#for SO MANY reasons
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ngl it's kind of sad when people say "can't wait for mithrun to show up in the anime and people realize the SUPERIOR kabru ship" as if that's the most important draw of his character and not the incredible portrayal of disability/addiction through his arc like. please
#chattering#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#dunmeshi#dunmeshi spoilers#mithrun#mithrun of the house of kerensil#hes so important to me#for so many reasons#and I hate seeing him be reduced to a ship#even if it is a joke
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Crown-less but not alone.
No need to be Kings of a drowned throne.
#my art#kidvoodoo#kÀÀrijĂ€#joost klein#jere pöyhönen#vent art#this is how I cope with feelings that are so big they start to bleed out of me#I canât even begin to explain how upsetting this all was#I meanâŠ.like everything was upsetting#but drawing it out made me feel a lot better so that is something I guess#fuck that song contest#for so many reasons
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Behind the Scenes of The Star Beast - Part Four
Excerpt from Digital Spy's interview with Ruth Madeley:
This past weekend saw the return of Doctor Who, with the first of its 60th anniversary specials 'The Star Beast'. In the episode, we were introduced to UNIT Scientific Advisor Number 56, Shirley Anne Bingham. Like Ruth Madeley, Shirley is a disabled woman who uses a wheelchair, however, as Ruth told Digital Spy in our exclusive interview: "Her being in a wheelchair is the least interesting thing about her â and that's what you want." Shirley is straight-talking, no-nonsense and not afraid to put the doctor in his place. "She knows exactly who she is, she's ballsy, she's northern and she's not frightened to take the lead. And I think she's a great addition to the whoniverse," Ruth said. She also laughed here, at her use of the word "whoniverse", and explained that she wasn't a huge fan before appearing on the show, despite "having a great respect" for it. However, this didn't stop her from being in awe of David Tennant and Catherine Tate, who she said, it was incredible to watch working. "I love that Shirley isn't a gusher when she meets The Doctor because I'm so not like that," she laughed. "I found myself sat next to David at the read through, and realised I was just staring at him. I'm really uncool!" Very early on in 'The Star Beast', a fellow UNIT officer started to act awkwardly when he realised that Shirley can't get up the stairs to access the rocket, to which she cut him down with: "Don't make me the problem." It's a sentiment many disabled people have felt in an inaccessible world, and Ruth points out that "it was so important to show that the problem isn't us, it's actually all the stuff around us". "I'm having 'Don't make me the problem' put on t-shirts," she joked.
A huge THANK YOU to everyone who posted set photos!
Additional parts of this set are in the #whoBtsBeast tag. The full episode list is [ here ]
#david tennant#catherine tate#ruth madeley#doctor who#the star beast#dw 60th#rtdedit#doctor who 60th anniversary#I do adore the scene where shirley and the doctor meet#for so many reasons#excellently done all around#with cool special effects#stuff i posted#whoBtsBeast#whoBts
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Taking a break from some commission work to draw an old friend
#Zumi art#DuckTales#DuckTales 2017#Huey Duck#I've been getting SUCH A RESURGENCE in my love for this show#Not even realizing but remembering how good it is#And how MUCH it means to me#And though Scrooge McDuck will always be special to me#For so many reasons#And overall my favorite Disney Duck#There is a very VERY special place in my heart and soul#For one particular awesome little child#Huey WAS me when I was little in ways that're too much to go on in tags#But I hear you little child and I love you
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oh god we will walk onto Taash lifting at some point won't we??
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hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (make the danger feel good)
(~11 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here
there's a bunch of things in this one that might make some people want to skip it. please be aware this tips into suggestive stuff (ok maybe a notch beyond the line, but nothing too explicit). there's certainly intimacy, nudity (that was there all along but now we Pay Attention To It) and more prominent cws would probably be... everything around vex instincts. so mentions of: blood, biting, consensual violence, blood/fear-play, prey-play?? they're deranged. i tried to keep it as tame as possible lol but be aware those are the topics and tones.
in case you skip this one, just know this is when scar and grian start to be truly intimate, and this is when grian gets the mating bite from scar (neither of them are aware that's what it is; there's a whole bunch of bites.) (dEranged.) also, there's more wing touches.
rp based, so wordy. <3 this follows directly after the wing spiral so we're still in the hotspring cave
---
The moment slowly tips into something else as they both lay on the spread-out cloak, fire crackling behind Grianâs back, his still somewhat-damp wing slung gingerly across Scar.
It all drags at Scarâs heartstrings, watching as Grian navigates his way through the maze back to something sensible, something more like himself. Freckles barely show in the flickering light, eyes dark and shiny from recent emotions, a bruised spot on his lip from nervous biting. Grianâs hair falls around him in soft, golden strands, fire painting over them with copper.
âYouâreâŠâ Scar stops, almost scared to finish the sentence. It feels like theyâve reached a comfortable silence after what felt like literal hours of agony. But heâs already broken it, soâ He tucks his head into Grianâs hand, smothering the words into his palm. â⊠so beautiful.â
He looks at Grianâs eyes when he says it. No part of his wings, even though he means to include every bit of him. But he needs Grian to know he means it whether the feathers are included or not.
A swell of emotions rushes through Grian at that; he isnât sure how to react, all he knows is he feels heat and tingling, and itâs so, so very different from the tingling of that numbness from earlier. This is nervous, skittish, warm, present. He feels rooted to the moment, to the softness of Scarâs eyes and his breath against Grianâs palm andâ
And he feels like Scar is a hot spring and Grian is floating, melting into it.
âYou canâtâ You canât say that,â he sputters, not quite able to pull forth any better quips than something stumbling and lost and irredeemably flustered. âWhat do you even mean.â
As soon as he says that, he realises those words might be a mistake. He doesnât want Scar to answer.
Grianâs mind spins for something else to jump to, and he blurts out, ridiculously: âItâs because you washed my hair.â (He doesnât quite remember that either. He regrets falling asleep so fast, although he canât deny he slept so well, even if only briefly. He⊠really needed that.)
âMm,â Scar mumbles into Grianâs palm again, buzzing his lips there. âNo, I thought that before I washed your hair, too.â He was meaning not to say something embarrassing again, but failed completely.
Grianâs mind snags on the way Scarâs words feel against his palm, a riveting, delightful experience that he wishes to relive a million times. His thumb gingerly brushes across the heated skin of Scarâs cheek, but he keeps his palm in place, ready to catch any and all words that might spill out of Scarâs lips.Â
âYouâre silly and sappy,â Grian accuses, but it sounds so achingly soft and fond.
Scar changes his mind almost instantly about not saying embarrassing things, seeking out more of that softness Grianâs voice holdsâ that simplicity and affection. Heâll keep saying embarrassing things if he gets that. Itâs worth it.
âThis is true,â he admits easily. âBut Iâm also right.â
Craning his neck, Grian leans in to place a kiss against Scarâs face, tender and loving. (Heâs weaving all the gratitude into it, all the affection, all the apologies and forgiveness all at once.) âYouâre also ridiculous,â he adds, a little bit cheekily, but it again carries no bite, words made of cotton and warmth.
His wing shifts higher, covering their upper torsos and faces, dunking them into more darknessâsomething that instantly makes Grian sleepy. The fire crackles behind his back, somewhat still keeping up, although definitely in need of more fuel.Â
Grian doesnât want to move.
âAlso true.â Scar nods. âThank you for noticing.âÂ
Thereâs an unsaid thank you for so many more things in the way Scar delivers the line so seriously: Thank you for speaking to me. Thank you for shielding us with your wings. Thank you for going along with my shenanigans.Â
Thank you for being here.Â
Scar wants to fall asleep then and there, unperturbed by the mess of remaining concerns that still plague them, but he tries to be the strong one here. ââŠI should fuel the fire. Maybe set up a small perimeter so we can both get some sleep?âÂ
He wants to sleep beside Grian. He doesnât want to take turns keeping watch.
And isnât that a wonderful thought? For both of them to be able to sleep at the same time, curled up together by a warm fire?
They donât get that often.
Grian latches onto that hope, pushing his fatigued body up as he gingerly releases Scar from the cocoony hold of his wing. He offers to help even though his mind still feels a little slow, body a little off; if he can assist Scar and make this happen, then he wants to do it.
Scar gets up reluctantly, but heâs pleasantly surprised how little his muscles protest after the nice soothing bath they received. Thatâs a rarity. He directs Grian to check up on the fire while heâll make some walls, promising cuddles at the end of it.Â
The idea of that sort of reward makes pushing through their exhaustion and putting in the effort worth it.
Tending the fire isn't a skill they needed on Hermitcraft, but through trial and error, they learned the best ways to distribute fuel materials for the most efficiency and the least smoke. It comes to Grian easily now, automatic, and notably it takes much less time than wall building.
Once satisfied, Grian looks over at Scar, asking if he should help with the wall. After all, the faster they're done, the faster they can cuddle.Â
Scar nods, noting heâs sleepy and he might miss spots. A second pair of eyes to check after him would be good, and any help is certainly appreciated, especially since itâs their safety at stake here. Heâs using a bit of a hodgepodge arrangement of materials, just doing the minimum to keep mobs out, but itâll do, as long as they do it properly.Â
Grian pushes himself to his feet; his wings feel a little strange, and he can't quite tell why, but he swerves away from thinking about it. His muscles feel weak, wanting to go back to blissful resting, looking forward to sleep. A faint lightheadedness hits him at the first step, but a short pause and a deep breath is enough to chase it away.
He slots himself next to Scar, reaching to take some materials from him. As soon as he's in his orbit, Scar canât help but reach over and lightly touch him on the waist, pulling him in for a brief, only slightly-awkward kiss. He smiles, toothy and real, before handing off some of his materials, whistling to himself like it didnât happen as he turns back around.
Grian can't help but adore and crave the easy intimacy; the way he's reached for and tugged and kissed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He gravitates towards Scar in return, peeking at him and quietly studying his expression as Scar whistles and works.
There isn't terribly much needed to do with the walls, and Grian fixes up his end to the best of his capabilities given his energy level, then makes sure to look over Scar's work as requested, too, making sure they don't miss something due to fatigue. (Mistakes are too costly here. They canât afford them.)
When they're done, Grian clicks his tongue appraisingly. "It's not a terracotta shack, but it'll do."
Scar snickers, highly amused by the callback. âYeah, it might actually be uglier. I should put up a sign for any googlies to leave a review.â He slips in behind Grian and kisses the top of his head, wrapping his arms around his waist. âMmm, warm clothes?â
Grian shifts his wings gently out of the way, but he itches to press himself against Scar, so he clumsily turns around in his loose grip, trying to maintain some space for his feathers as he goes.Â
Somehow, now that this is all very intentional, without the mental fog and fresh tears and jumbled cravings, this feels more intimate. Their bare chests are near each other, reverberating with heartbeats and moving with their breaths, and there's so much skin andâ
Timidly, Grian's fingers find Scar's waist, a featherlight touch exploring upwards, fingertips counting across the lower ribs.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Scar's jaw. "Mm." His head tips and he rests his forehead against the spot he's just kissed. His hand travels higher, across Scar's chest, to his shoulder, mapping out his skin. "Warm clothes," he agrees, even though nothing about his actions suggests that.
Scar shivers at the drawn out touch over his bare skin, ears flicking wildly as his heart stutters in his chest for a moment. Sure, heâs no stranger to walking about without a shirt, but people donât typically touchâÂ
He rather likes it when Grian does, however.
Not nearly as bold, Scar settles for tracing small shapes over Grianâs sides, gentle and reverent. âAnd warm cuddles,â he adds, also not making any move to do so.
Grian hums at Scar's touch; on nothing but wishful instinct, he moves closer, trying to get deeper into Scar's hold. (He wants Scar's hands to wrap around him. To envelop him fully and properly.) (He wants to be held.) (He wants to be wanted, in a way so wholly different from what this world demands.)
He tips his head and presses a kiss to the side of Scar's throat as his fingertips dance from Scar's shoulders across his collarbone. He likes this. Being able to trace paths across Scar's skin. To, hopefully, provide him with something that can touch him without causing pain and scarring.Â
The air is cold on the back of his neck, and he figures Scar is not any better off, without having the extra fluff of feathers shielding his spine. He tucks a small sigh against the hollow of Scar's throat, because he knows he should pull away. He knows they should get dressed. His legs feel weak underneath him, craving a bed. (There's no bed here)Â
"Yeah... Yeah. Let's go get some rest."
He's still not moving to make any of it happen.
Scar really doesnât want Grian to let go of him right now (nor does he want to let go), so heâs glad Grian is yet to make a move to leave. Heâs tired and cold and wants to go to sleep, but after the absolute rollercoaster back and forth of emotions, Scar is too attached to this moment of serenity.Â
In a spur of stubborn refusal, Scar strengthens his grip and lifts, hoisting Grian up just enough so that maybe he can walk them both over. He pulls the avian tight, letting him secure his balance onto him.
And itâs silly, because theyâre really not even that far from the fireâ and they still need to separate to put on their clothes. Theyâre still only in their underwear, which makes Scarâs ears twitch again when it occurs to him.
But itâs worth it.
Just a little more contact.
He needs it so bad.
Grian lets out a delighted chirp in surprise as Scar's hold on him tightens, and thenâ then he loses contact with the ground. He tips forward, easily trusting Scar with his weight, and he giggles quietly against the crook of Scar's neck. His wings unfurl, instinctively seeking out balance. (He doesn't remember when was the last time they felt free to do this; to give in to instincts.) (He isn't even paying attention to them, not really aware that it is happening.)
Without complaint, he presses himself against Scar, and oh, this is different. This is skin on skin. This isâ
âMhm, off to sleep with us!â Scar cheers as he presses Grian close to his chest.
Grian wraps his arms around Scar's shoulders and stays close, heart hammering against his chest in a way that Scar's surely bound to feel, right against his own ribcage. He coos in a flustered encouragement at Scar's statement. Off to sleep. (He'd go anywhere Scar takes him right now. He'd stay anywhere Scar puts him. He'd be anywhere Scar wants him.)
Maybe the earlier struggle was all worth it if Scar gets to hear those sweet little chirps pressed into his neck and feel Grianâs heartbeat against his own fluttering chest. Past anxieties forgotten, Scar is entirely smitten. He feels warm even though logically he shouldnât. He hums a jaunty tune while he walks them both back over to the fire, pleased with himself and the entirely unnecessary decision to carry Grian.Â
And Grian happily lets himself be carried, even though he couldâve easily taken those four steps himself. He isnât carried out of necessity (for once). Heâs being carried because Scar wants to carry him, wants to hold him, wants to keep him pressed close. It warms Grian, too. It makes him feel cherished and safe.
But heâs always been made of mischief, and he canât help it. He tips his head, lips brushing over the skin of Scarâs throat, and then heâs baring his teeth, letting them come into the gentlest contact with the skin. (Just to tease.) (Just for the reaction.) (His hold on Scar tightens just in case heâs about to be dropped in response.)
Scarâs legs wobble as he muffles a tiny yelp, but heâs been trained to deal with Grianâs tendency toward menace, so he does manage to stay on his feet and keep his grip.Â
If he dips just a little and lightly pinches at Grianâs sides though? Deserved.Â
âYouuuuâŠâ Scar warns, attempting to growl even though it comes out purely silly. âYou love to tempt fate, donât you?â
Grian takes a sharp breath and squirms as Scar dips, holding onto him. (Even if Scar did want to drop him, Grian refuses to go easily.) At Scar's light disgruntlement, Grian huffs out a breathless laugh, all of it right against Scar's pulsepoint. His teeth are back on Scar's skin, still gentle, but he does apply a little bit more pressure this time, cheekily.Â
"Maybe I do." He sounds entirely too cheerful and unbothered, another quiet laughter broken against Scar's throat.
âMmmm,â Scar grumbles, holding back a full-body shiver. Itâs definitely the chill. Definitely.
In retaliation, Scar takes one large step to finish their path to the fire, then dips Grian even lower, threatening to plop him back down on the cloak. âThen accept your fate, you rascal!â Scar cackles, wriggling his fingers at Grianâs sides to try to get him to forcibly let go and fall the rest of the way down to the floor.
Grian laughs openly nowâat Scar's attempts to get him off. At his grumbles. At being called a rascal. He delights in it and stays stubbornly clinging to Scar, wrapping his legs around him for extra security.
"I like to tempt fate, Scar, not accept it," he informs him all too giddily, voice still heavily tinged by laughter. "And you can't get rid of me."
Scar snickers, amused by his new clinging bird accessory. âAh, I wouldnât dream of it, butââ He exaggeratively sways from side to side like heâs trying to shake Grian off (heâs really not). ââpesky birds deserve retribution!â
Grian still holds on, unwilling to lose. He cranes his neck, on his way to the next mayhem. "Well then you're going to have to try harder," he lectures. And he lightly squeezes Scar's earlobe in his teeth. (It's not his fault it was so perfectly within reach.) (It's not his fault he has zero impulse control when he gets pesky.)
Scar opens his mouth to say something in return, but all that comes out is a flustered squeak. His face properly flushes as his ear attempts to flick out of reach. âGriannn!!â he whines, embarrassment obvious in his tone. Heâs released his hands at this point, but Grianâs grip is all too secure. So now his hands wave about in the air pathetically, unable to decide on exactly what retribution is in order for Grian.
Grian laughs, a bright, joyful, unbridled cackle pressed against the sensitive patch of skin directly under Scar's ear. His wings flap lightly (the fire flickers momentarily, sparks sent flying, explosive like Grian's soul) at the loss of Scar's hold as he rebalances himself, but remains clingily wrapped against Scar, not budging. "Yes, Scar?" he hums innocently.
Scar finally settles on some form of revenge, bringing out his claws and trailing a very long drag of his nails up Grianâs spine, careful not to actually scratchâ just a graze, just a tickle, just a suggestion. He canât go too far without risking touching the wings, but he does what he can. Grumbles again in response to the innocent hum from a very not innocent bird. âMenace,â he breathes out, still somewhat dazed.
Grian doesn't even try not to shudder under the graze of Scar's claws; he's sure Scar can feel the way he took in breath, then held it in, too. The uptick of his heart rams against Scar's ribs as Grian presses closer, an instinctual back-arch to the sensation.
He still manages to laugh again, a breathless little thing. "Your menace, though."
And it's surprisingly easy, to give himself over to Scar, in a world where everyone wants to own a part of him.
Scar stops that slow drag of claws, settling somewhere in the middle of Grianâs back and instead tapping them there as he hums out what comes across a bit too much like a low growl. Itâs not meant to be threateningâ itâs not even meant to come out at all, reallyâ it was supposed to be an exaggerated groan, but it instead comes off as a deeply satisfied confirmation.Â
âMine,â Scar concedes, voice barely a whisper, before remembering theyâre meant to be teasing. â⊠Lucky me.âÂ
Except heâs still not kidding.
And yet despite the fondness with which Scar means it, there's an instant swell of something ugly in Grian at the words lucky me, a razor-edged impulse to make Scar regret those words, to show him just how wrong he isâ but he swallows it all down, in a moment of uncharacteristic quiet after all the giggling. He presses himself closer to Scar, takes a deep breath, tries to claw his way back to that pesky playfulness from just seconds ago.
Instead of more teasing, he tips into tenderness. His hold loosens, and he presses his lips to the side of Scar's neck.Â
He isn't sure Scar understands just how his Grian is.Â
A breathless half-chuckle leaves him despite himself. And he can't help but ask, quietly, edging shyness. "Does that mean you're mine...?" He's okay with the answer being no. He'll still be Scar's, heart and soul. But... He just wants to know. To hear Scar say it. "My ridiculous person?" These words come easier, softer, more playful.
Scarâs hands shift back to holding Grian, claws fading away into harmlessness. He tries to lean his head back to see him, to look at him as the words fall into place so easily. But Grian doesn't let him pull away, doesn't let him move to see his face; he burrows, hiding himself in the crook of Scar's neck. His wings foldâstill loose, instead of what they're used toâfeathers slotting over Scar's skin without a hassle.Â
Scar doesnât mind Grianâs insistence on keeping his face pressed close. He likes that as well. In fact, he gives up on dropping Grian down at all and plops himself onto the cloak with Grian still attached.Â
âAlways,â he replies, voice still low and grainy, but filled to the brim with affection. âAlways yes.â
"Always," Grian echoes quietly, and the word leaves his tongue like something precious and fragile.
Feeling sappy, as usual, Scar tacks on, â⊠Have been for a while.â
Words line themselves up in Grian's mind like poison, things to fight back and argue with, to explain that this is not going to be good for Scar. That he really, really isnât lucky for this.
He swallows them all down. This isn't about that. This isn't and shouldn't be about that.
Scar is saying something incredibly fond, and Grian shouldn't try to destroy it.
His wings press tighter, feathers still slumped right over Scar's arms.Â
"... Can we keep it that way...?" he asks in the end.
âMm, Iâd like to, yes.â Scar nods, teeth clacking as he grows a big grin. He takes one hand to fumble for Grianâs sweater.
"Okay." Grian pauses, and then adds in a soft murmur: "Me too." He feels Scar move, but doesn't process what he's reaching for. Grian just stays clinging to him, placated by Scar's words and his hold.
Scar brings the warm fabric over to their bare skin. It makes him giggle slightly at the heat, because it means at least one of his ideas tonight was good. âHere,â he says as he pushes the sweater in between them for the warmth. âAs much as Iâd love to offer to help you dressââ he clicks his teeth again in amusement. ââmight be a little difficult.â
Taking the soft, warm fabric, Grian puffs his cheeks in an overdramatic pout. "Don't need help, I know how to dress myself." That being said, he still doesn't let go of his wrap around Scar, even though this isn't the best position for putting clothes on.
âOh I know, but I like to touch you,â Scar goads, grinning innocently.
Grian's cheeks heat up, the words spurring him enough to pull away just to be able to look at Scar, wide-eyed and flustered. "You whâ"
âHm?â Scar continues to grin, innocent as ever. He looks over Grian, seeing the red trickle over his cheeks. âOh I think you heard me, but I can repeat myself if you want?â Now that he has the chance, he leans his face in close to Grian, even completing the act with a goofy wink.
"No!" Grian immediately says as his hands fling up, covering Scar's mouth just in case he'd do it anyway, and oh, it's good that Scar is sitting down and holding Grian, because if they were still up, Grian'd definitely fall. His wings fling out anyway, just in case, gathering his balance. The sweater pools between them, a warm barrier between their chests. "Thatâ You don't have to repeat it," Grian blabbers, red.
Scar kisses the palms that cover his mouth, several times like an attack to free himself from the hand prison. He muffles into them as well in between kisses: âBut I want to!â
"Scaaaar," Grian groans, and he releases Scar from his hold, only to bury his own very red and very warm face in his freshly-free palms.
Scar follows those hands despite just being freed, kissing them again now that they cover Grianâs face. âI mean youâre not making a lot of progress putting on your sweaterâ are you sure you donât want help?â His hands find their way to Grianâs chest, pressing lightly right in the middle.
Grian's heart positively skips a beat, a tiny squeak leaving him at the offer. He's dissipating, too flustered to really form words.Â
He wants to scold Scar again.Â
He wants to tell him he's fine, he can dress himself.Â
He wants to tell him that, actually, yes, Scar can help, whatever that help would actually mean.
Instead he just grumbles something incoherent and flustered into his palms.
Still feeling playfully devious, Scar slides his hands up Grianâs chest over to his bare arms, grabbing slightly and pulling them upward. His movements are needlessly slow and incredibly drawn-out. âWell it would help if you raised your arms like thisâŠâ he teases, far too pleased with himself for the shade of red thatâs spreading across Grianâs skin
Grian's palms are still pressed to his face, the angle Scar tugs at slightly awkward, but it doesn't make the explosion of sensations rushing through him any weaker. Scar's touch is so delicate, so slow, Grian can't help but go insane under it.Â
He makes more incomprehensible noises into his palms. His arms shiver under Scar's fingertips. The hold of his palms over his face relents a little bit, not because he doesn't want to be hidden anymore, but because everything in him yearns to give in to Scar's guidance, no matter Scar's goals.
Gingerly, the palms leave Grianâs face, his arms lifting the littlest bit. His eyes shine, flooded by some deep, rich and rawâand entirely flusteredâemotion. His lips are slightly parted, cheeks flushedâ and then his earwings fling to take the spot his hands occupied just a moment ago, hiding him away from Scar's gaze in a flash.
Scarâs entire plan comes to a stumbling halt when he sees Grianâs face. His eyes are shamelessly drawn to Grianâs lips, the way they hang open ever so slightly, framed by reddened cheeks and accented freckles.Â
Heâs momentarily stunned, enamored by the gorgeous sight before him, but itâs stolen away all too soon. And with the earwings no less, so he canât exactly pry them off.Â
He decides to drag his hands back down to settle in the dip of Grianâs shoulders, no longer fooling either of them into believing this has anything to do with helping. âHeyââ he starts, unsure of what to say exactly, but gosh does he want to see Grianâs face again. âDonât hide from me,â he croons, voice low and sultry.
Scar's touch is electrifying, sending sparking signals across Grian's body, something culminating in the pit of his stomach. He's asked not to hide, but his embarrassment only rises, at the implication that revealing himself would mean being plunged straight to being seen, Scar's eyes surely intense and scrutinising.
He whines a little, breathing deeply but shakily against Scar's hands.
And then he shifts the earwings, just a little bit, half-obliding, peeking through the feathers.
Scar is about to complain, insist Grian show his entire face, but this is even cuter and he can hardly handle it. His expression shifts into something softer, adoring. Instead of his drawling voice from before, confident and insistent, Scar speaks timidly, an easy smile spread across his face. â⊠Hi, pretty.â
Grian huffs against his feathers; his earwings twitch, wanting to go back to shielding him as embarrassment swirls in between his ribs, spreading incessant warmth through his face.Â
But he is drawn to Scar, like a damned moth to a flame, and he can't pry his eyes away from the soft fondness in Scar's green ones. "Hi," he returns, voice cracking.
Scar leans down to place a kiss on Grianâs chin where his feathers donât quite reach. He wants to say so many things, keep showering Grian with compliments, but he spares him. He lingers close to Grianâs lips with a sly smile, eyes flickering up to meet his. â⊠Your sweaterâs gonna get cold.â
With Scar this close, Grian's earwings twitch a little bit more out of the wayânot out of unwillingness to brush against Scar, but becauseâ Well. Grian's tightening stomach has something to say about Scar hovering so close to his lips.Â
"Don't care." it's hushed, but entirely dismissive. Grianâs eyes roam across Scar's face, returning the favour of lingering at the sight of his lips, taking in the curvature of them, remembering how soft and warm they feel pressed against his skin.
Scar grins when Grian doesnât take the out, so he doesnât waste any time capturing those lips from him, desperate and yearning. His fingertips dig into the soft skin directly next to his neck, pulling Grian in as close as he can.
Grian leans in easily, without resistance, meeting Scar back. His earwings fall completely away from his face, his eyes closing. His own hands find their spots on the sides of Scar's face.
Without breaking the kiss, Scar grabs at the sweater and places it next to them and the fire, not necessarily with the idea to keep it warm, but simply so thereâs nothing in their wayâ Scar likes it when their skin brushes together. Itâs vulnerable and exciting all at once, something satisfying about baring yourself for someone in a world that would normally punish such foolishness.Â
His hands are back on Grian in an instant, and he closes his eyes as he traces over more of that skin, exploring and teasing all the same.
Entranced, Grian hums against Scar's lips. He shifts, tracing kisses from the corner of his mouth down across his cheek and jaw, until he finds his spot right under Scar's ear. One of his hands slides back, fingers dragging over the back of Scar's neck until they reach his hairline and dip in.Â
It's tantalising, to be this vulnerable and open. To have his skin, soft and defenceless, right under Scar's fingertips to map and do whatever he pleases with. To trust Scar fully, boundlessly.
He doesn't want to stop.
"Scar." He breathes his name right there, on that sensitive patch of skin that he so adores. Right under Scarâs ear.
Intimacy wraps around them, tiny step by a tiny step and then suddenly all at once.Â
They give in, drunkenly following its lead, forgetting all about the world that wants to relentlessly hunt them down, take apart their bodies for nothing more than bloodied trophies that will gather dust.Â
Instead, they take each other apart in a completely different way. Entranced by their closeness, their skin heated, they familiarise themselves with a whole new vocal range of sounds that draw out of their throats, exploring what they have to offer. Giving and taking and unravelling.
Somewhere amidst it all, early on in this game theyâve invented for each other, Scar runs into the wall of impulsiveness that buzzes underneath his skin, begging for more. Because Grian is a daring menace, insinuating Scar should put him in his place if he doesnât like his pesky retaliations. Telling him to do something about it if he finds it unfair, while his wings lift, half-unfolding.Â
Itâs a gesture made on instinct of Grianâs dazed mind, coaxing him to put his feathers on display in a situation where he feels completely safe and equally completely besides himself. The violet hue, freshly cleaned, dances with various shades in the firelight.
Scarâs eyes are instantly drawn in by the lifting feathers framing Grian, firelight dancing across Grian's skin and wings alikeâ Scar is so doomed. He feels entranced, so entangled by the myriad of sensations and desires that he almost doesnât register how his fingers gravitate to the feathers.Â
He stops himself quickly, breathing out a wisp of blue, and refocuses on a patch of freckles that spread across Grianâs chest as he processes what he almost did on instinct alone.
He wanted to touch. He wanted to touch so badly. He hasnât seen Grianâs wings shine so brightly in months, or seen him bare the undersides like that to him ever before. Heâs not sure what that means in bird body language, but he was almost certain it was an invitation.
But he would never forgive himself if he messed this moment up.
If he messed that up again.Â
(Itâs not fair that he canât unravel Grian the same way Grian can with a nip to his sensitive vex ears. Scar wants to hear what kind of sounds Grian would make if he raked his fingers through his wings. Would it feel as good as Grianâs hands do in his hair? Better?)
Scar shudders, expelling those thoughts before he entirely spirals. The treacherous hand finds its way to Grianâs chest, tracing a pattern into those newly discovered freckles. His eyes flick back up, meeting Grianâs with a complicated expressionâ itâs one of slight conflict, immense adoration, but more than anything, intense desire.Â
ââŠcareful what you wish for there, G,â he says, restrained.
Grian hums, shuddering slightly under the touch of Scar's fingertips mapping out patterns on his skin. A purr-like coo makes it out of his throat, and his wings lift the littlest bit again, positioning themselves so perfectly within reach.Â
His head is muddled, thoughts dragged through velvet that so softly covers up rationality and leaves behind something gently ravaging, able to pull the string and let him unknot into a puddle. But even through that, he is able to catch that torn expression Scar has, something not quite right in his eyes, the words almost a warning.
He can't decipher it.
He leans away; his wings stay where they are, half curled around them, a brillaintly violet feathery offering. His hips don't move either; it's just his upper back, making his spine arch. (He wants Scar's claws to rake over that curveâ) He's watching Scar carefully, even though the firelight continues dancing across his dark irises in endless, unspooling want.Â
"If it's unfair," he says, voice low, quiet, a purring string for Scar to follow. (He's always been good at pressing buttons. At not knowing limits. At trying and testing and teasing.) "Then do something about it," he suggests, because he doesn't know why Scar is looking so horribly conflicted, and he doesn't want this to be unfair; it should be mutual, and he's welcoming Scar to take, to even out the playing field. (He'd even let him tip the scales completely, if that's what Scar wants.)Â
Scar does drag his other hand up that curve Grianâs making for him, although with no claws involved. He feels the dip in Grianâs back, that divot where he can rake his fingers over his spine.Â
Another breath, another wisp of blue smoke.Â
Scarâs claws emerge and he has to actively pull his fingers up to avoid scratching.Â
Itâs not fair because while Grian can lean into his instincts, use them as a familiar crutch, a display of trust and warmthâ Scarâs not nearly so fortunate. Letting his vex urges surface would mean violence and danger and taking andâ god Scar wants to take.Â
And Grian is egging him on. His fingers twitch with want, tapping their pointed nails against soft, bare skin. If only Grian knew what he was asking for right nowâŠ
Scarâs hopelessly pulled along by that alluring string, that low purr that escapes from Grianâs throat. He thinks, dazedly, that maybe Grian does know.Â
Especially since the drag of Scar's fingersâthat moment of them shifting into clawsâmakes Grian arch more. Not away from it, but into it, encouraging, needy.
He knows what Scar is. He knows he's made of sharp things, claws that can tear and teeth that can bite.
He doesn't care.
He wants Scar, and he wants all of him, andâ
His thoughts are slipping from him, dazed and lost in some deep, raw want that pulls him under.Â
âAlways a fan of the resistance, huh?â Scarâs tone is rough, not unlike a low, warning growl.Â
Grian canât help but grin, ever so cheeky, mayhem running wild in his veins. Scar was always the first one to witness this part of Grian. Whenever there's a spark of mischief, Grian feels drawn to him, wants him to see it, to catch on fire together with him.
And maybe Scar is. Catching on fire together with Grian. Because the next thing Grian knows, he's pushed back, he's pushed down, andâ
He's a fan of resistance, but he gives to this so willingly. His eyes never leave Scar's as he lets Scar's hands dictate the way gravity shifts around him. His thighs remain wrapped around Scar even as his back lowers, wings spreading across the ground. (He spares one mindful thought to shift his wing to avoid the campfire. The feathers flutter, instead, near Scar's skin, wing curved upwards, almost brushing his shoulder.)Â
He lays down, and he wonders, does this make it fair?
Or is there more?
He looks up at Scar, his heart wild in his chest but expression calm and endlessly fond. Waiting for the next step. Licking his parted lips, waiting to see what happens, wordlessly inviting Scar to do more.Â
Scarâs eyes dart from the wing that curves around them back to Grianâs face when he sees Grianâs tongue slide over his lips. Shamelessly, he finds himself mirroring the motion, green gaze hungry.
"It felt good, you know," Grian murmurs, and it's the quietest thing. (He means the claws. The growls. The way Scar pushes and skirts taking more.)Â "It all does."
Grianâs words scream at Scar to let go, to let loose and see what it is exactly that he wants so desperately from Grian right now.Â
Although heâs pretty sure he knows.Â
He plants one hand firmly beside Grianâs head, using it to hold his weight, then uses the other to cup Grian's chin, two claws tilting his head while the others graze across his throat.Â
Scar leans in closer, ghosting their lips together. âStill good?â he asks, though his voice seems so far away, like heâs floating astray as his resolve grows ever thinner. Instead of kissing him, Scar ducks down lower, pressing his lips just above Grianâs collarbone, kissing roughly enough to threaten a bruise.
The way Grian succumbs to Scar's touch is so simple. Through all the resistance in his soul, none is reserved for Scar right now; he's surrendered, a willing participant in the fate Scar strings up around them like a sticky, inescapable spiderweb. Grian's baring his neck, not shying from the claws; the most he does is let out a shaky breath, a tingle of promising excitement shooting through him like fireworks.Â
He feels lightheaded in the best of ways.
"Good," he confirms, more a coo than a word, but the fraying string of vowels still makes sense.
Itâs a dangerous game theyâre playing, and theyâre both aware of it. And theyâre both still choosing to continue hurtling down this path.
The rein Scar has on his vex side demanding he takes more slackens, falls out of his grip at Grianâs goading tug. He lets out a low hum against Grianâs throat before slacking his jaw and biting. His fangs hook into the skin above his collarbone, threatening to break skin, but not quite yet. No blue magic escapes Scarâs mouth this time, only hot and heavy breath in between roughly teething at Grianâs soft skin, reeling at the feeling of blood coursing so close to his fangs. Instead the haze trickles across his irises, eyes flickering blue as he indulges instead of resists.
Grian's head is quickly becoming a mess, but it's a mess in the best of ways. There's not a smidge of fear under his skin, and oh, isn't that something. It's entirely replaced by craving, by this submissive need to push Scar over the edge and take everything Scar gives himâ and, equally, let Scar take everything he wants.Â
Intoxicatingly vulnerable, Grian offers no defences, leaving himself wide open, tempting Scar to continue. The pain sparks, but it translates to pleasure; it says good good good, it makes Grian want to press closer to Scar, it makes him want to keep his neck bared, it makes him want to sink his own, dull fingernails into Scar's skin just to let him know that this feels wonderful.
A dizzying thought hits Grian, a hazy wondering if Scar knows Grian is giving him everything, right now. All of himself. Every little bit. He's putting himself completely at Scar's mercy.Â
But maybe Scar knows.
Maybe he knows, because when Scar lifts up, looming over Grian, what he chooses to say is mine.
The word reverberates through Grian, shakes something at his core, but it feels warm. It feels tingly and like a precipice, but one he wants to fall over.
Breathless and defenceless, he chirps in affirmation, before he vocalises it in a hoarse half-whisper, and despite the pleased haze that coats every letter, something in his tone is almost daring: "Yours."
Scar loves that little chirp â he loves the confirmation, however daring it may be posed. In fact, he likes that particular detail a lot, because he's happy to oblige.
His fingers trail across the curves and freckles, exploring again now that he can shamelessly stare and watch for Grian's reaction. He meets Grian's gaze, vision still somewhat foggy, and he realizes he needs to say something now before he's too far gone to resist. Because he's slowly losing himself to the boundless desire to consume, whatever that may entail, and his skin is practically sizzling and singing every spot where feathers overlapâŠ
Grian meets Scar's gaze back, equally dazed and indescribably present; a scalding, endless pool of emotions reflected in his eyes, open yet unreadable. He makes soft noises at Scar's touch over the tender skin, fingernails lightly dragging against Scar's back in response, but none of him is running away from this.
He's staying put, an obedient little prey, ready to be consumed.
"Grian," Scar forces out, leaning back in so his breath is felt over Grianâs cheek.
Grian's breath hitches instantly in response, eyes falling shut. His name sounds so sweet yet strained on Scar's lips, and he wants to take it from him, to unshackle those restraints around it.
But Scar's leaning over his cheek, not his lips, and Grian is nothing but obliging, baring his skin, whichever part of it Scar happens to desire.
"Scar," he returns in a hoarse whine, the need to call him back scalding hot in his veins.Â
"You'reâ" Scarâs voice cracks, but it's different than before. It's like he's interrupted by a needy growl, teeth bared. But Scar recollects himself, eyes still blazing, alight with wild magic and yearning. "You're toeing a dangerous line here, yâknow..." He's trying to be delicate about it, merely allude to the burst of primal emotion he's fighting to control. "... toying with a vex." He says it like it could just be a joke, a simple tease, but he's so entirely serious about it.
Ah.
There it is.
Grian suddenly understands all the complexity swirling through Scar's expression.
And he takes it without flinching. He hums, bringing one hand up, to brush through Scar's hair, fingertips reaching to the back of Scar's ear, teasing lightly. A featherlight touch.
"I know."Â
It's so simple to admit.
His lips are slightly curved. A miniscule grin, something knowing, tender, welcoming.
He cranes his neck, leans in, steals a quick kiss.
"I know, Scar."Â
And he's still right here. Still so willing. Still absolutely surrendered. One wing draped over Scar, the rest of him pliantly underneath him, neck tilting to regain its bared position, not a shred of survival instinct left on display.
Scar still swallows hard, nerves alight. He's certain his desire is practically a tangible thing now, magic thrumming across his skin and driving him crazy.Â
"If youâ" he starts, hoarse, still so very strained, speaking through his teeth as they involuntarily press tightly together. With a shaky breath, he admits it, timid, but determined to be entirely transparent by just how much his instincts are running wild: "I'm gonna want to touch themâ you, your wingsâ" He wants it to be clear it's only because it's a part of Grian that he wants this, and he prays that's coming across, but words are so difficult to form in his dizzying haze. "... so if you don't want that, you need to tell me now."
Before I can't control myself, goes unsaid.
The conflict is so clear now, the way Scar is trying to hold back, for Grian, always for Grian.
Grian thinks maybe he wants Scar to let go.Â
Thrill runs across his spine, delving into downy feathers that coat his back, as Scar says the word wings. It's not often Grian hears it on his tongue, with Scar always carefully skirting around it. And what would at other times make him uneasy, now makes Grian perk upâsome bird instinct that's taking deep root in him, tangling into myriad of desires.Â
Because, yes. Wings. Wings.
The feathers draped over Scar's bare skin move lightly, brushing against him. repositioning. Not leaving that point of contact. Not shying away.
The possibility looms in Grian's mind, something set ablaze at a deep dark precipice, and as he swallows thickly, all he can think of is: want.
Scar needs an answer, and Grian thinks maybe he can give him some. Maybe he canâ Maybe they canâ
He licks his lips and his fingers tenderly brush through the hair behind Scar's ear, trying to soothe him into this. "I can't promise it'll be okay..." he starts. And it's true. He can't. He's aware he's riddled with countless barely-buried triggers right under his skin (under his feathersâ), all of it linked to a horrible terror, always just half a step from dreadfully raw, spiralling panic. But this, this feels different. This feels like maybe he could be something else, too. Like it doesn't have to be that.
He feels it, that glowing, intense desire to give himself over to Scar fully. A prey to a predator, shameless, fearless, unabashed. Untamed, both of them. Wild.Â
He tilts his head. Strands of hair shining with shades of gold in the firelight shift, fall across his forehead and out of the way, soft and clean, thanks to Scar's careful, loving hands.Â
The pause is there, hovering.
Grian is going to break it.
"But... Scar."
He lifts himself up, reaching for Scar; his hand tugs lightly at Scar's hair to aid him in his movement; his wing presses against Scar's back, too, helping Grian reach Scar's lips. He presses a tender kiss there, affectionate and pleading, and it tips into unbridled craving as he finishes with a flick of tongue and a gentle bite of his teeth.
"Make the danger feel good," he whispers, a half-purr half-growl tucked against the corner of Scar's mouth, breath hovering over the bitten spot on Scar's lip.Â
And then Grian's hand falls away from Scar's hair. All of him falls away, as he lets himself lie back down, his gaze flickering with warmth and desire in the hot, glowing light of the firelight. He's putting himself here willingly, underneath Scar, defenceless, skin bared, chest lifting up with breaths as his heart hammers against his ribs.
"And then you can touch," he finishes hoarsely, so very quietly. Soft and inviting, equally as hopeful as it's needy, his eyes never leaving Scar's.
And it's still so very different, a craving driving him insaneâhe wanted Scar's claws on his feathers not too long ago, but that was for destruction, and thisâ this isn't that. This is something completely different, miles away from whatever that spiral from before was; something that leaves Grian's throat dry, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.Â
He's playing with fire, and he fully intends to let it burn him. To consume him. He yearns desperately for this kind of intimacy, for Scar, Scar, Scar, for things to be something else for a moment. (Hands in his feathers and teeth on his skin and him amidst it all, willing, pliant, giving.)
Make the danger feel good, echoes throughout Scar's increasingly emptying mindâ he's slipping further, those words are driving him wild. He blinks several times, trying to process the roundabout permission he's been granted, the chance to try if only he can fulfill the promise of pleasure amidst danger. He hopes to clear his vision, lift the haze for a moment to provide a coherent response, but each blink only serves to hide the swirl of vibrant blue that dances across his eyes, glowing brighter each time he opens them.
Grian watches, patient and silent, lips parted in invitation, as Scar processes what he's just said. He sees the brightness of his eyes, the blue wisps that dance around. He knows how fraying and thin Scar's self control is.
He wants it to snap.
Scar opens his mouth, but no words come out, just a needy, shaken huff before he's leaning down and devouring, barely even a kiss, more of an open drag of teeth that's pressed into Grian's mouth, nonsensical and demanding.
There are claws and fangs and a bright blue fog swirling around the both of them, fighting against the vibrance of the firelight and winning.
Despite the initial apprehension, itâs a wonder to Scar how he ever doubted himself, because of course he wouldnât irreparably hurt Grianâ protecting him is as ingrained in his instincts as anything else. Itâs a spiral of both sides of his vex urgesâ to please and to devourâ a dizzying mesh, a thrilling fusion of desires.Â
They let themselves slip into this. Into controlled violence and hovering threats, into claws and fangs and blood, into nails dug into skin and bodies pressed close. Into danger that feels mindbogglingly good, stripping them of sanity as they keep, all too willingly, sinking deeper and deeper.
(Listen theyâre little freaks they definitely shouldâve negotiated a safe word before this all went down.)Â
"Mmm." Grian groans, a drawn out sound. Thereâs a fresh bite wound at the side of his neck that throbs, overcome with sensations as the tender, broken skin meets air and Scar's mouth, the fresh, warm blood smeared around in the process.Â
Deliriously, he tips his head to the side, eyes closed and hands trembling, giving that whole side of his throat to Scar. (He'd give him anything now. Anything.)Â
Scar grins, teeth bared and lips slightly smeared with blood, when Grian cranes his neck even more, allowing for even further abuse. He presses in close again, kissing the spot using his wicked little smile. "You'd really give in so easily?" he murmurs against the bruised skin, tone as crackly as it is velvety, a contradictory blend. His words are playful, but his voice drops as he adds, pensive: "... only for me I'd hope."
There's a small spur at the words, a reminder that Grian's soul should be made of resisting, stitched through with endless, mischievous fights. And yet it leads nowhere, a dead end against Scar's breath at his throat, the velvety rumble of his voice.Â
Grian whines, nonsensically, fingers weakly pawing at Scar's back without any real intention to sink in for now. His wing brushes over Scar again, a restless little motion of soft feathers, vulnerable prize caressing a vicious predator.
"For you," he echoes on a whine, barely remembering how to speak. And then he adds, laying himself bare and pliant, stripping all the defences and pressing control solely into Scar's palms (into his claws, into his teethâ): "Anything for you."
Scar practically keens at the admission, the surrender and for a second his voice is incredibly lucid as he lets out a quiet and almost incredulous, "gosh," words interlaced with a small chuckle.Â
The chuckle anchors all of Grian's attention for a searing moment, a different kind of delight rushing wildly through him, curving his lips heedlessly into a triumphant smile. Knowing he's making Scar feel things tastes like victory, like a reward in itself, and he wants to gloat, taking it in, before he throws himself off the precipice and gives Scar more of himself, to exacerbate that, to make Scar tip into this fall with him.
There's a more gentle, fond and intrigued touch down one of Grian's sides, a little less claw as Scar drags down his bare chest, but the tether snaps again as Scar licks over his lips, still hungry for more. The touch grows more purposeful and intense as he maps out his prey, testing the skin, seeking something.Â
He spots whatever it is in the center of Grian's chest, the dip of his ribcage, something vulnerable and alive as he feels the rush of blood and a battered heartbeat under his fingertips. His claws tap there eagerly as his grin once again grows toothy and wild, presenting his expression to Grian and drinking in the sight of his own.
Grian shudders under the touch Scar traces across his chest, something soft and exploratory. Grian can feel his breath stutter against those fingertips, wonders how Scar feels about that; but his answer is right here, as his gaze meets Scar's at the attention-calling tap of his fingers.Â
Breathlessly, Grian takes in Scar's grin, and oh, he's in trouble. His heart beats wildly against his ribs, somewhere under Scar's claws, as his eyes hang on Scar. Grian's irises are glowing with reflected blue, gaze as intense as it is hazed, vulnerability fighting with desire. His neck still throbs. The rush of urgent craving is ceaseless, drumming through his veins.Â
With a pang of ache that travels all the way down to pool below his stomach, Grian leans up, not minding that there are claws in the way on his chest, reaching to press the smallest brush of his lips against Scar in an almost-kiss, reverent puff of breath tingling in its wake.
"Yours," he murmurs, pushing Scar on.
Scar has to reel in his claws so as not to break skin when Grian movesâ that's his job to doâ and he purrs lowly against Grian's lips, smile turning devilish when Grian's speaks, the word music to his happily-flicking ears.Â
As pleased as he is by the gesture, he pushes Grian right back down where he belongs.Â
With a tantalising, toothy smile Grian obeys without struggle, cooing in encouragement, a praise, an affirmation that Scar's doing what he should here.
There's a searing awareness of their roles tearing a path through himâsomething about Scar's ability to tear him apart at the slightest whim; something about his own helplessness; something about how he's essentially pinned down. The flush of dizzying, quivery pleasure he feels at the thought is disintegrating all of his rationality, rendering him into an all too willing prisoner of any and all of Scar's cravings.
Scarâs claws drag down Grianâs chest, enough to mark but not to break skin. He's toying with the idea, letting the thought of drawing blood dance across his mind, set something ablaze in his eyes. (But he shouldn'tâ not hereâ not too muchâŠ)
Grian shudders; his rapid breaths tremble right underneath all that sharpness, his fluttering heartbeat rabbity beyond a cage of ribs that suddenly feel all too brittle, paper-thin, a protection that means nothing if Scar decides he doesn't want it there.
And still, Grian pulls up no protections.
Heâs a willing participant in this bloody abuse, letting Scar claw and bite, lost to the deliriousness of the sensations it brings. Like sea dragging him under, beckoning him to let it happen.Â
And at some point down the line, soft feathers of Grianâs earwing brush across the back of Scar's hand thatâs cupping his face. Grian wants him to know how much he's at his mercy, and how much he wants to be at his mercy.
Scar extends his fingers, no longer curling around Grian's cheeks, now experimentally carding through the feathers of the earwing that's been offered. He almost doesn't consciously register his decision to do so, he just feels something soft and knows he wants to touch, to claim, to pull, but noâ No, he wonât.Â
He is not going to harm Grian. Not like that.
He has other ways of claiming him after all.Â
And while Scar might only be dazedly, barely aware of the shift and touch of his hand, it shoots across Grian's sensesâthe fingers burrowing into the soft feathers of his earwings.
It's got nothing with a conscious decision; Grianâs body is controlled by a nonsense of instincts, and they dictate him to go limp, drawing a low, soft sound of out him. His earwing twitches, at first away, then towards the touch, giving itself over just like the rest of him.
Scar feels the moment the earwing gives into him, and he's instantly thrilled, sliding the longer feathers in between his fingers and releasing a low purr. His other hand does the same, mirroring the touch on the other side.Â
The earwing touches are enough to drive Grian insane, triggering something in him that's been dormant for too long, drawing out a spillage of pleading bird noises out of him. His wing that was lying sprawled across the ground lifts somewhat, curves, just to show off the feathers; they glisten with brilliant shades, reached both by blue wisps of magic and the warm glow of the campfire.
Scar shifts to more gentleness over the bruises, then reverently kisses the tips of Grianâs feathers, a soft little gesture heâs never been allowed to offer. His claws trace circles over the indents of his latest bite, and he leans to kiss and lightly suck on it, dazed from the taste of blood on his tongue.
And then he notices the wings.
The beautiful, multicolored span outlined by his own spectral glowâ a breathtaking sight. Scarâs eyes dilate as they lock onto the delicate hues that are normally so hidden away. They shine, freshly-cleaned, and although perhaps the method wasnât preferable, Scar still feels his soul catch fire with the knowledge that he was the one to wash them. Heâs the reason they sparkle right now and simultaneously the reason theyâre on full display.Â
His eyes are wide and eager, scanning the feathers and grinning wide at the sightâ his expression a mixture of ravenous and adoring.Â
Almost brainlessly, Scar mutters a string of nonsensical phrases under his breath: âmine, pretty, my pretty bird, so good, so goodââ before leaning down and properly kissing Grian, the words still slurred against their lips.Â
At the string of praises and possessive words, Grian coos, equally as incoherent. His wing stretches a bit higher, delighted, feathers shining against the multicoloured glow. The muscles ache, unused to the motion, but it feels good, something in him tingling and telling him that this is right. The vulnerable underside of the wing is there, perfectly within reach, not trying to hide or tuck away, a state they haven't been able to achieve once in this world before this moment.
Grian's gaze snags at Scar's grin, at that expression that tells him Scar's treading the thought of devouring him whole. It tugs at his guts, tightens his stomach, sends his breath out of rhythm, but none of it feels bad. He revels in it, shivers and sinks into it, the feeling ultimately warm, slinking around him like a spiderweb, making him hold still, dazed and unaware of the imminent danger.
"Yours, yours, good, yes, all yours," he echoes back at Scar, words half-coos, melting into the kiss. He hums against Scar's lips, a pleased, needy little noise. His hands travel higher up Scar's back and press, tugging at him, telling him he wants him right here, over himself.Â
When the kiss breaks, he follows, nipping at Scar's lips, trying to elicit something more yet again, playing into Scar's instincts in a way that seems deliberate, but is just a hazed jumble of incomprehensible cravings, something deep and richly yearning that doesn't take no for an answer.Â
Grian refuses to let Scar retreat in the slightest, and itâs that utter willingness and provocation thatâs keeping Scar just barely tethered to realityâ because surely his prey shouldnât be this pliant. Shouldnât be urging him on.
Because Grian isnât his prey, nor or his mealâ
But isnât he?Â
Once again, Scarâs head spins, dizzied as the line between mate and prey becomes muddled in his vex brain. And somehow through it all comes laughter of all things becauseâ because this started with a bath and now Grian is underneath him trilling and begging to be manhandled. Itâs borderline absurd and the sheer irrationality of both their behavior right now results in a sudden, throaty chuckle emerging from Scar as he teases Grianâs lips with his teeth.Â
Itâs almost silly, but more than anything, itâs electrifying, thrilling, exciting. Thereâs blood smeared over Scarâs fingers, and yet heâs having fun.Â
Scar's laughter sends a wave of warmth through Grian, so very different from the scorching heat of everything else. It's a sound he basks in, slotting it somewhere next to his wildly beating heart, treasured amidst the inferno that ravages the rest of his body. He hums quietly against it, reveling in the way the sounds merge, even as it tips into a whine at the tease of Scar's teeth on Grian's lips.
With struggling clarity, Scar continues to giggle, although it morphs into an alluring purr. âAlways said no one can have âemââ Scarâs hands frame Grianâs face, tucking his earwings over his cheeks. ââwell what if I want them?â A careful drag of claws through those tiny feathers and heavy breath over Grianâs lips. âWhat if I want you?â
Grianâs breath hitches, noises falling silent for a moment as Scar's claws lightly rake across his feathers, tucking the soft fluff of the earwings against Grian's cheeks. Grian's gaze holds onto his, dark and intense, and his throat bobs as he swallows emptily.Â
He feels dizzy, like he's going insane. His brain bounces the sharp thought of danger against his feathers, but he's holding still for Scar, expression hot and adoring and desiring. It feels explosive, like sparks of a live wire, and he wants it, all of it, a tinge of fear crashing into safety of this being Scar, the trust at the dazed awareness that he's in good hands, and he wants those hands to be clawed and at his skinâat his feathers.Â
A part of Grianâs brain that's made of pure instinct trills in happy victory, telling him this is what he wanted, that he succeededâhe showed off his feathers and his mate now wants him. It's intoxicating, a jumbled mess of agreements thrashing underneath Grian's tongue while he fights to figure out how to express any of them.Â
In the end, he coos, a small whine pressed against Scar's hovering lips. His earwings twitch, sending a spike of sensation though him as that creates a gentle drag against Scar's claws, eliciting a tiny mewl from his throat.Â
And through it all, he's still here, still not running.
When he finds his voice, it's equally soft and pleading; it sounds like gentle affection and like deep craving, all at once. It's showing boundless love to the beast while tempting it to devour him. "You can have," he murmurs, low and hoarse. "You can have me." All of me.
Scar feels as if he could howl with excitement and triumph, but instead what comes out is a hushed purr, a rumbly thing pressed right up against the corner of Grianâs lips.Â
âWonât hurt,â he whispers, in spite of all the damage heâs already wrought. But even in a haze of delirious bloodlust, Scar still draws the line there. He doesnât want to harm Grianâs wings. He has no intention of breaking those gorgeous feathers or of taking them for himself. He doesnât need to. He has Grian, all of Grian, and all Scar wants to do is to admire his lovely possessions.
To give them the love they deserve.Â
To give Grian the love he absolutely deserves.
Scar tucks a promise against the corner of Grian's lips, and Grian quietly coos back. A hushed, I know, tender and loving and trusting.Â
Thereâs still slight hesitation in Scarâs movements, months of ingrained resistance still fighting his every motion, but Scarâs hand finally leaves Grianâs cheek and those soft, tiny feathers to embrace the real prize. Dozens of greedy hands have tried and yet Scarâ fangs and claws baredâ is being offered them willingly. His lips curl in satisfaction.
Grian hums quietly at Scar's hesitation, hands tracing light patterns into the skin of Scar's back. Mapping out all the scarred tissue there, the edges of which he's seen many many times, memorised, and now they unfurl under his fingertips. His to touch. His, his, his.Â
He's going to be gentle with Scar's wounds, like he is with Grian's wings.
â and then his thoughts dissipate, his breath hitching shakily, as Scar's hand makes contact with his wing. A confusing onslaught of feelings rushes through him, and he both wants to look and doesn't want to see it. Some deep-rooted part of him tells him that he should be scared, that this should be dangerous, but the rest of him pushes against it, whispering soft and pliant I know, I know, I know.Â
He wants Scar's hand right where it is, and more. He wantsâ
Claws sink in between the feathers harmlessly as Scar trails his fingers down their length, positively entranced by this allowance. Thereâs a soft hum of appreciation, of reassurance, and Scarâs other hand stays, just as content with raking his claws through Grianâs hair.
Grian shudders, his emotions a tangle that tips into pleasure as Scar's clawed fingers drag across the tender underside of his wings, caressing the feathers that have been untouched for months. He tips his head into Scar's other hand that's tangled in his hair, nuzzling as a spillage of coos makes it out, a nonsensical string that is very, very far from distressed.Â
He takes one deep breath, that's meant to be steadying but instead quivers all the way through, and he pushes his wing into Scar's touch.
Eager to get access to every bit of whatâs just been offered to him, Scar drags Grian up, settling him once again in his lap. His other hand snakes around Grianâs waist, searching for a spot he was never allowed to touch, travelling to the base of Grianâs wings, claws running over the smaller feathers. He sinks his fingers into their length, revelling the softness in contrast to all his sharp edges.
And Grian is doomed. So completely, utterly doomed.
He shudders in the best of ways, the coo that makes it past his lips vibrating with it as his back arches and wings blissfully push into the touch. The hands in his feathers are driving him crazy. He's pressing himself against Scar, a babble of purring, whiny, defenceless bird noises spilling out of him unbidden, any semblance of self control left.
Neither of them wants to stop here.
And so they donât.Â
[thereâs somehow 10k more rp words to this debauchery. just use your imagination we now fade to black <33]
#hhau#cw suggestive#all the cws are upfront so uh#scarian#they're insane about each other your honour#in our original rp we called this bit âthe obscene idiotsâ#not safe or sane but very eagerly consensual#smitten idiots in love#they know nothing about vex stuff or mating bites at this point mind you#just a friendly reminder of that <3#but the mating bite absolutely happened here#i skipped over some stuff but i think it still reads ok#(say hi if u read it and didn't skip it pls this took so much effort)#(but it's ok to skip ofc!!!)#GRIAN GETS HIS WINGS TOUCHED!!#they're in love and this was a big moment#for so many reasons
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look i am all for the james âchristmas whoreâ potter and regulus âthe grinchâ black but what we are all forgetting is that the grinch actually loved christmas he just pretended he didnât bc of his big sad heart
#and look i think it fits still#but i think regulus is not the grinch bc he hates christmas#i think regulus loves christmas#for so many reasons#heâs just not loud about it#regulus black#jegulus
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suzanne collins really made such a point about selling out your own people to assimilate with a ruling class that will never see you as one of their own with strabo plinth, he did The Most and in the end he paid the way for his son's murderer, a vile tyrant, to have a meteoric rise to the top.
#also what does this have to do with disctrict 2 being one of the career disctricts#i would literally read a sequel to this prequel#hunger games#the hunger games#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#sejanus deserved better#for so many reasons#strabo plinth#coriolanus snow#sejanus plinth#and yes I mean literally paid the way I know what the phrase is
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I have been waiting with bated breath but the end is nigh so it's time to get our final predictions in folks.
.
.
.
And I don't know.... I've had SO many predictions throughout this entire series and here we are, at end game, and I have no clue. Because Horikoshi is so talented at turning things where I least expect. Don't believe me?
Did you see "Kacchan of the Bakugos" live on world wide television happening?
Did you see "cutest girl in the world" happening?
Did you see "spend the rest of our lives together" happening?
(Spoiler Alert: There are so. many. more!)
Like we anticipated a lot of things as a fandom but then he would also smack us in the face with scenes straight out of our favorite fanfics. And why? Why did he do that? Why did he REUSE the line from School Briefs about Katsuki's relationship with girls in the final chapters of the manga? He didn't have to do that. He didn't have to do any of this!
Those were choices. Choices he actively made. Choices Shonen Jump let be published. Choices Bones is now animating. And it's because of those choices and that follow through that I'm so unsure now.
This all feels too pointed... Too intentional for there to not be a final bkdk scene/ending. So why the hesitation in predicting a bkdk ending?
Because. This ending isn't about the fandom. This ending isn't about "who's ship wins". And if you think that's all that's on the line here, then I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry, cause you missed it. You missed the point of this series and what bkdk as a canon couple would actually mean in the real world 2024.
MHA is one of the top animes in the world. Check the numbers. Not Japan. Not American. The world! Do you understand what it would mean to have a canon gay couple as leads in a mainstream Shonen anime? How many people that would reach?
Representation in media matters. Representation in MAINSTREAM media MATTERS. God, I could do a whole seminar on this topic but the point HERE being: a canon gay superhero couple in a top Shonen anime would have a massive effect on a global scale. And how many need to see that? How many people could that help? How many people could it change?
And though Horikoshi has shown a heavy leaning towards a bkdk end game, that doesn't mean he has to, or even can, follow through on it. Unfortunately, it's not up to JUST him. Shonen Jump could tank it. Bones could tank it! Do you get it yet? It's going to take A LOT for this to happen. And frankly my heart is having a hard time with it...
Because we've seen creators fight this fight before. The Legend of Korra. SheRa. Both always intended to have queer leads. But had to fight TOOTH AND NAIL with everything they had just to get a final closing scene.
We've also seen queer baiters. So many have pointed out the similarities to how Naruto felt. And because of the nature of the series' mangaka, we will never know what the truth is on that matter.
We've felt shunted by the system. We've felt laughed at for having hope to see a love like ours up on that screen.
But now we have hope again. And there /is/ a chance. There is a really real chance right now- that we could actually get it...
And that makes my chest tight.
#bakudeku#bkdk#the best way to fight ignorance is by showing truth#lgbtqia+ representation in mainstream has either been nonexistent or demeaning#to show a story of two queer boys becoming heroes#while realistically working and growing through the messiness of life and adolescence in an unjust society#showing real emotional growth and not being weighed down with stereotypes#THAT is what the world needs to see#for so many reasons#symbols of hope#thank you horikoshi#i wish the boiis a very happy ending#dekubaku#dkbk#decchan#bnha#mha#midoriya izuku#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x midoriya#katsuki x izuku#đđ§Ą#đ§Ąđ#dumpling rants#đ„#actual prediction is a hand hold
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Do you think jerejean will be endgame? I feel like out of everyone Jeremy is the best fit for Jean
o ya 100% i think Jeremy and Jean are the best fit for each other. theyâve got chemistry, theyâve got shared goals, just symbolically i think theyâre good for each other, and i love the dynamic it adds to each of their characters ie Jean liking people who are optimistic/bright and sunny (Renee, Jeremy) and Jean being able to read Jeremy really well/be attuned to whatever heâs repressing lol (Iâm just assuming thatâs where their dynamic is headed since Jean already has been so perceptive about Jeremyâs feelings)
for Kevin and Jean, i think that Kevin definitely doesnât feel the same way that Jean did (i think Jeanâs kind of moved on a bit), but even if Kevin did like Jean back i donât think it would be the healthiest option for either of them. personally i just absolutely love the dynamic of Kevin and Jeanâs current relationship, how it seems imbalanced with Jean liking Kevin and only having Kevin to rely on, but Kevin not quite as invested (but obv still caring for Jean)
and Jean and Renee just donât see each other enough, i think itâs been set up narratively that theyâre just friends now
#iâve always just loved the idea of jeremy/jean#for so many reasons#i think that the only like barrier theyâll have is the fact that Jeremy is Jeanâs captain which wouldnât normally matter#but since thatâs the dynamic that Riko had + thereâs the awful rumors going around about Jean sleeping around regarding him being assaulted#i think that Jeremy will feel a bit reluctant to act on his feelings and Jean will have to take the first step#and kind of be like ?? hello??#but also maybe not depending on how the dynamic between the two of them changes next book#if jean opens up a bit more and jeremy feels more comfortable that jean would be able to say no when he doesnât want smth#then i think Jeremy would be more willing to make the first move#bc rn jean is not saying no when he needs to be for other things#clearly i could talk more about this anon pls tell me what you think im very curious#aftg#tsc#jerejean#the sunshine court#jean moreau#jeremy knox#ask tag
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#holy shit#love this#for so many reasons#Stanford pines#fiddleford mcgucket#who does that make bill? gus fring?#stan is hank for sure#anyway found this on reddit and had to share
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Curious: do any of yâall understand my username?
#itâs fine if not#just wanna know#community#community tv#jeff winger#abed nadir#britta perry#annie edison#buzz hickey#sighhhh#i hate him#ik season 5 is not widely enjoyed#for good reason tbf#but the meow meow beenz episode is just#so special to me#for so many reasons
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« I know it's true It's all because of you And if I make it through It's all because of you
And now and then If we must start again Well, we will know for sure That I will love you
Now and then I miss you Oh, now and then I want you to be there for me Always to return to me »
Now and Then - The Beatles
#This song was so perfetc!#For so many reasons#For this episode anniversary#klainevalentines2024#day twelve#I mixed the two for the occasion I hope it is okâŠ#607 anniversary#klaine#klaine fanart#klaine fan art#Esilherâs drawings
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Della Duck would love the Guardians of the Galaxy movies
#for so many reasons#but mainly because theyâre all quality movies#just A+ movies imo#ducktales headcanons#della duck#ducktales fandom#duckblr
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Them.
đžđđ©·
#goro takemura#other ocs#my v#takemura goro#c: goro takemura#cyberpunk 2077#takemura x v#love them#and this pose is perfect#for so many reasons#jealous?#i guess some are
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eddie doesnât want to move, but heâs not doing it as self punishment. he wants to be with his kid, but heâs still scared of actually having that conversation, so heâs doing what he thinks is the next best thing. buck is allowed to be sad by eddieâs decision, and yeah, the show made a point to include him in the storyline, but itâs important to acknowledge that eddieâs decision is about eddie and chris. the fact that it affects buck is not on eddie. making this whole entire thing about poor poor baby buck is weird. nothing new, i know. but itâs weird. eddieâs life is the one being upended because heâs leaving the first and only place he ever chose and felt loved and welcomed and like heâs actually enough. heâs doing it because his parents are actively excluding him from his sonâs life and he doesnât want that anymore. heâs making a hard choice, and heâs very obviously struggling with it, and buck saw that. and supported him, immediately. because itâs what eddie needs. buck put his feelings aside because itâs not about him.
#there is a lot of nuance here and itâs somehow being reduced to poor poor abandoned buck#which. yeah. okay. this is gonna affect him negatively#for so many reasons#but can we please also acknowledge the eddie of it all#because this is eddies story#a rambles
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