clothes — away from their bodies and the bed — before climbing between her legs and stretching out over her. He props himself up with his forearms and brushes her hair away from her face with his hands.

“What else, then?”

She raises her knees at his sides and drags her fingertips up his spine.

“After a couple more guys, same results, I gave up. My toys and memories are better than anyone who isn’t you.”

Dean makes a sound like pity cut with need as he grinds and bucks until his dick is snug and wet between her pussy lips. Then he drops his forehead to hers.

“Tell me exactly what makes you come when I’m not there.”

Vanessa closes her eyes and shudders when he slowly forges ahead. She hooks her hands over the backs of his shoulders with a gasp.

“I’ll never forget the utility closet,” she whispers. “The way everyone outside knew exactly what you’d done to me. I can’t stop thinking about if someone had seen us— if we’d been less careful.”

Dean moans as he slides all the way inside her, tucking his face in the crux of her neck. “You an exhibitionist, kitten?” 

She shakes her head. “You’re just so sexy and so good at everything. I bet we’re hotter than any movie.”

Dean buries himself deep and settles in. He doesn’t lie to her, never has, and probably never will, but her willingness to be so fucking vulnerable with him makes his heart skip.

“You wanna watch us in the mirror? Just you and me over there?” Dean nods toward the vanity.

Vanessa peers across the room, then looks back at him and nods. “Yeah, later. Right now, I like you right where you are.”

Part Three

Series master list | Dean Winchester Masterlist | SPN Masterlist | All Fic Masterlist

[loverboy-havocboy]

*slides in a home-made cookie* Any headcanons or info about the characters included in the aliit verse you're able to share? Whether it be the main gang or anyone else?

i spent hours telling @the-starry-seas about the boys (mostly sinker) last night, so here are some thoughts from that convo as well as some fresh ones. some of them are also from rolling the blorbos around with @executeness

sinker has pretty severe adhd and his favorite fidget toy (besides boost) is one of those 3D printed slugs. it probably has a normal person name like james or something so he can say he needs to "fiddle with james".

boost got into a lot of fights in high school. he had a lot of rage after his parents died and he used it on anyone who tried to bully sinker or comet (or really probably anyone - i see boost being the kind of guy to step in even if he doesn't know the kid getting bullied).

before meeting gregor, comet was a sleep-until-the-afternoon type of guy, then he adjusted his sleep schedule so it would be easier to get up closer to gregor's time whenever gregor was on leave. he's still not an early riser by any means, but those few extra hours with gregor when he's home mean the world to him.

wolffe and gregor's relationship is the definition of "you came." / "you called."

sinker doesn't try to set his dates up with boost, but if they're not at least a little bit interesting in him, i think sinker is less likely to pursue a relationship. related to this is that boost loves befriending sinker's boyfriends - i mean, they share an interest in boost's absolute favorite thing in the world, after all.

sinker is a he/they in my mind though it is not canon. i could also see boost using he/they, but in a lack-of-gender way unlike sinker's abundance-of-gender way.

people have a tendency to underestimate sinker because of his bleached blonde hair and neurodivergence (they assume he's "ditzy"), but he's incredibly intelligent and he uses their assumptions to his favor.

i headcanon thorn as having had metoidioplasty.

echo uses a wheelchair on days that his pain is too much or he just can't be bothered with his prosthetics.

this can't go in the story, but the dominos and the pack are all stoners on some level To Me. echo and thorn have chronic pain from their injuries and the pack just seem like they smoked a bunch of weed behind the mall in highschool.

gregor's favorite music is rock, especially from the 60's-70's.

comet's favorite band is placebo. brian molko was a big influence on his gender expression. he also loves david bowie - both his music and his role in labyrinth.

sinker is a model so he sometimes gets to take clothes he wears for shoots, but his favorite pieces are things he's bought from small businesses/artists. clothes that are hand painted or beaded or given zest in some other way. he likes supporting them and he also likes wearing their love around and looking hot as fuck while he does it.

the pack were not normal about my chemical romance in high school. sinker's favorite album of theirs is danger days, boost's favorite is bullets, and comet could never choose between them.

tupma are unwritten at this point but here are some for them:

background is they met in college. dogma is a he/they transmasc, he cracks tup's egg and helps her become comfortable in her identity as a she/they/he* transfem. *she does get comfortable reacquainting with he/him pronouns eventually, in a "he's my girlfriend" type of way. after college, they moved to keldabe (mandalorian nyc where the rest of the aliit gang lives) together.

tup has 3 sisters and 2 moms, so as the only "man" in the family, their coming out as transfem is the funniest thing they could've done.

dogma is autistic. his special interests are bugs (especially spiders), and idk i feel like he's a minecraft and animal crossing man.

dogma has a tarantula named daenerys. tup saved up the money for him to pick her out and all the stuff she would need as a gift. tup may or may not have a pet lizard of some kind.

dogma's parents are divorced, his mom remarried and he got a little brother who's in elementary school now who likes to hunt for bugs with him.

tup sews and paints as hobbies. she likes to alter clothes she thrifts, and also makes dogma patches for his shorts and jackets to add a little spice.

i'm really going now but i think i will leave it here. thank you so much for asking, my dear, this was really fun 💖💖💖

[softquietsteadylove]

Hey. So for the gladiator AU how about a prince visits the kingdom of Ajak and Thena and wants a traditional gladiator fight between both kingdoms? The prince says both kingdom chooses 3 gladiator and Gil is one of them who gets picked!

"Gilgamesh."

He groaned, trying to get back to sleep before the back of a hand nudged his arm.

"Gil!"

It sounded like Thena. But it couldn't possibly be the princess in his room, whispering to him on the cusp of sleep. No, that would be madness, and also it was the middle of the night.

"Gilgamesh, please!"

He sighed up at his ceiling. Princess or not, he was not one easy to wake. "He's sleeping."

He heard her sigh. Thena had all the grace and poise expected of royalty, but she also had a slight impatience and impertinence. It was what dragged her to the side of his cot - now a luxurious palace bed - whenever she wanted.

Gil dragged himself up, first to his elbows then to his palms, his arms stretched behind him. He blinked up at her, although she crouched down next to him as soon as she saw he was awake. "Thena, what are you doing here?"

"Refuse to fight."

That was not what he had been expecting. He blinked a little more. It was dark, but there was at least some moonlight coming through the open columns lining the room. "What?"

"I know you were selected to fight against King Tiamut's selection of gladiators--a bunch of Deviants," she rifled off immediately. She was high in energy, probably just finished her many royal meetings and whatever else they demanded of her as the princess. "But you can refuse."

"Refuse?" he repeated, unable to do much else as his mind pulled itself awake. "Thena, I-"

"Gil, please," she pleaded, leaning forward. "I was in meetings all day. But as soon as I heard, I...you can refuse. You're not just a gladiator, you're the captain of them. I--we-"

His eyebrows rose at the near slip.

She cleared her throat. "We selected you to be Captain of the guard so you could retire from fighting after nearly giving your life."

Gil smiled. He had long suspected Thena's part in his promotion and change of station. But it was endearing all the same to have evidence of it (in not so many words). "I am still a gladiator, Thena. It's my job to fight for you, and your mother, and this kingdom. Captain or not, I can't refuse a formal selection."

She sighed again, more sharply this time. She was very well aware of that, had maybe even attempted to argue it already.

"And hey," he said more gently, leaning forward, drawing up his knees to rest against them. "I won't be alone, this time. I don't have to fight the gauntlet by myself, I'll have Kingo, and the new guy."

Kingo was at least an acceptable fighter, she knew, had even exchanged some words with he was sure. He didn't know much about the new guy--he was from some other kingdom. But he was an experienced gladiator.

Thena drew up her head, meeting his eye in a way that was almost defiant seeming. "Our kingdom has many fighters. There is no reason it has to be you."

She was right, in a way. He was the captain of their forces, if anything, he could have his pick of substitutes. And they would be a legitimate choice, picked from his own flock.

"No," he shook his head. She looked at him as he expected, like he had something sprouting from his neck. "I won't, Thena."

"Why not?" she asked of him, her voice growing higher in pitch, tight like a lyre's strings. Her eyes sparkled as a sheen came over them.

"Because I am your Champion." He had pride in that. He had honour in that. He didn't take it lightly that he was the best of the best--the best of their best. He was the one to fight a kingdom's worth of gladiators in the name of the princess.

She huffed, shaking her head at him, a few wisps floating around her sculpted cheeks. "Pride, Gilgamesh, truly?"

"Thena," he corrected. He turned enough to place his hand over her fidgeting ones. "I am your Champion. That means something to me."

Her eyes didn't become less glassy, but something else came over her. He wasn't sure what expression that really was, but he felt completely captivated by it. Her head drifted to the side. "Gil, please, I cannot watch you go through something like that again."

The time he had fought Kro and nearly found himself on death's door, she meant. In fairness, she was right, he had been all but eviscerated in that fight. He had recovered under the queen's watch for weeks, and even now he had scars that looked like traderoads spanning his entire body.

He looked down at their hands. It was unthinkable for him to behave like this with the princess. But it wasn't the first time they had found themselves in such close contact. Whatever relationship he had with Thena, it was more than just a foot soldier and the distant throne.

Thena let him collect her hands into his and bring them to his lips. Her lip trembled, but he held her fingers to his skin. "Thena, I swear to you, I'll win this fight."

She blinked her tears away, although they collected in her long eyelashes like stars stuck on the glittering sea. "I don't want you to promise me that. I want you to swear that you won't put yourself at risk for me."

He kissed her hand again before setting them both down on the bed. "I took an oath to do exactly that. But that doesn't mean I'll risk my life. What did I tell you before I fought Kro?"

She sighed.

But he raised a brow at her expectantly. If he was going to be awakened at this hour then he could at least enjoy his time with her.

Her eyes flitted as she searched her mind. But she peeked at him almost coquettishly. "That you wouldn't let that happen?"

"Close," he promised, entirely too soft on the blonde vision in front of him. He patted her hand again. "You are not the prize--the prize is to see your smile another day."

And there it was, showing itself like the sun through the clouds. She laughed faintly. "That is not a prize."

But it was, and she had no idea how much he treasured it. "To me, it is."

She sighed, but it had lost its tense, sharp edges, coming out more soft and breezy, like the cloth billowing around the columns. "We could make you a diplomat. That would make you completely ineligible for the fight."

He chuckled as well, leaning back again. He really was tired, and he had a fight to start training for at first light. "I'm afraid I'd make a terrible diplomat, my Lady--way too biased."

She laughed more, light and cute. Her eyes drifted downward, and he knew she was tracing the scar that stretched over his chest and down across his body. "Does it hurt?"

He shrugged, even running his fingers over it lightly. "Sometimes when it rains, oddly enough."

She managed a whisper of a smile, but her eyes dimmed. "I remember waiting for you to awaken, much like this. I truly did fear you would never open your eyes again."

He shrugged again, forcing her to look at him. "But I did."

"Gil-"

"Thena," he pressed. "I will be fine. You have my word."

He had also given her his word that he would win the fight against Kro--which he did! Although he did make it more by the skin of his teeth than maybe he wanted.

She seemed to accept it, though, nodding and leaning away from the bed's edge. Her hands dragged away from the white linens as if her fingers yearned for him. "Very well, but if you are injured by the time the training has concluded, I reserve the right to alter our choice."

"Fine," he grinned. He tilted his head at her, "that is your right, my Lady."

Thena snorted as she stood, adjusting the white muslin wrapped around her robes for modesty's sake. "There is no need for 'my Lady' here, Gil. I realise I should not have come without your permission. But I had to speak with you before tomorrow."

"I know," he excused easily, easily dismissing his unhappiness with being woken up in the first place. He dashed his eyes down his naked front. "If anything, I'm the indecent one, here."

Thena blinked, staring at his scars once again. Although, it seemed for the first time that she was noticing that seeing his scars had to also mean seeing his bare chest as well. Her jaw bobbed before colour rose in her face to contrast against the blue of the moonlight. "Th-That's--y-you--I-!"

She turned on her heel, walking away with swift steps, although her feet made no sound on the floors.

Gil laid back down once she was gone. He felt completely wide awake, heart pounding, senses screaming. He didn't really have to make that last joke to embarrass the poor lady. But he had to admit, the sight of her cheeks rouged made him feel....alive. He felt that living to see tomorrow was worth any price.