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#i just wish i could concentrate and work and be productive man. why do i have so much stuff going on in my brain. why is everything so hard

tmzrkstan · 10 months

Text

nct 127 as co-workers asking you out.

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✦ warnings: a little bit of cursing.

✦ genre: nct x gn!reader, co-workers to lovers, fluff.

•----------••----------••----------••----------••-------•

✦ Taeil:

•He was at that company since his graduation and knew how things worked;

•When you entered as an intern his superiors gave him the job of teaching everything around there;

•This man always though that dating should be separeted from working, for professional questions;

•Thats why he stop being nice and friendly with you and start talking the minimum as possible the moment he caught himself smiling like a fool while watching you;

•You tried to ask if you did something wrong but all you got back was "as long as you're doing your job, its fine";

•The day you was too afraid to ask for help from Taeil and end up with another guy sitting next and obviously flirting with you he felt bad;

•That gave him a mental ultimato to something or he could forget about you;

•So the next morning you find a post it at your desk: "I know I have been rude, but can I make it up to you buying a coffee?" and a anxious look on his face.

✦ Johnny:

•You had just transferred from another branch and was kinda lost with everything new;

•Johnny liked to call himself welcome committee leader;

•Then he didn't waste time and welcomed you with a list of the best places in town that you "must" visit;

•The fact that you spend the whole week laughing of his silliest jokes made him realize how pretty you your smile was;

•Got to the point where you two received bad looks from those who tried to concentrate and do some work;

•So you when you almost leaving for the night he asks: "What about giving them a rest and go out for drinking? I can show you one of the places I told you about.".

✦ Taeyong:

•You always felt lucky about the team you worked on, everyone was nice to each other;

•Even when there was a rare discussion it didn't last long, especially because of Taeyong, the kind guy you always looked up to;

•He just felt that him should make everyone comfortable and ended up leaving his wishes behind;

•One big example was that he had been trying for months to ask you out but always end up in a group date;

•Don't get him wrong, he really enjoyed those people, but on the other hand was into you for almost a year;

•Inevitably found himself way too drunk muttering his frustration about not being able to confess his feelings at the bar's table with your colleagues like "🥺";

•The next day he hardly has the courage to talk to you, but after realizing that his feelings were mutual didn't wasted more time;

•A few minutes before you arrived on your date, he sends a text to confirm if was just the two of us.

✦ Yuta:

•Beeing an foreign made him have a leg up on his popularity;

•Yuta was kinda mysterious about his personal life, which generated more whispers around the company;

•But somehow, he noticed you among so many people;

•You would been lying if you said you were never attracted to the mysterious japanese man, you just didn't spend hours talking about him;

•Which eventually caused a questionary from your friends in the cafeteria, like, how could you not be curious about Yuta, why didn't tried to get more information like everybody else;

•That moment was when the aforementioned man appeared out of nowhere confirming: "They gonna get all the information out of the source at our date today.";

•He gave you a winked and handed you a paper with his phone number, leaving behind a table freaking out on you.

✦ Doyoung:

•You were in a way the one working for him;

•Like, when he needed the product you sold he would just call you and meet with you to pick it up;

•You didn't approve of the idea of a date because you might have conflicts of interest, even after he asked you a few times;

•"What you want me to do? Buy it from another person?"

•Until the day he asked to change the delivery location and you found yourself standing in front of a restaurant.

•"I can only pay you after you have lunch with me" he said, and you accused him of taking advantage of you;

•But anyways, you were already there so it would be okay to try, right?

✦ Jaehyun:

•You were sure he hated you;

•Everytime that he needed something from you he would go to your table you would get lost in your thoughts, why didn't he like you? Altough, you were intimidated by him.

•He wouldn't even look you in the face, barely spoke two words and when he saw you in the break room he'd leave.

•Jaehyun was waiting for you to finish analyzing what he brought you when you let out: "Why you hate?" without thinking;

•The conversation went like: "Sorry, what?"/ "What?"/"What did you say?"/ "What did I say what?"/"🤨"/"😐";

•That question hovered over the poor man's head the rest of the day;

•Next morning he approached: "I thought you didn't like me, when you started working here you always ran away from me, so I didn't mean to make you more uncomfortable.";

•You find it cute and admitted to feeling intimate thanks to his beauty and intelligence;

•No a long time after that he asked you out of nowhere.

✦ Jungwoo:

•You I had been teaching him something for days, and he never seemed to understand;

•Even advised him to ask someone else, as you were doubting of your teaching ability;

•But he always made a point of confirming that it should be you;

•One day, you caught him doing it perfectly alone and you went like "😲";

•When he came to you for help again you made him confess that he already knew what to do, and forced him to say the reason for the torture;

•"I was hopping this would made you realize that you like me and ask me out, but you too dumb for that.";

•A few days later, you find yourself having dinner with him, still indignant.

✦ Mark:

•The classic trope of long term friends that are secretly in love with each other;

•Apart from the fact that everyone has already noticed this;

•You always helped each other and spent as much time as possible together in a corner laughing;

•Even though everyone told Mark to come clean, he swore you had a secret life outside of work, maybe even married with kids;

•No one could take the drama anymore, so the team got together and forced you to go out together;

•When you realized there were only the two of you, you thought it was a personal joke, but Mark understood what he had to do;

•It took all night, but he finally confessed and asked you out on a real date.

✦ Haechan:

•You weren't enemies, but you loved to compete with each other;

•Even though it left you with your emotions on edge, your boss didn't care because it meant greater results.

•When you reached the same goal on the same day, you had to break the tie, this time with a prize;

•Unfortunately for your ego, Haechan won and for the prize you had to run out and buy him lunch;

•In the lunch room, you wish him a good meal sarcastically and he forces you to eat with him;

•"You so dumb, if you want a date just say it 🙄";

•"Then we're having dinner tonight 😉".

•----------••----------••----------••----------••-------•

✦ author: first time trying it here! sorry for any mistake, english is not my mother language. Hope you like It!!!

#nct #nct 127 #nct127 x reader!#imagine #reaction #scenarios #gn!reader #mark lee #johnny suh #haechan #taeyong #taeil #yuta #jaehyun #jungwoo #doyoung #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop reactions

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twisted-lover-boys · 2 years

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If you don't mind could you please write a cute dabble of the dorm leaders reactions to being kissed by male or gn reader for the first time? thank you, have a good day/ night ^^

Dorm Leaders And Their First Kiss

{not proof-read}

aaa my first drabble for this blog! And a cute one!

I still have a few more requests left so as soon as I get those out I’ll open the ask box again!

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🌹🦁🐙🦂👑💀🐲🌹🦁🐙🦂👑💀🐲

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It was one of the many unbirthday parties in Heartslabyul. The underclassmen and upperclassmen were enjoying all the food and games prepared for this reoccurring event. You, however, were enjoying some time with your boyfriend, Riddle.

You couldn’t help but stare at him from across the small tea table. Riddle noticed and asked what was wrong. You motioned him get closer. As he leaned over the table to you, you quickly leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips. He instantly leaned back and turned red from embarrassment.

“I-I,,,y-you,,,p-please don’t do that w-without telling me first.”

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Savanaclaw was always pretty hot and it surprised you how cool the dorm rooms can be, especially Leona’s. That’s where you found yourself this afternoon, resting in said beastman’s bed while he snoozed away in your arms

You took this time to really look at him. He was your first boyfriend after all. The more you stared at him, the more you noticed the rest of his facial features. You slowly leaned down and place a gentle kiss on his lips. What you didn’t expect was for Leona to lean up and kiss back.

“You’re one brave man aren’t you? Heh. Well, don’t be afraid to ask for another.”

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Octavinelle was always such a beautiful dorm to you. How it seemed to be underwater yet never feel like it amazed you. You would’ve loved to explore more but you were stuck in the VIP room with your boyfriend Azul. He had been working himself to death lately and you thought a walk around the dorm would help him yet he refused.

As you watched him work, you took a good look at him. How his brows creased in frustration or how his cheeks would puff in a pout or his tongue would stick out in concentration…you honestly couldn’t help yourself as you stood up pulled his bow tie and kissed him on the lips.

“Wh—why on earth—I, uh…..p-please do that again…?”

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Dorm parties in Scarabia were always lively and bright and it was usually thanks to the cheerful party-thrower dorm leader Kalim, who just so happened to be your boyfriend. He kept you close to him for a majority of the party, introducing you as his boyfriend, no matter if people knew or not.

Once you both finally got some down-time, you couldn’t help but look at him. He was very handsome yet his more softer features gave him a youthful look. You called for his attention, which he gladly gave you by turning his head to you. You leaned in close to him and kissed his lips. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Ahaha! That felt nice! Can you do it again? Pleease?”

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How Pomefiore managed to keep up with grace and elegance while also being a terrifying foe is beyond you. The perfect example would be their dorm leader, Vil, also known as your boyfriend. You were sitting on his bed while he did his normal face routine.

You stared at his complexion through the mirror. Every stroke and rub of product was meticulous as always and how he had that concentrated look on his face. You were knocked out of your vision by Vil sweetly calling your name. You couldn’t help but lean over and place a kiss on his lips.

“Ah, my lip balm got ruined. I’ll let it slide this time but, do you wish for another?”

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Ignihyde was always so gloomy on the outside yet it was a technological paradise inside and your boyfriend, Idia, seemed to like it that way. You knew that he didn’t like going out that much but you wanted to do more than just watch him play games from his bed.

While he was distracted by his computer, you took this time to look at his features. You weren’t always able to look at them and he’d cover his face with his hoodie often. Idia had turned his chair to you so you took this small window of opportunity to kiss him on the lips, smearing his blue lipstick in the process while his blue hair went up in pink flames.

“Wh—WAHH!! D-don’t do that w-without warning me first!!”

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Nightly walks between you and your boyfriend Malleus were quite common. You walked around the quiet parts of campus and admired the architecture, mostly Malleus.

While taking some down time and sitting on a bench you both found, you took this opportunity to really study his features. He really was something else to you. Malleus had felt your gaze on him and stared back with a love-struck look on his face. You stretched up to him to place a gentle kiss on his lips.

“My, you truly have a bold way of affections, don’t you?”

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🌹🦁🐙🦂👑💀🐲🌹🦁🐙🦂👑💀🐲

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24hrsoda · 13 days

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So I've been trying to read more stuff on the al ghuls in comics and I already know so much can be.....counterintuitive depending on writing, but at one point I think in son of the demon ras says he fought the axis powers then death and the maidens he left Nyssa in a concentration camp 😭😭😭 how do u even parse thru everything tbhhhhh

Death and the Maidens is a run i read once and never want to touch again. Might be one of the worst comic runs i have ever read. I don’t hate many things but I hate that run so much I wish I could forget it.

It’s exactly what I mean when I say there’s moments of Ra’s being so unnecessarily evil, and it’s usually just to make another character look better/stronger/tougher. (Fanon does this too, especially with the other bat boys who afaik don’t have deep relationships with Ra’s like Bruce and Damian do.)

What reason does Ra’s (who is supposed to be a Brown Man and an extreme environmentalist) have to work with Hitler and let his own family suffer at the hand of Nazis??? Most of that was to build up Nyssa’s character as the “feisty bad girl oldest sister with daddy issues”. I think that wasn’t a great choice.

For many obvious reasons. In a world where anything can happen because it’s fiction, why use the suffering and tragedy of real people to portray a character being bad/evil? Why do you have to pair him off with some of the worst real life people? Also, how relevant is Nyssa’s entire character anyways? She doesn’t show up or do anything significant anymore. I would argue she wasn’t significant then either.

(There was also the weird pseudo incestuous thing with Nyssa and Talia where she took off all of Talia’s clothes and had her crawling around and clinging to her while naked that just…feels like it was written by A Man™️)

And it’s very much a product of its time. The 2000’s were…kind of bad for a lot of comics. It’s not a wild thing to believe that the villain who’s supposed to be Arab man in a post 9/11 world is compared to the likes of hitler for no reason other than to show readers he’s supposed to be a bad guy that we all need to hate.

Recently, in comics, Ra’s has had a redemption and has admitted his wrongdoings. Followed by him turning himself over to the authorities and wanting to share the science of the Lazarus Pit and his knowledge of Physiology with the rest of the world. Damian later came to understand that Ra’s did this because he was 100% serious about turning his life around and an “I’m sorry I was bad” wasn’t enough to prove to everyone that he wanted to be better.

Everyone can decide for themselves if they like this take on Ra’s or if they prefer him evil. At the end of the day it’s not my job to make sure everyone enjoys the character the way I do and learns what to ignore or look past. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That being said…nobody has to like my art or my headcanons or my takes on characters. Especially the Al Ghul’s. The things I make are not canon and I really don’t want them to be canon. I just like to create things and I like drawing cute stuff ! So…can y’all please be mindful of some of the tags and comments you leave on some of my sketches 🥲

I guess I kind of waffled on….the short answer would be some comics are very much written poorly or with some kind of bias and it’s up to you to decide if you want to acknowledge it. (Canon doesn’t seem to be acknowledging these things anymore so there’s no harm in us being like “yeah that sucked” and moving on to something else)

And to remember that at the end of the day, Ra’s is not real and he has never hurt real people.

#ask #long post #ra’s al ghul

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theendofachapter · 1 year

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“What a life.”

I really hate days like these. I need to stop overthinking. Soon I won’t have time to sit with my thoughts anymore and I guess that’s a good thing. I’ve been working out a lot and I’m starting to get back to where I was before the pandemic. I can’t believe I really just sat around and did nothing productive during that year and a half. I just feel so empty lately. Like nothing excites me.. nothing makes me happy, but I guess I’m not feeling the pain as much anymore too. I really need to stop dwelling on the past, and reliving the times we hung out, and trying to figure out why things ended like this. Earlier I was looking through my phone for pictures of tofu.. and saw the videos of her playing the piano.. and her singing when we went to karaoke. I tried not to watch them.. but I did. It made me sad.. and wish that I could go back to those simpler times. That day when I saw her play the piano for the first time was when I realized that I really liked her.. how she was so concentrated on the creation of the music.. how it seemed like she could see music in the air.. I still get little reminders of her throughout the day.. which sucks. Every time i spray my sanitizer.. when I use my face lotion.. when i do laundry.. but I just keep repeating in my head that she hates me and it makes it easier to deal with. I miss her so much.. I just wonder how she’s doing. If she’s happy now, if things have gotten better at home, with her health, if … she’s with her ex now. I really hate him.. for doing what he did to her, especially after all the horrible things she’s already been through. I know she doesn’t care what I think, but.. I just pray he really is a good person and will take care of her for real, and won’t ever hurt her again. I know it’s unfair to hate someone you don’t even know.. and you shouldn’t have hate in your heart.. but i do. I hate the guy who raped her. I wish I knew what he looked like so if I ever saw him.. Id kick his ass. To the point where he will know why he’s getting his ass kicked. The physical pain wouldn’t compare to what he’s done to her, but he needs to feel at least an ounce of pain that she’s been through. I don’t even care about the consequences, you don’t get to just walk free after doing what he did. I know violence isn’t the answer.. but fuck, what kind of low life rapes someone? And he gets away with it?? Fuck that. Man I get so pissed when I think about it.. this is turning really negative.. I really hate all the people who have ever wronged her, she doesn’t deserve any of the things she’s had to go through.

I still think about her sometimes.. God I just miss her so much.. I hate how things turned out. I was so fucking stupid to let my feelings get in the way. I should have stayed away the first time I told her I liked her and that she didn’t have feelings for me. It was so hard though, but I guess that would have been better than the alternative.. than this.. right now. I just want her to be happy. I really don’t understand how I had fallen for her this hard.. and I guess I never realized how much I had until I was blocked out of her life. It sucks thinking about her with someone else.. whoever she ends up marrying better treat her right..

—

I honestly think I’m going to be single the rest of my life. I don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone like her again. Even if I do meet someone.. they’ll always be compared to her, and that’s not fair to them. I always wanted a family.. two kids.. a boy first.. then a girl, so he could always protect his sister. I want to provide for them.. and give them everything that I never had. I want them to have a real childhood.. where both parents are there. I don’t want them to grow up too fast.. like I had to. I always wished I was just a normal kid.. from a normal family. At 15 I already had to grocery shop for the week and make dinner every night for my 5 younger siblings.. and thinking about it now I only had $100 grocery money for the week.. inflation is crazy. I sometimes resented them.. and would bully them.. because I always thought it’s because of them that I couldn’t have a normal life. It just sucked seeing my mom tired all the time though.. my dad was gone and she would come home so late to make just enough money for rent. As soon as I turned 18 I moved out.. which was probably really selfish of me. I still helped out and paid all their phone bills.. but I wasn’t even making that much so I don’t even know how I did it. I just remember those apartment days were my ‘dark days.’ I don’t know anymore.. I guess this is life.. wow I’m starting to sound like my dad.. the phrase I heard from him all the time when he was around, “what a life.”

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newshirtonlines-blog · 2 years

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dreamgrlarchive · 4 years

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Self Care 101 🦋

In this post I’ll be outlining my current routines as they relate to self care. I’ll cover everything from head to toe making sure not to skip your spirit. You cannot be a girl of ANYONE’S dreams if you aren’t taking care of the most important person in your world: you.

mornings:

wash face with gentle cleanser from curology, tone with organic Mamonde rose water and finish with rich moisturizer and spf30

brush teeth with activated charcoal toothpaste by Crest and baking soda for whitening and gum clarity

take vitamins : woman’s one a day, hair skin nails, biotin, vitamin c

drink glass of water then a cup of tea

black tea, raw cane sugar, a lemon slice, ginger

good for energy, immune function, and detox

showers:

this may sound so extra (😅), but depending on my hairstyle, I sometimes like to let the shower run for about five minutes with the door closed to create a sauna effect. this is especially if I have a mask on my hair.

my showers usually are about 20-30 minutes

I have a back brush, pink exfoliating gloves, a loofah, and tree hut body scrubs and I use them ALL.

I wash first with my dove beauty bar to assure clean skin before washing with EITHER my OGX Shea So Soft body wash or Dove Renewing Peony and Rose Oil body wash to add scent or silkiness to my skin.

hair removal:

I haven’t yet mastered the art of waxing myself so I’m still riding the shave wave. *when I do I’ll make a post 4 that*

I exfoliate throughly before AND after shaving

I shave my entire body using Tree Hut Shaving Oil and a nice conditioner I’m not using. This leaves my skin super soft and silky and helps the razor to glide without skipping. I use Gillette Venus. no less than five blades, anything less is ASKING for nicks and a hard time.

when I don’t feel like shaving, I use Nair. use at your own risk. yes, I Nair my ENTIRE BODY. only leaving it on for about 7 minutes I rinse in WARM (not hot) water and exfoliate afterwards. it is imperative to moisturize after to avoid irritation. however, Nair is much easier to do than shaving and seems to last an inkling longer.

after shaving, once a month, I pull out my KENZZI. it’s an IPL device and it has helped to slow the growth of my hair. it’s noticeable for us long, thick haired chicks. I use the second to lowest setting as a melanated babe, as the higher settings could burn me.

I know many endorse the hair on women movement and I can understand it. But I personally love my skin silky, hairless, and smooth.

nights:

after eating dinner, I wash my face and apply the tiniest bit of glycolic serum and my curology night cream. my skin has been the best it’s been in a few years. then I brush my teeth and rinse with peroxide.

every four days I give myself a facial

my favorite face masks:

The Ordinary Salicylic Acid mask

The Ordinary AHA + BHA mask

all Tony Moly sheet masks *luvvvvv those*

GLAMGLOW SUPERMUD clearing treatment *fav*

Peter Thomas Roth Pumpkin Enzyme mask

Peter Thomas Roth Cucumber Gel mask

Peter Thomas Roth Irish Moor Mud mask

Peter Thomas Roth Rose Stem Cell Bio-Repair Gel mask

ORIGINS Clear Improvement mask

An at home honey and aloe mask

I apply a rich facial moisturizer and get to bed.

I then write in my planner my new plans and what I did that day if I hadn’t already. then after that I script and make mood boards in my diary. then I read a little. currently reading: Making Faces by Kevyn Aucoin, and Live Like a hot Chick by Jodi Lipper.

emotions:

I talk to my grandmother about my feelings, she helps me sort things out. please try to find one person you trust to talk to, my messages are always open. 💓 I often overthink. I suffer from anxiety and clinical depression. sometimes these things make me FEEL limited. these experiences wax and wane. I remind myself that the darkness is temporary.

I write in my diary what I feel and track my emotions for potential patterns. I don’t manufacture or sugar coat my feelings, I just talk.

sometimes you need a good cry. let it out. clean your slate. you’ll always feel better, sometimes great after a hard, deep sobbing cry.

I try to get out of the house and get some sunlight. it helps brighten my mood sometimes.

baths:

LOVE taking baths I don’t care what the status quo is about dirt. just rinse off. I love wrapping my hair up and soaking in warm-hot water.

first I run the water. as it’s running I add my bubble bath, then body wash, then my Shea Moisture fragrant coconut oil. it smells soooo good, literally yummy. then I inevitably scream from dipping my toe in the hot water. finally I get in, scrub down my body, emphasis on feet. then I wash, and just relax. I’ve even fallen asleep in the tub once, I was so zen.

careful not to soak too long or overdo it with your products. synthetic materials lingering in your lady bits for too long cause cause infections like bv or uti

some women add tea tree oil, acv, or even Aztec clay to their baths for wellness purposes. I love adding essential oils to my baths to relax and the natural scent is just great 🥺

when I get out I always put something that feels lush and soft on. *invest in super soft, comfy bath towels, they’ll make you feel so luxurious and soft after a nice relaxing bath*

flower:

the yoni is something sensitive that needs to be taken care of thoroughly, and differently than the rest of your body. it’s not recommended to use soaps down there, it can unbalance things and make you itch. also make you prone to infection. this is why I use clear warm water to clean. if I use soap it’s a sensitive, gentle formula. don’t ever try to clean the cavity. she’s a self cleaning vessel.

to shave, I trim my hair down as close as possible and use a FIVE BLADE razor with conditioner and take my time. making sure not to pass a spot twice, I apply moderate pressure and move slowly. when finished I rinse and scrub gently. I PAT not rub dry. to finish off I apply TendSkin, and salicylic acid to avoid ingrowns. once that’s soaked in I apply shea butter. very soft and pretty 🌸

⚠️ DO NOT PUT ON TIGHT PANTIES OR RIGHT PANTS AFTER SHAVING. it restricts the hairs and causes irritation and ingrowns. throw on some comfy loose shorts for a while, let it breathe

dietary needs:

drink plenty of water

cranberry juice

vitamin c

minimal red meat

probiotics

at home vagacial for the high maintenance girlies:

*make any necessary extractions with pointed and slanted tweezers *

scrub:

brown sugar, tea tree oil, a little shea butter

exfoliating and anti inflammatory

mask:

baking soda, fresh lemon juice, vitamin e oil, papaya juice, gelatin

fixes discoloration and brightens the skin while softening

moisturize:

aloe vera gel, rose hip seed oil

smelling sweet:

ah yes, my favorite part. I love fragrance so much. I love to smell like you could literally break off a piece of me and eat it.

I find that using fragrant washes and oils make your scent more strong and help it linger. I already mentioned the body washes I use. the tree hut scrubs I use smell amazing also. I alike to add essential oils and man made scents like strawberry and chocolate to my Shea Moisture oil (so yummy).

I also use a fragrant lotion, eau de parfum, and fragrance mist.

here’s a list of some of my favorites:

perfumes:

jimmy choo fever

coach floral blush

yves saint laurent mon paris

victoria’s secret bombshell

victoria’s secret scandalous

valentino

fragrance mists:

victoria’s secret velvet petals, pure seduction, warm and cozy

bath and body works a thousand wishes, fiji pineapple palm, warm vanilla sugar, black raspberry vanilla

oils:

coconut

sweet almond

peppermint

chocolate scented essential oil

strawberry scented essential oil

orange

grapefruit

eucalyptus

sweetest combo ever:

vanilla extract, coconut oil, shea butter, and your favorite perfume. you’ll be smelling like a warm cupcake with extra sprinkles and icing 🧁

layering:

oil, lotion, eau de parfum, mist

pulse points:

inside elbows and knees, in between thighs, inner arms, behind ears, back of neck, ankles

hair:

it’s super important to keep your hair moisturized. quenched tresses move, grow, shine and bounce. dry hair is limp, lackluster, and extremely fragile

my fav diy deep conditioner:

a banana, half an avocado, three spoons of honey, an egg, a spoonful of mayo, a spoonful of coconut, olive, and castor oil each

strength from egg, avocado, mayo and olive oil

moisture from avocado and honey

cover damp CLEAN hair and scalp in mixture and cover with a plastic bag, then towel for an hour, rinse thoroughly, and seal in moisture

fav hair products:

castor oil

fusionplex conditioner and mask

Aussie conditioner

wella goji berry mask

coconut oil

style booster edge control

helpful tips:

when shampooing, concentrate on the scalp and wash thoroughly twice, as the suds will naturally cleanse your stands without drying and stripping them

rinse hair with apple cider vinegar every now and then. it restores your ph balance, smooths the cuticle, clarifies the strands, and adds shine

always add oil and leave ins to DAMP hair, never dry; this will ensure you’re sealing in moisture

try to use smooth fabrics to dry your hair, bath towels encourage frizz and breakage

hands and feet:

and last but not least, let’s cover manicuring and pedicuring.

it’s super important to make sure your nails are either DONE or filed, shaped, and smooth. at home maintenance is super easy. make a point to scrub your hands and feet well when bathing. make sure to stay on top of your cuticles by trimming or pushing them back. I like the look that pushing them gives. I use an orangewood stick, metal pusher and cuticle softener to make the process super easy and safe. after I’m done I add my pineapple scented cuticle oil. I do this on my fingers and toes.

invest in a rasp and pumice stone for your feet and use these gently every two weeks after soaking them in warm foot salts. rough usage can cause cuts and irritation. in between treatments keep your feet soft by slathering them in a moisturizing foot cream, cocoa/shea butter then oil to seal it all in. buy some soft thick aloe infused socks and wear them to sleep. you’ll thank me 😉

for info on how I do my nails click this

well, that’s all I’ve got. I truly hope you enjoyed my post! it’s always fun sharing my advice with you all. any feedback is appreciated and question is welcomed ♡

#my posts #self care #high maintenance #the prissy girl agenda #dream girl journey

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decadentpaperduck · 2 years

Text

Night and Day - TASM! x Fem Reader (2/2) 18+

Based off the idea that Mr Peter Parker has a certain versatile quality. A tender, loving spidey, versus something a little darker. This one is self proclaimed Psycho Spider, but not really. This turned out huge with a bit of angsty lore in there and I kinda liked it. But now I am like???? Idk. Summary: Peter feels as though he is losing control and needs to find a way to get it back. Universe with characters v much of age, in 20s like. Warnings: Smut 18+ , swearing, bit of angst, mention of death

Saturday’s with Peter could never be predicted. Between his hobbies, his lab research and his Spiderman duties, it seemed as though there were just not enough hours in a day for him to juggle being Spiderman and Peter Parker. Some days this was more apparent than others.

This Saturday in particular, when you woke, it was just gone 10am. Peter didn’t enjoy disturbing your sleep but knew that you preferred not to waste your weekends. You thought perhaps he had just let you have a lie in whilst he disappeared to be a hero, but when you sleepily walked through to the kitchen, you saw him sat at your kitchen table, scratching his stubble that was already starting to show after shaving last night.

“Morning.” You yawned, approaching the table. “You should have woke me up.” He looked like he was trying to patch up one of his old suits, you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen that suit, or what it was, or who, that damaged it. Pete remained focused on the fabric in front of him, no attempt to greet you or acknowledge your words.

He was a dedicated and focused man, you loved that about him, but something about his ignorance was frustrating. You start making a coffee for yourself and replayed memories of him sat at your kitchen table. The first time he had sat there he didn’t know what to do with himself, and neither did you, you smiled at the thought.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I do some work here?”

“I mean that’s why I offered you to sit there.” You play with the strap on your watch, giggling.

“It could get messy.”

“I like messy.”

You couldn’t stop yourself, your mouth was running faster than your brain was. From that moment on, he was messy and you were his loving counterpart, ready to sweep up the chaos he left in his wake.

You cradled your coffee with both of your hands. The heat from the mug was a contrast to the cold room. You decided there was nothing you could bring to the task at hand and you weren’t in the business of running yourself into the ground trying to figure out what was wrong with him - those days were long gone. He was a big boy, if he wanted something, he would say.

You thought that, perhaps instead of querying his problem, you could do something to distract him from it? There had to be something you could cook up. Something to pull him out of it. You knocked back the rest of your coffee, wincing slightly at the pain.

You decided that the distraction would come in the form of the satin red shirt and a pair of leggings, nothing that would look too out there, but just enough to catch his interest, right? Wrong, apparently.

As you walked out, you tried to steal a glance at him but his eyes were trained on a loose thread. You steady yourself. Pete had no intention of deviating from his task and neither did you.

You washed up your coffee cup and wiped down the surfaces of the kitchen. Slow and long swipes across the counter and some purposeful leans. The teasing had turned into practical scrubbing and polishing of surfaces.

After about an hour, the kitchen was spotless, and Peter hadn’t moved a muscle. You sighed, a lot more obviously this time, the façade slipping away from you. Tucking the cleaning products out the way you tried to see the funny side, at least something productive came out of it, maybe he should ignore you more often.

Your eyes wandered to him, the concentration in his face was endearing and attractive all at once. You wished he would just look at you like that. You went back to your room and shut the door behind you. This was where Peter’s interest was suddenly piqued. His eyes followed the direction of the slamming bedroom door, wondering why the immediate need for privacy.

He tuned in to your murmuring on the other side. “Stupid woman. Stupid shirt. Fucking red too. Am I trying to be Spiderman or date him?” You shed the laughable attire and slung on a shirt that was hanging on the back of the door.

You were barely under the covers when Peter’s knock sounded from the other side. You were startled to say the least. You'd been sharing the space for hours in silence and now the sound of anyone other than yourself was alien. “What?” You couldn't help but bite now.

“Can I come in?” The first words he had spoken all day washed over you.

“I don't know. Will you speak to me?”

“I think that’s what I’m doing now, no?” There was something soft in the way he was speaking, completely different to how he was behaving earlier. “Fine”.

Pete paused before entering. He shut the door behind himself as if to show he was done with whatever was out there and his focus was all on you.

“What’s up?”

“You tell me.” He walked to your side of the bed and perched on the sliver of space between you and the edge of the mattress. “Why are you giving me the silent treatment?”

“I'm not-“ He sighed and stroked your forehead. “I guess I am. I'm sorry. Its not intentional, my head is just elsewhere. “

“Why won't you just talk about it?”

“I'm meant to be some sort of superhero, aren’t I?”

“Even heroes need help.”

“I need more than help.” He chuckled softly, playing with your hair. “I feel like I’m not in control. Of anything.” It made sense. His life was dictated by others. Deadlines and crimes weren’t something you could plan. “I got all…you know…angsty Spiderman.” He had a tendency to over think his responsibility. You sat up and his hand lifted up to your face. You looked into each other’s eyes longingly. “That suit…I was wearing it some time ago.” You reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Someone died an- and I made a promise. But like the idiotic superhero I am, I broke it. The suit being broken and the promise being broken felt poetic and I thought if I fixed it maybe it would fix something in my head and rectify some part of what happened. A weird control thing. I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

“I can't imagine what it feels like.” He had told you snippets of what had happened in his past, but never in this depth.

“Don’t try.” He squeezed your hand in return and laid down next to you. “I am sorry I went Psycho Spider.”

“Hey, not Psycho Spider. Peter Parker is carrying the weight of not one, but two identities, and two lifetimes of hurt. You will not apologise for that. Just talk to me and I will try to pull you out of it.”

“Where were these lovely and encouraging words when I needed them most, eh? Too busy getting dressed up to clean the kitchen?” He winked.

“Stopppp. If I’d known you were spinning out of control I might have done a bit more than that!”

“Might?!” He laughed loudly. You laughed together. You appreciated Peter’s vulnerability and his honesty, along with his desire to see the funny side.

“I was just trying to get your attention!” You had to admit you were ashamed now.

“You have my full attention.”

You lay there for what felt like forever, gentle hugs and caresses to reassure one another. You had been trying to think how you might help him, how you might give him the control he craved. “I have an idea.” You whispered. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Dangerous .” You rolled your eyes. “But go on.”

“Stop me if this is too far but...how about you...y'know, exercise some control over me?”

“And how might I do that sweetheart?” Your throat went dry, there was no going back.

“If you think hard enough,” You brushed the back of your hand over the crotch of his jeans with enough pressure to stir him, but lightly enough to play it off as an accident. “I'm sure you can think of a few ways.” He kept the moan in his throat.

“When you put it like that...” He already dark eyes seemed darker. “I think I need a better look at you.” You played along as he gestured for you to get out of bed and stand in front of him. The t-shirt skimmed the top of your thighs, hiding the parts of you that Pete desperately wanted to see. “Do a twirl.” He ordered. You internally smile, turning in place. “Slower.” He purred, his hand moved to unbutton his jeans. Your heart fluttered at his personality switch. It wasn’t harsh, it was subtle, but you loved where it was going

His hand crawled into his boxers and he began to touch himself. “Take off my shirt.” He said once you had made another rotation. “Let me see your body.” You felt something twitch down below. You took the t-shirt off, somewhat timidly, finally recognising it as his. “And let me see a bit of confidence baby, just look at you.”

Your breathing was definitely uneven. He could tell from a mile off. You chewed the inside of your cheek to suppress a gleeful smile. You gracefully moved your hands behind your back to shed your bra and Peter moaned loudly. His pleasure would be your undoing. Those sounds. That face. He stared at you for some time, noticing the darkening patch on your light underwear. “How about you get down on the floor for me?” You obeyed. “Be gentle on those precious knees, angel.” Even when Pete was being dominant, there was still an air of delicacy about him. “Are you turned on?” You nodded. “Touch yourself.” You started to rub yourself roughly through your underwear. Pete stood up, his cock in his hand, his trousers sat at his thighs. You groaned and he laughed. “Concentrate on yourself baby. Play with that-.”

“But what if I want you to touch me?” You ask, widening your eyes and tilting your head.

“If you behave, I’ll do more than touch you, but you have to do exactly as I say.” The look on his face was intoxicating. “Suck on your fingers for me, angel.” And that you did. Two fingers in your mouth, you sucked, looking up at him for affirmation you were doing as he wanted. “Oh, there’s a good girl.” His hand moved up and down his cock and you could see the definition in his throat as he swallowed. He walked closer to you and your heart was a flutter with nervousness. “You wanna know what I’ll do to you if you’re a good girl?” You nod and loosen your mouth from around your fingers slightly. “It could get messy.” You whine. The words came back to haunt you in a beautiful way, you didn’t know whether it was cute or filthy (Pete in a nutshell).

“I like messy.” You slowly moved your fingers down to your entrance and slipped your fingers inside of yourself. You made sure to make a show of it, opening your mouth and spreading your legs. If he was going to be a tease and have you putty in his hands, he would pay for ignoring you earlier.

He was paying.

Your response had him almost buckling under his own weight with adoration. Your eyes, your gaze, your breathing, your relaying of the making of your relationship. He growled under his breath and you couldn’t help but freeze, seduction ripping through you. His hand was working faster. You fumbled as you tried to blink away the shock and match his pace.

“Fuck,” He sighed. “Baby, I am so close.” You screwed your eyes shut, trying to get to where he was. Before you could find yourself there, your hand was pulled out from between your legs. You gasped at the cold air hitting your centre and opened your eyes to see Peter on his knees. “You going to be good?” You could only nod. He licked his lips and brought your fingers to his mouth. “My favourite.” He mimicked your previous actions and sucked on your fingers, this time laced with your taste. Your insides felt as though they were knotting together with the pressure created by the suction.

“So neither of us get to come?” You breathed.

“Eventually, maybe.” His words were muffled.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to speak with your mouth full?” You braved. He dropped your fingers from his mouth and stood up again.

“Ooh, with back chat like that you may never come again.” You looked up at him through your lashes, silently begging him to give you something, anything. “How about I fuck that smart mouth of yours?” You moved back slightly, shocked but utterly up for it.

“Yes please.” He looked you up and down before he positioned himself at your mouth.

“Are you going to beg?”

#smut #18+#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker #angst #mentionof death #one way to express yourself #idk #was this weird #messy #fluff #angsty #feels #sorry #tjwrites

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twiceasfrustrating · 2 years

Text

Joint Effort

Rating: General Audience

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Relationships: Simeon & Solomon & Luke

Characters: Simeon, Solomon, Luke

Additional Tags: Fluff

Summary: Sometimes Simeon goes into a zen mode while writing and will ignore everything else around him. Thank goodness he has housemates that will take care of him when he won’t.

A/N: Living out my author problems through the hubby. Still can't believe he actually types at a computer. I feel betrayed. I assumed he was very old school.

Word Count: 1030

Simeon was in the zone, having reached a state of zen and productivity that few others could ever claim to even having glimpsed at. His fingers glided across the keyboard as his eyes darted back and forth, following line after line of black text against the stark white background as they were typed up. He was so focused on his writing that he didn't notice as the door opened behind him and small feet pittered inside.

Luke carried a plate of finger sandwiches and a half-full pot full of warm, not hot, tea in his hands, trotting over to where Simeon was sitting and looking over his shoulder at the glow of the screen. There were a lot of words, some of them too big for the young angel. It was fine. The content of the story wasn’t meant for him just yet. When he was older and could understand, though, he promised to read everything!

His mission today wasn’t to try and read something beyond his understanding though. Today his mission was to leave a snack and replenish Simeon’s tea because he knew that the author would ignore doing it himself in favor of keeping up the streak he was clearly on. If Luke didn’t do it for him, Simeon would starve and dehydrate himself before the day was done.

Simeon didn’t notice as Luke took his cup and refilled it, placing it back in its original spot only once it was full again. He was even careful to turn the handle in the right direction so that Simeon would be able to pick it up without worries. He was secretly proud of himself for being so thoughtful and taking care of someone else for once, but he quickly shoved that down because altruism was supposed to be its own reward rather than invoke a sense of self-satisfaction. Still… maybe he still felt it just a little.

Just as Simeon didn’t notice when Luke entered, he didn’t notice when the child slipped out. The door closed so softly that any noise could have been mistaken for the musing of a mouse in the walls. Though, Simeon did break his moment of concentration for a split moment when he raised his cup to drink and realized it was heavier than it had been before. He must have been going crazy because he could have sworn he had almost drunk all of it.

Regardless, he couldn't dwell on it for too long. He had to keep writing and making progress while the muse was in his favor. He could see the next scene playing out in his head and he refused to let it slip away before he had it written down in full.

He could feel it as the words flowed through him and onto the screen before him; words and tales that painted pictures without a single brushstroke; an artist of a different caliber. He could name a thousand more authors that inspired him and pick apart why exactly each of their paragraphs was a work of art in its own right, could tell you what he wished he was able to do as well as them, but people still said he was amazing… He was a humble man, he swore he was, but sometimes he really did believe himself to be as great as people were always saying he was when these moments hit him. Or, rather, that's what he would think once he was done and he had time to let his mind wander away from the story it was so enamoured to tell.

Unlike Luke, Solomon stood in the doorframe as he watched Simeon work. He'd always known the angel was a fantastic writer, which is why he was a fan of the TSL series to begin with. Plus, it was good to support an old friend in their ventures.

Luke had already overridden his attempts to make a snack for Simeon, but he could still help in his own way. He was all too happy to check up on the busy author every now and again just to ensure he hadn't fallen asleep at the computer again. It was only a matter of time until Simeon passed out after barely eating and drinking all day. Even sitting down looked like a strenuous activity when Simeon did it with so much vigor, so Solomon was sure to be there when the crash finally happened with a blanket in hand.

The angel was passed out on the computer desk, head lying on top of his folded arms as he gently snored. Solomon couldn't help but chuckle at how predictable the sight was. It was never clear when the crash would happen, but it would always happen eventually. This is the time when he shined .

He placed the blanket over Simeon's shoulders to ensure he didn't get cold while lying in such a weird spot, then looked over the completed chapter on the screen. At least this time he didn't fall asleep on the keyboard and accidentally add a string of jjjjjjj for multiple pages. That time had been hilarious until Simeon woke up and had to try and fix it all, then it became a second day straight of one of Simeon's writing fits. With that in mind, Solomon's job was simple: all he had to do was save the document and minimize the file so an incident like that didn't happen again.

He had to remind himself not to take a sneak peek at the newest work, as much as he wanted to. As curious as he was, there was a special thrill to waiting for the official release. Plus, he knew Simeon well enough to know that reading the unfinished draft would be a key factor in drawing the angel's infamous ire. That was not a pleasant thought.

Living with an author was hard sometimes, if only because he wouldn't take care of himself when he most needed to. Still, it was something Luke and Solomon had grown used to. After all, a little help every now and again was what friends did for one another, especially when they needed it and didn't realize it.

#obey me #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me fanfic #fluff #obey me fluff #mine #simeon's birthday bash

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Canary, Part 1

It was a good day. Why did stuff always have to go wrong on ‘good days’, Marinette thought bitterly as she rushed through the city, the rough edges of her phone digging into her palm. The message she’d been sent was burned into her eyelids.

She pushed the spiraling thoughts from her mind as she stared at the street sign nearest her. Only a minute and she’d be there and her fears would be either confirmed or denied.

She leaned against the wall to gather her thoughts. If she had messed up it had to have been today because, otherwise, he would have done something earlier. Did she mess up? She allowed her eyes to flutter closed as she thought back.

She’d woken up on an uncomfortable mattress on the floor and rolled off of it, the sheets sticking to her sweaty skin. It had been a particularly hot day for Gotham and she had been too concentrated on typing up a report for work to turn up the AC before her impromptu nap (translation: she’d passed out).

She rubbed her eyes until she managed to get her brown contacts out and set them in the weird not-quite-water that she had never bothered to learn the name for so her eyes could rest while she took a quick shower and changed.

Then, she’d waited. She sat in the window, eyes barely poking over the sill as she watched the building across the street. She didn’t feel like moving for a long while but, alas, the meeting was supposed to be that day and she was running out of time for that thing with Calendar Man and… yeah. Unfortunately, Marinette had to be productive that day unless she wanted more enemies.

She saw movement and her face lit up. She might get everything done soon, at least, and then she could pass out for a hundred years like she oh-so-desperately wanted to.

She checked that her gloves were firmly in place, pulled on the plague doctor (gas) mask that had accidentally become her trademark, and toed on her boots.

Then, she made her way up to the alleyway next to the building she had been watching. She’d been lucky enough to have a job right next to one of her safe houses and she kinda wished that it would happen again. It was nice to not have to travel a half-hour or more just to listen in on one boring conversation.

She pulled out her knives and, after testing to make sure they were still strong enough to hold her weight, began picking her way up to the roof.

She set everything up for the thing with Calendar Man. It took approximately five seconds. Yay her.

Alright, next thing: listening in on a boring conversation that, if she was lucky, would end in someone getting shot so it wouldn’t last too long. It was going to be even hotter inside the vent and she did not want to end up cooked. That would be embarrassing.

She crawled into the vents and dutifully wrote down everything they said on a notepad. They were negotiating a drug deal and her client wanted to intercept it to try and get both the money and the (… Big D? What the fuck is Big D?) drugs. From the sounds of it, it wasn’t possible but, hey, her job wasn’t anything more than gathering intel. If her clients wanted to die stupidly that was on them.

… maybe she’d kill her client herself, she thought angrily as she readjusted in the vent in hopes of not getting stuck to the metal. It was easy money but wow was it awful.

Or, at least, it was awful until a hand grabbed her by the hood of her leather jacket and started dragging her out. She tipped her head back, grin on her face in seconds.

“Signal. Hi.”

He sighed and pulled her the rest of the way out. She let herself hang from his grip like a reprimanded cat.

“So, what’s up?” She asked brightly, as if hadn’t just caught her listening in on a private conversation.

“Great, thanks for asking,” he said. “Even better now that I’m taking the famed Canary to Arkham.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.”

He leveled her with a cold look for a few more seconds before splitting into a grin. “Yeah. Probably not. Got a backup plan?”

“Of course.”

“Is it even worth trying?”

“Probably not. But who knows? You could get lucky.”

She waited for a minute as he mulled over the idea in his head before he sighed. “I gotta ask: what’s with the egg?”

She swatted at his hand until he let her down and then led him over to her science experiment. “Know how there’s that expression that says ‘it’s so hot out you could make eggs on the sidewalk’ or something?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, the pavement physically can’t get hot enough to do that and also we’re up north so: aluminum foil to try and get the process to work a little better.”

He stared at her for a while before snickering. “Need a magnifying glass? We can ‘kid with an anthill’ this.”

“Sure.”

He reached into his tool belt and started looking for his spare. Unfortunately for him, it seemed to be gone.

She could feel his sharp gaze turn on her even if she couldn’t see his eyes behind his helmet. He wasn’t stupid and magnifying glasses don’t usually just disappear into thin air unless they’re Plastic Man in disguise. She held up her hands for a quick search but, when he couldn’t find it on her, he just sighed and looked down at the science experiment. It didn’t seem to be going well. The egg was still distinctly not cooked.

Eventually, he groaned and sat down. The light around him flickered and started to move at his will. Marinette watched intently.

Ten minutes later, they had a cooked egg. They high-fived, delighted. They weren’t going to taste it, obviously, it had been out for a while without supervision and who knows what could have happened to it… but it was an egg! Yay them!

“My old science teacher would be so proud of me,” Marinette joked.

“My current science teacher would be proud of me.”

“Oooooh, going back to school?”

He smiled. “Yep! Robin is finally in college and Red Hood convinced me to go with him. You should, too, it’s actually not that bad.”

“Please. If I was going to do that I’d go back to my home country. American school is expensive and not all of us are sponsored by billionaires.”

“... aren’t you a millionaire?”

She grinned. “Of course. But why would I want to spend that much of my own money?”

He hummed his understanding. Then, she pushed herself up with a groan. “Right, we both have jobs. See you later.”

He hesitated and then held a hand out for her notepad. “Is it bad?”

She held it out of reach with ease. “Nah, just drugs. Unless someone got shot while I was gone but I doubt it. They’d been almost as bored as me last I heard.”

“If it’s nothing then let me see.”

“Ugh, do you really want to fight? It’s too hot for that,” Marinette complained. He started to square up and she, after a second’s thought, added a little something to convince him: “Also, there’s going to be a breakout today so you should really save your energy.”

“... really think I’m going to fall for that?”

There was an explosion in the distance.

“Yeah. I’d hurry. I’m pretty sure it’s Joker’s turn to get out.”

She waved him off with a smile… only for her smile to drop when she remembered her other job. She groaned again and stretched out while she still could.

Tikki floated over the side of the building, a magnifying glass as big as her head in her tiny paws.

Marinette rubbed the kwami’s head. “You’re the best.”

Her kwami sighed. “That I am,” she said.

Marinette grinned and sent the film of Signal using his powers to her computer so she could give it to Calendar Man when it was due.

People were always so predictable in Gotham.

She supposed she really had been tempting fate when she’d thought that. Still, that didn’t mean she liked it that Fate had called her bluff.

But, actually, it seemed that Fate was the one that was bluffing. That had been her entire day. She had finished up her work and then went to one of her more stocked safehouses for a nap. She’d woken up to the buzzing of her phone when she’d gotten the message. She didn’t think she had messed up anywhere…

Her shoulders relaxed. She was probably fine. Which meant it was just Oswald Cobblepot being annoying. As usual.

Marinette flung the doors to the Iceberg Lounge open. Every eye in the room fell on her, but she only cared about the eyes of one person.

She stalked through the lounge, pulling one of her twin karambits from its sheath and pointing the curved blade towards him.

“What the fuck do you want? You really think that, after almost seven whole years of rejecting your wrinkly ass, I’m suddenly going to say ‘oh, yeah, I guess I’ll work for him now’? Leave me alone!”

Cobblepot wasn’t concerned even as her knife came to rest under his chin.

“Canary,” he greeted, regarding her cooly through his monocle.

Guards surrounded them. Marinette somehow managed to look unimpressed without anyone being able to see her face.

Everyone present held their breath… except for the two with weapons pointed at themselves. They knew that they would never follow through with it, especially not in a place as public as this. It was little more than a warning, a reminder, that either of them could kill each other at any given moment and chose not to.

For now, at least.

Cobblepot dismissed the guards with a wave of a gloved hand and she, after a few seconds, lowered her knife.

“What do you want?”

“Currently? For you to get off my table,” said Cobblepot.

She snorted but hopped down with ease. “I meant: why did you call me here?”

“... we should go somewhere else to discuss this. I assume you don’t do all of your business meetings in public?”

“Only if I know ahead of time that I’m going to say no,” she said.

He motioned for her to walk with him to a private room and, reluctantly, she followed. He had to think he had something on her, otherwise he wouldn’t have tried calling her there. She was curious.

They came to a room with a metal door and she cringed a little. Fun.

She dropped eight knives down into a tray and Cobblepot put down a gun, a knife, and his umbrella. She let a female goon pat her down and then checked Cobblepot over herself. Nothing she could find, but she was sure he had found some way to hide one somewhere.

They stepped inside as a pair and each took a seat on opposing ends of the wooden table stationed awkwardly in the middle of the room. She leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up.

“So, what’s the job?”

“I’m surprised you’re even going to hear it.”

She shrugged. “I’m curious.”

He nodded slowly before leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

“Power poses don’t actually work, you know, that’s just lies so companies don’t actually have to deal with all the discrimination.”

“Is that true?” He asked.

She shrugged again. “Probably. I’ve never worked for anyone, so…”

He chuckled. She didn’t like that.

But he didn’t say anything on that subject. Instead, he just smiled a smile that looked weird on his face and gave her her mission briefing: “I want you to figure out the bats’ identities for me.”

Marinette stared at him for a minute before breaking out into laughter. She couldn’t seem to stop. She stood up to leave, still giggling. Really? Did he really think that would work? People had asked many times, of course, and the bats’ identities weren’t common knowledge so she had to have said no. Why would she suddenly do it for him? She didn’t even like him.

She rested her hand on the knob but held off on leaving for just a second. She flashed a grin at Cobblepot. “Interesting offer. Bold. But no. Couldn’t pay me enough to do that.”

“Good thing I have no intentions of paying you, Marinette.”

~~~

And behold a new section I call ‘Marinette is a menace to society why would anyone let her on twitter’

(… the name may need a little work)

OliverQueenOfficial: Why does that one Gotham villain go by Canary? Black Canary already exists.

TheBetterCanary: if youre gonna vague tweet maybe dont put my name in it

TheBetterCanary: but anyways someone else named me that and it stuck before i could think of something to change it to

ScareCrane:… @/RiddleMeThis she’s dissing you

RiddleMeThis: LISTEN UP. IT WAS THEMATIC. DON’T ANY OF YOU KNOW ANYTHING OF DRAMA? EVER HEAR ABOUT CANARIES IN COAL MINES? FUCK ALL OF YOU AND YOUR UNCULTURED, UNEDUCATED ASSES. NOT TO MENTION IT WAS MAKING FUN OF THE BIRD THEME ALL THE VIGILANTES HER AGE SEEM TO HAVE. (1/14)

TheBetterCanary: @/ScareCrane why would you do that you knew he was going to do this

ScareCrane: Joker just broke out so Arkham is boring… needed to entertain myself somehow

TheBetterCanary: fuck you im not visiting this weekend

OliverQueenOfficial: Wow do I regret asking. I didn’t need all this family drama in my comments.

~~~~~

Perma taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses

#alright strap in babes it's another longfic #no one is surprised #why do i change my format with every fic?#no clue #im dumb #anyways ive finally started writing this #canary #maribat #timari #timmari #timinette #shutterbug #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #i like timinette best as a ship name #idk why

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chocolate-parfait · 3 years

Note

I see the askbox is open 🙂 You don’t know the speed at which I raced here.

But I was really hoping that you could do headcanons for Arthur (vamp), Masamune (Sen), and Mitsuhide (Sen) with a s/o who is an author? Like Tolkien almost, she writes high fantasy and is super well known? (bonus points if she goes back in time with one of her novels on her to show them exactly).

I hope it’s not confusing^^

I adore your writing so I hope to see whatever you publish in the future!

Thank you so much!!

Waa thank you sm for your support!! It really means a lot, thank you ❤ ❤ I hope you enjoy!

Author!MC who writes high fantasy novels - (Arthur, Masamune & Mitsuhide)

Arthur

Arthur is extremely amused and intrigued when he hears about your occupation, and even more so when he discovers that you’re a pretty big shot, too. For once, he completely discards appearances (although he still thinks you’re very pretty) and is genuinely interested in your job, frequently asking details about your writing process, your stories and such.

Your books come from two completely different universes, as we have realism and crime against fantasy and supernatural. Yet, when you offer your book for him to read, he falls absolutely in love with it. Although it may not seem like it, Arthur is quite the superstitious man, and has always had a certain interest in the occult and paranormal. Long story short, he becomes your number one fan.

He asks Comte to bring back your books from the future so that he can read them all (if you find out he’ll admit it with a sheepish smile and a blush on his face), and even then he feels like he doesn’t know enough about the different worlds described in your books and about their writer, you. If the topic pops up during conversations he'll take his chance and curiously ask you more and more questions about your job; if not, he'll pick up hints along the way whenever he can.

Your writing schedule will easily adapt to the domesticity of your relationship. You both write together in the same room (sometimes his, sometimes yours, or even in the dining room) as it can be very motivational, and you’re both ready to comfort the other whenever a lack of inspiration puts a stop to your writing. Furthermore, it’s very practical when it comes to taking breaks! He’ll cuddle with you while asking how everything’s coming along and if you need him to help you get some ideas. (this man will def sneak kisses whenever you're absorbed in your own little world because he adores the pout that magically appears on your lips whenever you're concentrated)

Overall, he’s very supportive of what you do. He understands the struggles of being a writer, but he also adores how much of a professional you are. Would probably be a fanboy even if you two didn’t know each other (he’d buy your books in secret so that Theo doesn’t tease him; the great mystery writer who adores realism, falls in love with high fantasy books. The man would never let him see the end of it)

Masamune

Even before knowing that you actually come from the future, Masamune is extremely curious to see some of your works once he hears that you’re a writer. As someone who writes poetry, knowing that you have the same passion makes him like you even more; although your occupations are as different as they can be, he still enjoys finding a common ground with you. Sometime later, after he has already discovered about your particular situation, he’ll also come to learn about the differences between what he thought you did and what your job really is. Fundamentally the job is always the same, but the whole process and the final products are almost completely different than what he had expected.

He doesn’t know what high fantasy is, but when you do tell him about all the various genres and such, he finds himself not too weirded out by the idea; it’s very similar to popular folklore, after all.

When he asks you to tell him one of your stories, you find the perfect situation to show him a physical copy of one of your best-sellers. He’s amazed by the weird-looking book. It’s experiencedly crafted and perfectly written (that’s printing for you<3), and he curiously fidgets with it as he asks endless questions about it. Unfortunately, he can’t read anything (even if it was written in modern Japanese he’d probably be able to grasp 3 words in a whole page or smth, lol), so you find yourself narrating your stories to him. (you receive great in-depth feedback for each chapter in return!! Masamune will be 100% honest with you and takes it v seriously). It becomes a daily occurrence that neither of you wants to miss. Each night, just before bed, you read out loud part of your book as Masamune quietly listens to your every word, wholly enraptured by the story.

He’s the most supportive partner one could wish for, and he’s always ready to show your works off to everyone he knows. He’ll help you get in touch with local printers and see what he can find amongst all the imported goods to make your job easier. If you ever find yourself stuck, he’ll gladly take you on a stroll to help you get your mind off writing for a bit to come back more refreshed and inspired.

Mitsuhide

Mitsuhide is a man who mostly communicates through lies, vague descriptions or distorted realities just to confuse others. As such, he finds your writing skills and wide imagination to be quite useful and admirable. He can be a capable storyteller if needed, so you often wonder why he doesn’t try writing every once in a while.

This said, he never expected for his kitsune story to strike up a chord in you to the point you’d write a story with a character heavily based on him as the protagonist. He’s quite flattered to say the least. When you hand the finished manuscript to him as a gift, he reads it all in one night. (let's pretend he'd be able to understand ahahah...) He’s amazed by your skill and the world you managed to describe through such vivid wording, but you'll have to read between his teasing words to grasp his real feelings about the gift, although he sincerely thanks you profusely.

The novel is the first work of yours he has ever had the chance to read, so he stores it away very carefully in a corner of his room, but curiosity makes him wonder about your previous works though he doesn't directly ask you anything about them. Sure, he'll probably drop some hints here and there concerning this hidden wish of his, but that's totally up to you to understand. Sooner or later he finds two copies of some of your books in the bag in your room (it was totally accidental, he wouldn't just barge in your room and look through your things like that), and he feels like he's fallen in love all over again. There's this particular level of mastery with which you handle your words that leave him spellbound and amazed. Who would have ever thought that his little clumsy mouse was such an expert writer?

In general, Mitsuhide is the closet fanboy. He won't be as open about his love for your stories as Masamune, but he's not afraid to be direct about his feelings every once in a while, especially if you really need to hear supporting words from him. If anyone ever brings up your skills during a conversation, he'll hum in affirmation with a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips.

#answered #ikemen sengoku #ikemen vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikesen masamune #ikesen mitsuhide #tplosh #date masamune #akechi mitsuhide #my writing #ikevamp imagines #ikesen headcanons #ikesen imagines #ikesen scenarios #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp headcanons

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spenciegoob · 3 years

Text

Who Needs Luck?

A/N: hi! I solely wrote this because of my 3 recent visits to NY (no, I sadly did not meet mgg)... plus i’ve been going there my whole life.. this is becoming the longest authors note, but as i’m writing I just want to say the people who work at food trucks in nyc are the nicest people ever, ask them about their day (AND TIP OMG PLS)

Summary: Reader invites Spencer to go to New York City with her where he finally sees the beauty right in front of him.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff!

Content Warnings: reader can’t drive very well (I apologize if this is a callout post), slight road rage, language

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

____

I never considered myself a lucky man. Life had proven time and time again that no matter how many four leaf clovers I set out to search for, how many pennies on the ground faced heads up I stumbled across, luck was never on my side. I’ve learned to live with it, accepted my fate as the world’s smartest punching bag long before I was even in college.

But then I met her, and as cheesy as it sounds, I didn’t need luck that morning.

The second I woke up, the universe seemed to have it out for me specifically. I swung my legs over my bed, and in my half asleep daze stepped on my glasses, successfully breaking them. Unable to see on my short trip to the bathroom, I stubbed my toe… twice. Once I finally finished my morning routine more methodically, I walked out of my apartment only to bump into a stranger, sending the coffee she was holding all the both of us.

I had tried to apologize so many times, cutting my words short when they didn’t feel right. I had gotten through a series of “I’m, uh, oh, I, you,” before her smile interrupted my thought process, leaving me awestruck instead.

“That’s okay, but you owe me a coffee now.” She giggled, actually giggled, even with the scorching liquid causing her shirt to stick to her body. “Maybe… together?”

I didn’t hesitate to agree, taking her up on the offer that weekend and never looking back. Even when a loud crash, followed by a quiet, harsh ‘shit’ woke me up in a startle, there was no regret. Maybe just a little concern for my girlfriend who now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, can be seen holding her knee on the floor of our bedroom.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered out, grabbing onto the dresser to stand straight again. Once she was on her feet, she came over to sit on the edge of our bed, immediately running her fingers through my hair. If I wasn’t so worried about her knee, I probably would’ve fell asleep again.

“Are you okay?” She giggled at my scratchy morning voice before nodding her head. It’s then I realized how the sun hasn’t even begun to rise, the room still pitchblack. “What are you doing up?”

“Getting ready to go to the city, sleepyhead,” she said as if it was the most obvious answer, but truthfully, it left me with more questions.

“At... 5 am?” I sat up, glancing at the alarm clock three times just to make sure I was reading it right. She may have always been a little strange, but usually at a reasonable hour.

At this, she stood up to continue getting ready for the very early morning. Now I notice why she fell, the piles of clothes leading to the closet had to have at least half of her outfits compiled together.

“Well, yeah. I want to get there before noon.” Even in my perplexed state, I rose from the bed and carefully tiptoed around haphazardly thrown clothes to reach her.

While wrapping my arms around her waist still hidden under my t-shirt, I questioned. “It’s right outside? You have 7 hours.”

She turned to look at me funny as if I wasn’t the one digging through clothes and waking up before dawn to walk literally 5 minutes to my desired location. My eyebrows must have subconsciously furrowed at one point, because she brought her hand up to stroke her thumb on my forehead. Immediately, I felt the tension melt, no longer caring to correct my confusion. She still did it anyway.

“Not DC, silly. New York!” I wish it were untrue, but my heart dropped at her words. She was leaving, going to a city I wasn’t familiar with beyond reading about, solving cases, and memorizing subway maps. Is this how she feels every time I board that jet?

“W-what? You’re just going to New York City?” I inwardly cringed at how desperate and sad I sounded, but I really didn’t want her to leave.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, turning back around to return digging in her closet.

“For how long?” Please change your mind. Please change your mind. Please change you-

Realizing that I was fully awake, she let out a boisterous laugh, allowing the way it bounced off our four little walls to return back to us. It was a sound most treasured. “I was hoping to get back around 9.”

“What?” I leaned back to look at her like she was absolutely preposterous. I mean, she was!

“Roadtrip!”

That’s how I found myself in the passenger seat of her car, no coffee in my hand because I wasn’t allowed until I have “a real cup of coffee.” Whatever the hell that means better happen soon, because as much as I loved watching the way she concentrates on the road in front of her, my eyes were starting to droop.

“It’s going to be another 4 hours. You can sleep, my love.” How she knew me so well, I will never be able to figure out, but I was out before we even made it across state borders.

That however, didn’t last very long. My girlfriend may be short and sweet, but behind the wheel? That’s a different story. The horn to her car is a very familiar sound when I’m jolted awake by a sudden stop.

“Really, asshole? Go!” She yelled, slamming her hand against the top of the steering wheel before looking over at me. “Hey, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to wake you yet. I forgot how awful drivers are here.”

“Where is here exactly?” I questioned, sitting up from my slouched position to find cars practically on top of each other on a road not wide enough for two lanes.

“New Jersey. We’re 10 minutes away.” Wow, I didn’t realize I slept for that long, and I have to admit I’m a little surprised I wasn’t woken up sooner.

“How are we 10 minutes away? It’s at least another 30 to get to the tunnel.” Looking at our surroundings didn’t help me determine our exact location. To the left of us, there were dozens of graffiti murals on the side of what I assumed was another elevated highway. To the right, sidestreets with local businesses ranging from auto repair shops to fast food joints to gyms.

“Nuh uh, stop analyzing mister. You’ll know when we get there.” She waved a finger in my directions, putting a pin in my scrutinization. I pouted right back, successfully playing along to the theme of her scolding me like a 5 year old.

“I don’t like surprises you know.” It was the truth, but her contagious laughter that filled the car made me slightly less disinclined to stop asking questions.

“Oh I know, but trust me, you’ll like this one.” She went to go reach over to grab my hand from where it was resting in my lap, but stopped short and retracted in favor of slamming the horn. “Oh, come on!”

***

“So you drove to a train station... in New Jersey?” I asked while she was… attempting to park the car.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been taking this route since I was a little girl.” Once she finally figured out how to evenly space a two door convertible in a very spacious parking spot, she unbuckled her seatbelt, and was quick to grab her bag from the backseat. “Well, come on mister, we’re going to miss the train.”

To be quite honest, I have never been so lost in my life. I could probably pinpoint our exact location on a map if I wanted to, granted I was given any sort of information, but part of me didn’t want to. Scratch that, all of me didn’t want to, because my entire life has been planned out in front of me before, but right now, I get to be spontaneous with the most beautiful girl on the planet.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” she told me, lacing our fingers together and pulling me forward. “Don’t stop to look around, you will get pushed.”

We made it inside, and if I thought the DC transit system was bustling with people constantly, this place was so much worse. There were hallways left and right, all packed with people in a rush. It seems everybody had some place to be and zero time to get there.

“Upstairs.” We walked up two flights before reaching a platform, buying our tickets and making it just in time for a train to arrive. “I know they come every 8 minutes, but thank god we made this one,” she said as she sat down.

The cart we were in wasn’t too crowded, and once I finally found a map on the wall across from us, I saw that it was a direct ride to the World Trade Center.

“You said you took this train when you were little?”

“Yeah, I went to the city a lot as a kid. This was the easiest, and the cheapest way there.” A small smile played at her lips, obviously the product of some childhood memory. “I used to hop it.”

“Of course you did,” I laughed back with her, thinking about how an innocent looking child would be the first person to get away with sneaking onto the train.

***

“I said it before, I will say it again. Do not let go of my hand.” This time it was more stern, and if I were being honest, I would say that it got me the slightest bit nervous. She must have noticed, she always does, because she continued. “Don’t worry, it just gets congested and I don’t want to lose you.”

She was right about that, it indeed was very congested, but that was okay because she was holding my hand, and I would follow her just about anywhere if it meant she kept looking over her shoulder and smiling when she saw me. Once we made it across the way, and in front of heavy looking glass doors, she turned to me and started walking backwards.

“You okay? This is definitely not off to a great start.” She was wrong, it was off to a perfect start.

“Yeah, I’m okay, but you might want to watch where you’re going,” I said before her back hit the door.

“Please I can get here with my eyes closed.” And then we were outside, and all 5 of my senses were hit immediately. The sun was shining down on us, and before I could complain about not bringing my sunglasses, she handed them to me. My heart fluttered at the innocent act, taking the sunglasses with such gratitude even though she had already moved on to retrieve hers. “Do you smell that?” She asked.

“There are a lot of answers to that question,” I told her, not knowing if she was talking about the smell of the construction happening at the corner, the permanent garbage smell or something entirely different.

“The hotdogs, silly. Come on, there’s nothing like ‘em.” This time, I laced our fingers together, not because I was scared of losing her, I was, but I just really wanted to be closer to her. She didn’t mind, in fact, she let out a content hum and leaned her head on my arm as we walked to the stand.

“Can I get four hotdogs with sauerkraut and two grape sodas,” she asked the vendor, who politely nodded before moving on to prepare our food.

“You’re going to have a heart attack by 35,” I said as I nudged her with my shoulder. She gave me a small push back before answering.

“Is that a doctor’s diagnosis?” She asked as she took our now ready food into her hands, after paying the man before I even had time to blink. I just grabbed the two cans of soda and followed her where she was making a beeline for a park bench. “Watch out for skaters.”

“Yes, it is indeed a doctor's diagnosis.” I unwrapped one of the hotdogs before taking a bite. I closed my eyes and let out a content hum. “It may be a little worth it.”

“Exactly.” We sat there quietly, enjoying the warm weather and sounds of wheels against pavement. At one point, she rested her head against my shoulder, and I am convinced wherever she went would be Heaven.

***

“Are your eyes closed?” We found ourselves with both our hands interlocked, my eyes closed while she walked backwards. I gave an ‘mhm’ before she continued. “We’re here, just keep them closed, and…” her words trailed off. “Okay open.”

I opened my eyes to her holding her arms out in the middle of the largest bookstore I’ve ever seen. “Surprise!” My eyes were bouncing everywhere. It wasn’t too crowded, the large stairwell across the store catching my eye first. There were bookshelves tens of feet high, all loaded with different genres and authors. To the right of us, tiny knick knacks and pins and socks. It was beautiful.

“Wow,” I whispered out, still stuck in my place admiring our surroundings. She was beaming up at me, a hint of pride at her successfulness to drag me 6 hours away to the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.

“The Strand has always been my favorite place in the city. Come on, let’s go explore.” She grabbed my hands again, pulling me deeper into the store towards a shelf labeled adult fiction.

***

Six books, three pairs of socks and a postcard later, we were back on the busy streets of New York, aimlessly walking and admiring the tall buildings and different attractions. Well she was, I was admiring the way she was looking around like it was her first time here. Maybe I should have been paying more attention to our surroundings, but no amount of skyscrapers or fountains could possibly ever match up to her level of beauty.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” I asked randomly, startling her into jumping a tiny bit before giggling. She stopped us, turning to face me fully before reaching up to grab my face in her hands.

“Once or twice.” The kiss we shared on the New York streets were no different than the ones before, but this time, it felt like a silent promise. A passing between two lovers that no matter where we are, our love is the most beautiful thing there is. “I love you too, dork.”

___

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moiraineswife · 3 years

Text

Innocence Died Screaming - An Adolin & Jasnah Fic

I RETURN. I RETURN WITH EMOTIONAL KHOLINS TO MAKE YOU ALL EMOTIONAL TOO!!! ENJOY!!!!!!

Title: Innocence Died Screaming

Rating: T Content warnings: mentions of accidental mother murder

Summary: Set loosley pre-Rhythm of War. Jasnah requests some duelling training from her expert duelist cousin. Adolin sees it as a way to spend more time bonding with his cousin. He gets a little bit more than he bargained for when Jasnah calls him out as only Jasnah can for always putting himself down. They have a good heart to heart and I have Emotions.

Teaser:

'“Truthfully?” Adolin said, stalling for time.

“Always,” Jasnah said, with aching sincerity, because she was Jasnah.

“You suck,” Adolin replied bluntly, unable to find a fancier way of saying it to soften the blow.

Jasnah just smiled at that, then gestured at him, “Hence the reason you are here with me presently.”'

Link: AO3

Wit answered the door to Jasnah’s chambers with a flourish when Adolin knocked. Uncharacteristically, there was no quip. Probably because he’d seen Adolin bracing for one, and didn’t want to seem ‘predictable’. Though how anyone was supposed to predict someone like Wit was beyond him.

“Jasnah, your beefy cousin has arrived to demonstrate the intricacies of hitting people with large metal sticks,” he announced to the room behind him where Jasnah was no doubt working.

He made to sweep out after that declaration, but Adolin caught him by the arm and raised an eyebrow, “Beefy cousin?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Well it couldn’t be handsome cousin, Adolin,” Wit replied smoothly, “That’s how I announce Renarin!”

Adolin opened his mouth to reply to that, then closed it again, grinning, imagining Renarin’s face if that was, in fact, how Wit announced him.

“What’s wrong with ‘Adolin’?” he asked instead, scratching his head.

“Well it’s just so boring,” Wit said conversationally, lounging against the door and grinning at him. “Jasnah has a very difficult, taxing job,” he explained, with an almost conspiratorial air, “I need to seize any opportunity I can to inject a little humour into her life.”

If rumours were to be believed, humour wasn’t the only thing he was injecting Jasnah with at the moment.

Adolin didn’t say that. He did note, however, as his cousin approached them, that the two of them were alone, without a chaperone.

That wasn’t entirely surprising. Jasnah had always just kind of done things her way. And she was a woman nearing her fortieth Weeping. But still. There were some rules you just shouldn’t bend, even if you were Queen.

Though Pattern wasn't exactly a model chaperone for me and Shallan, so I probably shouldn’t be judging Jasnah that harshly, he admitted ruefully to himself, grinning a little, then immediately hoping Wit hadn’t noticed.

Wit, fortunately, had eyes only for his queen at that moment.

“Enjoy yourself, Brightness,” he was saying, waving an elegant hand at Jasnah, “Try not to hurt him too much.”

He clapped Adolin on the shoulder, winking, then withdrew at a nod from Jasnah.

Clearly his departing when Adolin arrived was a prearranged agreement between the two of them.

Adolin wasn’t entirely sorry about that. He liked Wit, might even be storming fond of him at this point, but he would be more relaxed without him in earshot of his every word.

“Cousin,” Jasnah said, nodding to him in greeting.

“Jasnah,” Adolin returned, grinning and stepping forwards to embrace her.

All of them had had to get used to more hugs from him in the recent months. His father had been the one who had always rebuked him for it, while his mother had always encouraged him. Given recent events, he found himself more inclined towards listening to his mother.

Besides, since losing Elhokar, he’d had his eyes opened to how precious his family was. He had loved his cousin, and his king, but he hadn’t felt as close to him as he’d wanted.

He’d felt similarly towards Jasnah, and was determined not to let that happen again. She was his family. And as his family, she got a hug when he saw her. And had been forced to get used to him dropping by more often to spend time with her and get to know her properly. She seemed more comfortable with that than the hugs.

She was used to them by now though, and tolerated it, awkwardly patting him on the back to indicate she’d had enough of his affection for the day. He drew back, grinning.

“Shall we get started?” Jasnah said briskly, stepping into a large section of her chambers she’d had cleared of furniture.

She was also wearing a messenger style havah - shorter than the traditional garment, with high slits in the sides to allow for swift movement, and leggings underneath for dignity’s sake. Very practical, very Jasnah.

“Sure,” Adolin said, following after her.

He’d been surprised when she’d sent him a note requesting some training from him in dueling, but had been eager to accept. It would help with his new cousin-bonding goals. And he was always happy to help someone learn how to properly use their blade.

“I’ve seen you fight a little with your Shardblade before,” he said, as they moved into position, “During the battle of Thaylen City. You were mostly Soulcasting, but you used your blade a couple of times, too. So I know you’re not totally useless.”

“Thank you for that assessment, Adolin,” Jasnah replied coolly, though there was a hint of a smile in her eyes when she said it.

Adolin blushed slightly, “What I meant was that you at least have some idea what to do. So I thought it might be best if you summoned your blade and showed me a few stances and movements that you know already? Do you know any katas?”

“A few,” Jasnah replied, “Though they may be unfamiliar to you.”

“Pick one,” Adolin said, leaning against the wall, well out of the way, “Go through it as you normally would. I’ll observe and see what needs to be corrected from there.”

“Very well,” Jasnah said, nodding her assent at this plan.

Adolin folded his arms across his chest, feeling a little odd. He’d given instruction to Shardbearers before. Zahel had sometimes had him help assist in the training of men on the practice grounds. Zahel didn’t much care that he was a prince, he’d been there, and that had been enough.

He’d also given Shallan and Radiant extensive training now in the use of her blade. He wasn’t a stranger to being a teacher, and he found that he enjoyed it, especially as something productive he could do for the new Radiants in the tower.

He’d just never expected to be doing it with Jasnah.

Though, as she summoned her blade, he did feel there was something appropriate about the image of Jasnah Kholin standing there with a glimmering sword in hand. A completeness to the picture. Shallan would have wanted to sketch it, he was sure. He’d have to invite her along to one of these sessions, if they became a regular occurrence.

“Very nice,” Adolin said, nodding approvingly as he examined the gleaming length of her weapon.

He’d seen it before, but never up close or with the ability to take in the details. It was an elegant weapon, like Jasnah herself. Long and slender, with a slight curve to it.

Jasnah held it comfortably. Because how else would the storming woman hold it? No one had yet managed to discover something Jasnah Kholin was objectively just bad at.

She frowned at this comment, “I haven’t started yet,” she pointed out.

Adolin grinned at her. “That’s a bit arrogant of you, Your Majesty,” he teased. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he added, “I was talking about your sword," he nodded to it, "Very nice indeed.”

Jasnah glanced at the blade and her usually impassive features displayed a look of momentary surprise.

“Ivory says thank you,” she informed him. A pause, then she continued, “He says that he worked hard on perfecting the design and shape of this form.”

Adolin nodded his approval. The attention to detail was obvious, and told him a lot about Ivory, and why he worked so well with Jasnah. Jasnah was all about the details.

A slight crease formed between her eyes as she added, sardonically, “He also wishes me to pass on that he is pleased someone has taken notice. Finally.” She pursed her lips.

That made him smile again. He raised a hand and faked a cough to cover his urge to laugh at his cousin's expression.

He had never met, or even glimpsed, Jasnah’s spren, except when he was summoned as a blade. According to her he was a private individual, who preferred not to be seen where possible. He sensed there was something deeper to it than what she’d said, but hadn’t pressed the issue.

Still, it was hard not to find Jasnah’s long-suffering tone oddly endearing for what it spoke of regarding their relationship.

“I see Ivory is a man, uh, spren,” he corrected hastily, “Of fine taste, like myself," he said, with a small bow.

“Yes,” Jasnah replied, with a slight roll of her eyes, “Well if you’re both finished admiring swords for the moment, perhaps we could begin?”

Adolin blushed slightly at the innuendo, which wasn’t something he was used to hearing from Jasnah.

“You’ve been spending too much time around Wit,” he muttered, before he could think better of it.

Fortunately, Jasnah only smiled at that, and made no remark.

Adolin hastily gestured for her to continue, and concentrated on observing her form, rather than considering the tangled rumours of her and her wit. That was not why he was here.

There was clearly something practiced about the motions of the kata, but it was obvious she hadn’t trained much, and that whoever had trained her previously hadn’t been very good at correcting small, but obvious, mistakes.

There was nothing overtly wrong with what she did, but there were obvious improvements to be made that he could spot straight away.

“Not bad,” he said, moving away from the wall, summoning Maya as he went, so that he could demonstrate, “Your stances have the right shape, but you need to commit to them more.”

He gave her a slight nudge with his elbow as he reached her and she wobbled, which illustrated his point, though she seemed displeased by it. Not at him, he sensed, but at herself.

“Sink down into them,” he said, showing her, “Anchor yourself, like a tree, roots planted deep into the ground.”

Jasnah studied him for a moment with a critical eye, then replicated what he’d shown her, exaggerating the stance she’d chosen as demonstrated.

“Good,” Adolin said, nodding in approval, “Alright, your grip, don’t overlap your hands like that, there’s room on the hilt for both hands to rest comfortably. Ivory’s not a bastard.”

He chuckled to himself at the joke. Jasnah just raised her eyebrows.

“A bastard sword is another name for a hand-and-a-half,” he explained with a shrug.

Jasnah sniffed, “I think perhaps you might have been spending too much time around Wit.”

There was no danger of that. If he wasn’t with Jasnah he was nowhere to be found these days. Adolin didn’t point that out either. Not while Jasnah had a shardblade in her hands, anyway.

Instead he cleared his throat and carefully corrected the placement of her hands on Ivory’s hilt.

“Alright, try that,” he said, gesturing for her to repeat the kata she’d just completed.

“Better,” he said, nodding, “You’re right, by the way,” he told her, as she continued to implement what he’d just shown her, “I don’t recognise this kata. Who taught you?”

She glanced at him as she turned, then grunted, “Swordmaster Katar," before continuing the sequence.

Adolin frowned, “Elsecalling lets you jump between here and Shadesmar, right?” he said.

“Yes,” Jasnah replied slowly, seemingly confused by the question.

“Does it let you jump through time, too?” he said, “Because otherwise I don’t see how Swordmaster Katar trained you. Since I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

“He lives on in the books he left behind,” Jasnah said, “As do all great historical figures.” She added, with a slight smirk, "I'm glad at least some of them made enough of an impression for you to take note of them."

Adolin put his hands on his hips, and snorted with laughter, unable to stop himself, “Only you would try to learn dueling from a book, Jasnah,” he said, shaking his head.

Jasnah drew up at that and replied, blandly, “When I first bonded with Ivory eight years ago, there weren’t a lot of living swordmasters who were willing to train a heretic woman displaying ancient, forbidden powers steeped with negative connotation after the original Knight’s betrayal." She met his eyes and half-shrugged, mildly "I improvised.”

Adolin scratched his nose awkwardly and coughed to cover his momentary embarrassment, “Fair enough,” he muttered, “Given that, you’ve done pretty amazingly, I’m impressed.”

“And without the context of my…Unorthodox education?” she asked, seeming genuinely curious about the answer.

“Truthfully?” Adolin said, stalling for time.

“Always,” Jasnah said, with aching sincerity, because she was Jasnah.

“You suck,” Adolin replied bluntly, unable to find a fancier way of saying it to soften the blow.

Jasnah just smiled at that, then gestured at him, “Hence the reason you are here with me presently.”

“You have done well on your own,” Adolin told her, honestly, wanting to clarify his words. He hadn't expected her to agree with him, and that had thrown his response a little, "But-”

“But context can only excuse one’s lack of skill so far,” Jasnah supplied smoothly, “Before relying upon it simply becomes an awkward crutch to attempt to justify your inability.”

“Sure,” Adolin agreed, nodding at her. Did she always have to talk like she was writing a new academic text? Storms. “Let’s get back into it, okay?” he suggested.

Jasnah nodded at once and complied with his instruction without a word.

It felt very strange to be giving Jasnah orders. Stranger still to be instructing her, and correcting her. And even more strange that she deferred to him on everything and took whatever he said on board without question or hesitation.

After a little while of this, he paused in the middle of a sequence, shaking his head, bemused. Jasnah drew up, noting his expression.

“What is it?” she asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow at him.

“This is just...Weird,” he said, running a hand absently through his hair, unable to find a more eloquent way of putting it.

“Because I’m a woman?” Jasnah guessed evenly.

“No,” Adolin said, waving a dismissive hand, “I got over that months ago with Shallan.”

Jasnah smirked slightly at that, but made no comment.

“It’s just-” he struggled to find the words to explain his emotions, “It’s you,” he said finally, which he knew wasn’t entirely helpful. “You’re Jasnah,” he added. Which was about as useful as his earlier sentiment.

“I’m aware of that,” Jasnah replied, slowly, clearly struggling to piece together what he was trying to say.

“It, well it-” Adolin stammered, feeling as lost as he would have if she'd asked him to summarise Aunt Navani's fabrial lecture for him, grappling with fitting his unwieldy emotions into insubstantial words.

“It feels strange for me to be teaching you anything," he managed finally, "You’re Jasnah storming Kholin. The world famous scholar. This fantastic thinker, and historian, and all of that," he said, gesturing expansively before he said, voice and hands falling flat, "I’m Adolin, the family idiot, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Silence stretched between them for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“I think that we should take a short break,” Jasnah announced abruptly, dismissing her blade.

Adolin decided not to point out that they’d barely been going for an hour, and with Stormlight, there was no way she actually needed a break. If he’d been Zahel he’d have laughed at this suggestion. But he wasn’t. And he knew better.

Jasnah would do what Jasnah wanted to do. She was already heading towards the seating area of her chambers. The easiest thing to do was to thank Maya, then dismiss her and follow his cousin.

Jasnah was pouring them both wine, orange for her, yellow for Adolin, and pushed the cup towards him, settling on the couch and gesturing him to the seat opposite her.

Sighing, Adolin accepted the cup, and the chair, and sat down as indicated.

Jasnah was eyeing him over the rim of her own cup, considering him like some dusty historical treatise she was trying to pry secrets from.

“I’ve noticed that you do that a lot, Adolin,” she remarked finally, lowering the cup.

“What? Drink?” Adolin joked, rather feebly.

Hastily he raised his own cup and taking a gulp of the wine. It was good. Jasnah had appropriately fine taste. But there was a bad taste in his mouth. Less from the wine, and more from the memories that rose at the mention of indulging in it too often.

“Put yourself down,” Jasnah said bluntly, ignoring his attempt at humour. “Particularly with regards to your own intelligence. You seem overly fond of comparing yourself negatively in that regard to those around you.”

Adolin shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took another sip of his wine before he answered.

“Kind of hard not to,” he said, aiming to keep his voice light, “I mean there’s you. Aunt Navani, Shallan, Renarin. Wit’s never normally far from you, either. Even the Storming Bridgeboy-” He caught himself, realising he’d probably slipped into sounding more resentful than he’d intended.

No doubt Jasnah had noticed. But he lounged back in his chair, giving her an easy grin to try and smoothe over the sticky moment.

With a shrug he said, “I’m just surrounded by a lot of really smart people all the time. It’s natural to make comparisons.”

“Hm,” Jasnah replied, in a way that suggested she didn’t at all believe him, “Yet I don’t see you comparing yourself in other areas. You never remark on your lack of ability to draw while around Shallan, for instance. You don’t talk about the fact you can’t set a fracture when you’re around Kaladin. You’ve never once mentioned not being able to play the flute while around me.”

“You still play the flute?” he deflected, while actually being vaguely interested in the answer.

Jasnah, again, ignored him. Which was getting annoying. Shallan was a lot easier to distract and divert off course whenever she mentioned things like this. Which he did every time she tried.

“And you also don’t seem to point out the areas where those around you are lacking, either,” Jasnah continued, with characteristic unavoidable intent. “Even if they also form easy points of comparison. I don’t hear you disparage my lack of ability in the areas of personable conversation. Nor Kaladin’s inability to process failure. Or Shallan’s lack of focus. The only person whose perceived flaws you feel the need to accentuate are your own.”

She raised her eyebrows pointedly at him and settled back in her chair, raising her cup to her lips again, watching to see how he reacted.

Storms. He’d forgotten how sometimes conversing with Jasnah could feel like going to battle. Usually his head hurt less after the actual battles, too.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to process what she’d said, and the point she was driving at.

“I guess,” he said, not looking at her, “I guess it’s just...Easy to feel less than surrounded by a bunch of genius Radiants all the time. And you are all smarter than me, you can’t deny that,” he said quickly, pointing at her in accusation.

“No,” Jasnah agreed slowly, “But it’s also not something you should seek to highlight in nearly every conversation.”

“I don’t-” he began.

“You do,” Jasnah interrupted, voice surprisingly gentle, yet unyielding as ever. “You always find some way to mention your lack of comparable academic capability. Even in situations where it has little to no relevance. Such as our dueling practice earlier”

Adolin sighed, “I suppose you’d take exception to me pointing out that my lack of, what was it, ‘academic capability’ is really hurting my ability to properly argue with you right now?”

Jasnah smiled thinly at that, “It would serve to highlight my point rather well, actually. So on this sole occasion, feel free.”

He groaned, “No offence, but I really hate talking to you sometimes, Jasnah.”

She inclined her head as if to say she understood, and agreed, with that sentiment. He found that curious about her. Most people shied away from criticism or insults. Jasnah seemed to welcome them, like a rockbud opening up to gorge itself on storm rains. Maybe because so few people were ever brave enough to tell her what they really thought.

“You could point out that this is an area where I am not particularly skilled,” she said, swirling her wine thoughtfully, “Talking with others. Connecting. Encouraging them to open up. Empathising with their emotions and struggles.” She met his eyes again as she said, lightly, “An area in which you excel, I might add. Perfectly reasonable grounds for one of your comparisons.”

“I would never say that to you,” he protested without thinking.

Only after he caught the triumphant glimmer in Jasnah’s eye did he realise that she’d maneuvered him into that to make her point. He glowered at her.

“Can we get back to dueling again?” he growled, “I have a sudden urge to start hitting you with Maya.”

She just smiled at him.

Adolin flopped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair again, “It’s just. It’s hard, Jasnah,” he admitted, his voice softening a little, though he avoided her penetrating gaze as he spoke, “I feel like I blinked and the entire world was pulled out from under me like a rug. I’m still struggling to get back to my feet while the bridgeboy is soaring in the sky, and my wife is infiltrating cults. Oh, and my brother has visions of the future, and my father is communing with the Storming Stormfather. And you’re the most powerful Radiant we have and I’m...Still just me.”

“I understand,” Jasnah said quietly.

Adolin snorted before he could stop himself.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, Jasnah,” he said, sitting up and putting a hand on her arm, “I just find it hard to believe that you of all people can possibly understand what this feels like.”

Jasnah was quiet for a moment, tapping her finger on the side of her cup, then she said, “I spent years researching the Desolations. I collected hundreds of fragments from ancient texts detailing everything I could find related to the Radiants, Urithiru, the Voidbringers, and the events that had nearly destroyed mankind. I barely slept, barely stopped, barely rested for years to accumulate all the knowledge I could.”

“I know,” Adolin said, scratching his head, unsure why she was telling him this, “Shallan told me.”

Jasnah nodded, then continued, “I was the newest Radiant, I have achieved the highest Ideal of any of the people we’ve found. I am the most practiced with my powers, the most accomplished. At one time I had more knowledge, and more experience, with the Radiants, and the Desolations, than almost anyone else on Roshar.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Adolin asked, bemused.

“Then the Ghostbloods sent assassins after me on the Wind’s Pleasure. I was stabbed through the chest and almost killed and ended up Elsecalling accidentally for the first time and became trapped in Shadesmar,” she went on, tone barely changing, even as she described this traumatic event.

Adolin winced at that. He remembered the reports that had come in claiming the Wind’s Pleasure lost with all hands. At the time he’d been so worried about Shallan he’d barely spared a thought for Jasnah.

Of course, Aunt Navani’s insistence that she was fine had been a little distracting, but… He should have been more distressed at the news of Jasnah’s presumed death. Even if it had turned out to be false.

She was family. Even if she was a little odd, and they had never really spent all that much time together or gotten to know each other that well. He was working to change that with her.

After Elhokar’s death… Well, he had realised how precious his family was. He wanted to make the most of the people he had left.

“Having been lost there yourself, you’re aware it’s not exactly easy to get out. Or to navigate through, particularly without supplies or Stormlight.”

Adolin nodded, grimacing at the memory. It couldn’t have been easy for Jasnah, trapped there, alone, with no preparation or warning. She’d never really spoken about it to him. Or, as far as he knew, to anyone.

She’d published accounts of what had happened to her there, and he’d had Shallan read them to him but… They were put across with Jasnah’s usual academic slant. There wasn’t any mention of how she had felt, or how it had affected her. That wasn’t really Jasnah’s way.

Her voice was softer when she continued, with a sigh, “When I emerged at last it was to find that the Desolation had already come. The Everstorm had been loosed across Roshar, the Singers had awoken. All of my fears had been realised without my even being there to witness them.

“In my abseence my uncle had refounded the Knights Radiant, with him as the Stormfather’s Bondsmith. My cousin was a budding Radiant, my ward was another, and then there was the bridgeman strutting around like a prized Rhyshadium with my family, seeming to fit more with them than I ever did. It was somewhat overwhelming.”

Adolin gaped at her. He had never heard Jasnah admit to anything overwhelming her. Ever. Well, except perhaps Aunt Navani. But she could overwhelm a highstorm at times, so that didn’t really count.

Jasnah was always, well, Jasnah. The model of Alethi regality and dignity. Always composed, always assured, confident, never in doubt or afraid, or any of the things he seemed to feel so often these days.

She smiled, a little sadly, and said, “I went from being one of the most knowledgeable people to having everyone know the things I had worked so hard to discover. I’d spent years struggling alone. I’d written to leaders across the world and received only scorn, and mistrust.

“Ivory and I had been alone, struggling to comprehend our powers and our bond. At first I feared that I was going mad. No one else understood. No one else could understand. And so I had to. Then suddenly Radiants were popping up everywhere like rockbuds after a storm.

“I thought that I was so prepared, and so informed, and in a moment all of that had been for nothing. Everything I had done had been wasted time. It had made no difference. Everyone knew. Everyone knew more than I did, in fact. Everyone had moved on to a world I had feared was coming for so long. And I was left feeling lost and utterly out of my depth.”

She took a sip of her wine, and her eyes grew more distant, more pained. He had never seen her like this before. As open, as vulnerable, as human as she continued, very quietly.

“Then Kholinar fell. And Elhokar died. And just like that, I became Queen of an empty, broken nation. A scattered, fragmented people. As lost and overwhelmed as I was. But they looked to me, their Queen, their most experienced Radiant, a ‘genius’ as you name me, and expected me to have answers, to be a shining light of salvation in the darkness of the thing I had dreaded for so long. They wanted me to save them, without ever realising I had already tried to do just that. And that I had failed.”

So looked up and met Adolin’s eyes, her gaze steady, in spite of what she’d just shared with him and said, with a little humourless smile on her lips, “So yes, Adolin. I think I have some idea of what you have been feeling since all of this began.”

Adolin sat, feeling somewhat stunned, as if he’d just been cracked over the head with a Shardbearer’s warhammer again.

Then he found himself leaning forwards, taking Jasnah’s hand and nodding to her, “Yeah,” he murmured, voice a little hoarse now. “Everything changed so much so fast. Everything except me.”

She squeezed his hand. Just a brief pulse of her fingers around his, but it somehow gave him courage to say things he’d never been able to properly voice aloud before.

“I was one of the most important people on Roshar. Shardbearer. Expert duelist. Heir to a princedom. In line to the throne of Alethkar itself,” he reeled off dully.

He shook his head, and downed the rest of his wine. Jasnah wordlessly refilled his cup for him, and he nodded his thanks to her before continuing.

“Then the world ended. And there were Storming Knight’s Radiant again. And my father was one. And my brother was one. And my fiancee was one. And my returned-from-the-dead-cousin was one,” he said, gesturing emphatically towards her, “And my bridgeboy was one, too, because of course he storming is.” he went on, waving his cup around so much that a little of the wine slopped over the rim. They both pretended not to notice. “And I was just...Some guy with a dead spren and no place in this new ending world.”

He met Jasnah’s eyes and gently squeezed her hands as he added, “Then Elhokar died. I failed him. And I failed Kholinar. We only got out of that mess because of my father-” he broke off, clenching his fist and turning away.

Jasnah let him sit quietly for a moment, gazing vaguely off into space, brooding. There was darkness inside him. No one ever seemed to see that. He never wanted to let it show. But it was there. And it was swirling to the surface now, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it.

“My father,” he said, very quietly, still not sure if he wanted to fall into this chasm, “Who killed my mother.”

His voice caught and he was forced to swallow hard to clear the sudden lump in his throat so he could speak again. And when he did he found that he couldn’t stop.

Because he met Jasnah’s eyes again and knew that she, too, had dark thoughts she never wanted the world to see. There was a strange connection being forged between them. An understanding he’d never thought to find, or even look for, with her. But he felt that she understood, and would not condemn him for the words that started pouring out of his mouth like poison.

“And he wrote a storming book about it and told the world what he’d done. How he- What he-” He broke off again, but made himself keep going, “What he did. How he visited the Nightwatcher and she took his memories of her. Or, or a god took his memories of her, because they hurt him so much after what he’d done and I-”

He balled his hands into fists and pounded them against his knees as the teras pressed behind his defiantly closed eyes.

Through clenched teeth, he forced himself to get out, “As though he was the only one suffering. As though I was fine. As though I wasn’t in agony every storming day after she died.”

Something broke in him then. Something that had been fraying for a long time. And he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“And it was his fault! He should have felt pain. He should have felt guilt. He should have felt every storming thing that was killing him after what he did because he deserved it. I didn’t. Renarin didn’t. But there was nothing there to take our pain away. We didn’t even have him. We lost both of our parents that night, and he didn’t even seem to care. Still doesn’t. He only thinks about what it cost him. What he lost. What he took away from the world. And from me.”

“I’m sorry, Adolin,” Jasnah said quietly, “I know that you still miss her.”

“Of course I still miss her!” Adolin snapped, then winced at how loudly he had said that. He sighed, clenching and unclenching his hands several times, like a heartbeat, then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Jasnah just nodded, wordless acceptance of his apology.

He set his jaw, then took another sip of wine, finishing his second cup. But when Jasnah made to refill it again he shook his head. He kept the cup in his hands so he could fidget with it, but he didn’t want more wine. He didn’t want- He didn’t want to be the man who needed it to get through something difficult. He didn’t want to be his father. Not anymore.

“I still love him,” Adolin mumbled, “Even after what he did. He’s my father. And he- I can see that he’s trying to be a better man. She saw that in him, you know.”

He looked up and saw Jasnah frown slightly, struggling to follow his confused, meandering thoughts. He didn’t blame her.

“My mother,” he explained, wiping his nose on the back of his hand without really noticing what he was doing. “She was a good person. And she saw a good person in him, too. And she was right. She just-”

He was crying now, jaw gritted against it, unwilling, but the tears were still coming. He wasn’t sure when he’d started. He supposed that it didn’t really matter. And with that realisation came the freedom to just..Cry.

His mother would never have chided him for that, for his emotions. She would have welcomed them. Even angry, bitter, grief-drenched tears. The bad feelings couldn’t be kept inside of him, they would make him sick. And they would. They had made his father sick. So sick he’d had to beg a god to heal him.

“Why did she have to die before he listened to her?” he blurted, not expecting an answer from Jasnah. Not expecting an answer at all. Just needing to put voice to the things that had tormented him for so long. “Why did he have to storming kill her before he could become the man she always knew that he could be? Why couldn’t he have been that man for her? The man she deserved? Because she- She deserved better than the man that he was. There. I’ve said it.”

He turned away from Jasnah, rubbing at his eyes, hoping, stupidly, that she might not have seen his tears. That was pretty impossible, given that she’d been staring right at him, and she was more perceptive than a skyeel spotting rats on the crowded streets of a city sometimes.

And given that he was doing nothing short of openly weeping at this point. But Jasnah made no comment. Just silently handed him a silk handkerchief she had in a pocket.

“She was a good person, Adolin,” Jasnah agreed softly, “And you are her son. As much as you are your father’s.” She paused, then said, “More.”

Adolin cleared his throat and sniffed several times before meeting her eyes.

She nodded, answering his unspoken question, confirming for him.

Then she said, “She used to do the same thing that you do now, you know.”

He frowned slightly at that, “What?”

“She would compare herself to the other women of the court. Say how she was not as smart, nor as cunning, as they were, that she lacked their skill in politics, and Alethi scheming.”

“She was a better woman than all of them,” Adolin whispered, wiping his eyes again, “She had a good heart. She was gentle, and kind, and loving. She saw the best in everyone, and everything, even when they’d shown her nothing but the worst parts of them. She always believed things could be better, that we could be better. That’s what she taught me, and Renarin. And she was right. She-”

He broke off, meeting Jasnah’s eyes again, and found that glimmer in them. She nodded slowly to him, and he swallowed, but nodded back to her, understanding passing between them.

“You are more like her than you allow yourself to be, Adolin,” Jasnah observed quietly. “You have her heart. But you hide it behind your own perception of all the things you’re doing wrong. All the things you aren’t good at. You ignore your greatest strengths to dwell upon your flaws. Until that becomes a flaw itself. It’s holding you back from the man that you could be. The man you should become.”

“When I was younger, I wanted so badly to be like my father,” Adolin said quietly. “I wanted to be the Blackthorn. I wanted to fight alongside him on the Plains. I wanted to see the greatness that everyone spoke about when they talked about him. The unstoppable Shardbearer. The undefeated warlord. I thought he was the best a man could be, the best thing I could ever aspire to be.”

“And now?” Jasnah prompted gently.

Adolin clenched his fist in his lap and stared into the candle flame flickering on the table between them, “Now that’s the monster who killed my mother,” he whispered, with a naked condemnation he hadn’t dared approach before. Not even in his own thoughts. “And thousands of other innocent people. And the less like him I am the better I’ll be. The better Alethkar will be, too.”

He paused, then looked up at Jasnah, realisation sparking in him.

“That’s what’s wrong, isn’t it?” he said quietly, “What we are, what we do? We- We focus on the wrong things. On how good we are at killing and conquering. Or how accomplished our women are at scheming, and manipulating people.” He met Jasnah’s eyes and said, “That’s what you’re trying to change, isn’t it?”

“No, cousin,” she said, actually reaching out and taking his hands, “That is what we are going to change,” she said, firmly.

Adolin squeezed her hands and nodded, “We will,” he agreed.

Jasnah smiled at that, not her usual, small, guarded little smirk, a full smile, her eyes dancing, her intent clear. And Adolin found himself smiling with her.

As one, they stood, and embraced. Without any reluctance or ginger back patting on Jasnah’s part this time.

As they drew away, Adolin eyed her. “I think Wit has been rubbing off on you,” he observed, giving her a wry smile.

Jasnah pulled back, frowning at that, “What do you mean?”

“This feels like the kind of thing he’d do,” Adolin said, shrugging, “From what Shallan and Kal have said to me about the times he’s popped up to give them cryptic advice when they’ve needed to talk about stuff.”

Jasnah sniffed, “I don’t think anything about that conversation was ‘cryptic’, Adolin. Nor was it intended to be.”

“That’s true,” Adolin said, nodding, “If it had been Wit he’d have told me a three hour story about how chulls shouldn’t judge themselves on how good they are at flying by comparing themselves to skyeels or. Something.”

Jasnah smiled at that, and her expression softened in a way Adolin had never seen from her before.

He paused, wondering if he dared ask her if the rumours surrounding her and Wit were true.

Then the softened expression dropped from her face as she turned back towards him looking decidedly more business-like, and he decided that he didn’t dare.

She might be his cousin, and they might have just bonded over things he’d never dreamed she of all people could have the experience to understand. But no.

Adolin Kholin might not be able to name all seventeen varieties of fingermoss, or have any idea how fabrials worked, but he was not stupid.

***

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Legendary comic Logo American Psycho shirt . writer/graphic artist Neil Gaiman has been in the news in recent months thanks to Netflix's adaptation of his work on The Sandman, which just premiered on the streaming service earlier in August. He's also since taken time to comment on other major franchises in the comic book movie world, most recently an experience with Marvel Studios. Gaiman revealed that Marvel actually rejected a pitch to bring his limited "1602" comic run to the big or small screen, but noted that he remains interested in making it happen in the future. Even more recently, he shared an older pitch that he brought to the Marvel brass - one which included another legendary director from a similar vein of storytelling and a different take on Doctor Strange.Logo American Psycho shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt

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Classic Men's Speaking with Josh Horowitz on a live taping of the Happy, Sad, Confused podcast, comic writer Neil Gaiman addressed his relationship with Marvel Studios Logo American Psycho shirt . After saying he didn't know why Marvel and DC don't consult him often for their work, he noted that he's spoken with Marvel Studios President Kevin Feige "a few times over the years" about certain topics. He even revealed that he and director Guillermo Del Toro pitched a Doctor Strange movie to Feige back in 2007, although the producer largely wanted to "concentrate on the core characters" like Iron Man and Captain America at the time: "Kevin and I have spoken a few times over the years on things. The only one that I wish, although, odds are probably, I think the way they did it commercially was better than…but I remember back in 2007, having minimalistic conversations with Kevin Feige about ‘What about Doctor Strange?’ Then talking to Guillermo Del Toro, and Guillermo and I having these ideas about Doctor Strange and starting the beginning, me starting the beginning of the conversation with Kevin about ‘I could do Doctor Strange with Guillermo.’ And basically, they said ‘We just want to concentrate on the core characters right now. Doctor Strange is way up the line, we don’t want to go there.’” You Can See More Product: https://newshirtonline.com/product-category/trending/ Read the full article

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tigerdrop · 3 years

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so. this is my attempt at posting a 20k-word-long g/t frenrey RP that kogo and i were doing at the start of this year. its not finished and im not sure when were gonna pick it back up, since we are currently working on co-op game theory instead of a filthy RP that takes place like 100k words down the line of co-op game theory. but ive been sitting on it long enough so here u go

i never really planned on posting this anywhere so its really self-indulgent and not as polished as our usual stuff but look. this is a ludicrous amount of erotica im dropping here. cut me a lil slack

anyway, here it is: Gordon Gets A Xen Bath

Gordon tries to keep moving, but eventually his pace slows to a stop, his legs growing heavier and heavier until he can't bring himself to lift them.

"Okay. Okay," he pants, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. "I can't fucking do this anymore, man! I'm tapped out! We've been walking all day - or, well, I have, I don't know about you. We can't... can't all be alien god fuckers, floating around or whatever." He pauses to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body aches from the strain of hopping around Xen in the HEV suit. Sure, gravity doesn't have quite as strong a hold here as it did back on Earth, and that makes all that metal easier to lug around, but it seems like time doesn't work the same way, either. Gordon can't tell how long it's been. Feels like days.

Smells like it, too, now that he's got a moment to breathe. He's covered in dirt and slime and congealed alien blood and God know what else. In short, he needs a fucking break. And Gordon aggressively takes one right then and there, dropping to his feet. What's the rush, anyway? "Like we're ever gonna find out way out of this fucking place," he mutters.

> Benrey watches as Gordon collapses, a pile of metal and smells. Odors. Sweat and dirt and tangled hair. His head tilts to the side but his expression remains flat as he lifts his head and gazes out into the vastness of Xen, before turning back to Gordon and furrowing his brow. They hadn't even gotten far, not really, so it doesn't really make sense that he'd just crumple like this.

> He sniffs, shuffling in a circle on his feet as Gordon bitches behind him--something about never escaping Xen, as if Benrey hadn't traveled from one end to the other to find him in the first place--and chews his lip in deep concentration, trying to think of literally anything that would maybe make the guy stop. Stop with the, uh, whining and whinging and "blah blah, we're not all alien god fuckers" or whatever.

> (Though, well, technically, Gordon was an alien god fucker anymore. Their time back with the space maggots and the gun bugs and that skinny doppelganger had seen them in a couple of situations where Gordon happily fucked an "alien god.")

> But. Wait. No. Mind wandering. Wandering to fun places, places more fun than being lost in Xen (though he's not lost; they'll find their way out eventually), but not anywhere useful. And, for once, he has to think along those boring terms. Being, you know, reliable or whatever.

> What matters is making Gordon go. The hamster wheel in his head turns and turns until the rodent is slung clear off and, with a slow blink, Benrey accepts defeat. Ideas are not his forte when he's actually trying to be helpful. He turns to his human, he tilts his head in the other direction, and he waits for his human to look up at him. Then, he speaks without even waiting for eye contact.

> "So, uh... what can best friend Benrey do to... make you. I dunno. Less dumb?"

> Nailed it. Benrey is getting good at this "empathy" thing.

Gordon drags his gaze up from the ground to Benrey, and immediately scrunches his eyebrows up. "Wow, that was almost nice of you," he says, a touch of genuine surprise in his voice. It doesn't outweigh the disdain, though. "You know what? Just don't do anything. The best thing you can do right now is to stand right there and do absolutely nothing... and let me just... catch my breath."

He hopes against hope that, for once, Benrey will do what he says. Despite all the evidence that suggests otherwise. His internal monologue turns a bit haggard. Well, it's not like there's anything he could do about it, anyway. Even if he was fit as a fiddle, if Benrey wanted to fuck off and get lost, there was no stopping him.

He can't hold Benrey's stare for long, though. It's-- it's always harder to look him right in the eye like this. Something about the size of him makes it uncomfortable, like he's staring right through Gordon. So he darts his eyes away, scanning his surroundings. The perils of an alien landscape: all the little islands and chunks of earth start to look the same after awhile. Rocks and strange, angry plants and pools of mysterious fluids. He's seen it all. There's a number of all these things and more around him, but the one thing he finds himself wishing for is something to eat. You can't trust anything out here.

"I just want a burger, man," Gordon groans. "Sick of jumping around like I'm playing some kind of platformer. You know, they never tell you how exhausting this shit is! My heart's-- my heart's racing-- like, adrenaline? Hate fucking jumping over these big-ass pits, I'm tellin' you."

Or, failing that, like, a nap. Or a bath. He vocalizes both of these things before burying his head in his hands. Maybe he could get one of those microsleeps going. If he can just calm the fuck down, anyway.

> Food? Nap? Bath?

> Benrey's mouth curls into a jagged smile. Of course Gordon would just need some of that weird, seemingly pointless human stuff. You would think after two grand adventures of dragging this sad sack around and listening to him complain every two meters, he'd have picked up on the human necessities. Things like 'burger" and "bed time" and "smelling like preferred smells, and not the natural smells that are apparently 'bad.'"

> A huge sigh heaves out of Benrey and he watches in amusement as it makes Gordon's hair puff out of his face. Small little tiny man, curled up on a chunk of rock, not able to embiggen and make things easier. It's sad and pathetic, almost as sad and pathetic as Gordon looks, but Benrey knows he's capable of being a good enough guy for the both of them. A real bro. A best friend.

> Because he knows Xen inside and out for some reason. And he's observant. He's seen things and can do the mental math necessary to figure out how to problem solve, sort of. He's spent enough time floating around Xen to figure out what those sparkly puddles do, and he's seen enough of those people back in the Wrong World eat the not-Lamarrs (or, at least the Vorti-bros did, which were close enough).

> And, well, Gordon could literally sleep anywhere. There was dirt for days, lots of rocks to align the spine. Fun nap places. Good for Gordon.

> With a burst of pride and dagger-toothed grin, Benrey propped his elbow on the island where Gordon was whining and held out his hand, palm up and flat, extended as an open invitation.

> "Oh. Uh. That it? That's, uh... that's a cool I can do. Big cool for you."

He stares, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What? What do you mean, that's a-- What are you doing?"

> "I'm doing a cool," Benrey responds. Though his voice is still fairly flat, there is a bite to it, hidden almost completely under his monotone. As if to emphasize the point, he lifts his hand and slaps it back down into the earth once more in a way he thought was light. Judging from the way the ground shook and the island rocked, perhaps not as light as he'd imagined.

> "Gonna, uh... help. Or somethin'. You gettin' on or you gonna be a babyman about it?"

Gordon yelps as the ground shakes around him, even though he's (relatively) safe on the ground. "Jesus, Benrey! Watch it!"

What the hell is he doing? His eyes dart between Benrey's hand and face as the gears struggle to turn. It's been a long fucking day, all right, and Benrey's... Benrey-isms are hard enough to understand at the best of times. This is supposed to help, somehow. So, scratch the burger. And the nap, too, probably. So, does that mean he wants to--

No. That's stupid. He's stupid for thinking it. Gordon steadfastly ignores the way his ears prickle and shakes his head, like a dog ridding itself of water.

"Please tell me you're gonna just carry me the rest of the way," Gordon sighs. It's a visible effort for him to get back to his feet. "Hey, actually, why didn't you just do that from the get-go? You're not even breaking a sweat!"

He complains, sure, but it doesn't stop him from dizzily shuffling forward and stepping on. Better late than never. He'll have plenty of time to chew Benrey out for this once he's out of this alien hellscape and back in his own goddamn bed.

> Benrey blinks.

> Oh. Yeah. He probably could have carried Gordon, huh? The thought never really occurred to him at first because, well, why would it? Was he a bad guy--a bad friend--for believing that his bestest buddy was a capable man? Color him insensitive for actually expecting things of Gordon, but he'd just watched the guy win Space Invaders in real life.

> After that, traipsing through Xen should have been a walk in the park.

> Best not to point that out, though. Gordon may take offense and, for once in his life, he isn't out to make him mad. He's trying to be good, trying to carry that camaraderie they built from Shit World Without Sony Products back to Good World With Heavenly Sword. Highlighting Gordon's stupid human failings would only work to reset the karma he'd worked so hard to build up in their social link. Or, you know, however humans fucking worked.

> Instead, he lets Gordon crawl onto his hand and then turns away, wracking his mind for the last place he saw a good puddle. After all, it made sense to start with a bath, right? Eating while gross would make Gordon complain, and sleeping while gross wouldn't be much better. Drifting past island after island, his head swivels to see if maybe there are some good candidates going forward.

> And there's... really not. Testicle stalks. Pointy rocks. Less pointy rocks. Tit-on-stilts that is aggressively spitting little Lamarrs over the edge of a rock chunk that looks like Swiss cheese. Benrey isn't sure what it's hoping to accomplish, but it's sure as fuck not accomplishing it.

> Then, he sees it, in the distance: A glittering pool of blue that sparks like electricity and glitters like cheap body mist. A strange smell, not unlike Sweet Voice, wafts from its direction. It's certainly one of the Good Smells Humans Like. Gordon will love it.

> Wordlessly, he glides toward it. Gordon's smart. He'll know what he's getting at.

Benrey's not saying anything, which is mildly concerning, but he is looking around like he knows what he's looking for. And when Benrey fucks off, Gordon in tow - held in a grip that's a little looser than he likes - Gordon lets his brain wind down for the first time in... a long while. Flying around Xen like this is nervewracking, yeah, but in a way he's more equipped to handle. Benrey's chest at his back helps. It's solid as a wall and deceptively warm, and if he keeps himself pressed flat against it, he can almost forget about these bottomless pits they're flying over.

He lets Benrey go like that for an indeterminable amount of time. (He may have dozed off a little.) But Gordon comes back to himself once Benrey's velocity changes. Gets a bit more pointed. Eventually, Gordon puzzles out that he's heading for one island in particular, one with a shimmering pool on its surface. Not exactly what the endgame was.

Wait. Gordon's brain chugs. He was looking for... some kind of water? Oh, Christ.

"Wait, were you being serious about the bath thing?" he asks as they approach. "I-- I wasn't being that serious about it! Getting out of here kind of seems like the more important thing!"

> "Huh?"

> The word falls off of Benrey's lips despite the fact he actually heard everything Gordon said. He heard him and even registered him, but he just didn't get him. After all, he's fairly certain that Gordon wants a bath considering it was one of the big things that spewed out of his mouth when he was being all needlessly fussy before, so why isn't he just saying it? Owning up to it?

> Was it because it was a detour? Slowing them down? Or was it just Gordon being whatever-the-hell-Gordon-was?

> Yeah, that had to be it. Gordon just doesn't want to get side-tracked. That's fair, he supposes. Or, at the very least, he assumes that's what a human would consider fair, considering how obsessed with "time" and "schedules" and "fast" they all were.

> "Real quick dip," Benrey promises, hoping to put Gordon's mind at ease; it was a far cry from what he typically did, so he could only hope it landed properly, that he was saying the right things and had the right inflections. "Real fast. Get'cha all nice. Wet. Uh. Soaps and hygiene. You know."

"Oh my God, man, it's gonna be a whole fuckin' production!" Gordon agonizes as Benrey brings them to that strange, glittering watering hole. "Saving the world's kinda time-sensitive, you know? And it's always such a hassle getting in and out of this thing! And-- Okay, hold on, you actually want to-- Okay. Fine. Look, I'm just saying, this is weird even for you, Benrey!"

Soaps. Hygiene. You know. Letting his best frenemy peel him out of his suit so he can scrub him clean, like normal people do. A shiver runs down the back of Gordon's neck. There's gotta be some kind of catch, but honestly, he's having a hard enough time keeping up with events as they're written. If there's some kind of malicious subtext to this whole thing, well, that's not his problem. He's got more important things to worry about, like convincing Benrey that it would be a little more prudent to just keep forging on rather than waste valuable time on a bath.

...Unfortunately, he's close enough to smell whatever it is that wafts off the surface in waves, and it makes Gordon's resolve waver. It's a clean smell, warm and vaguely fruity, with an undercurrent of salinity. Like a shower that's just been used, almost. God, he'd really like that, wouldn't he.

> The words don't really have weight to them anymore. If Benrey had a nickel for every time Gordon called him "weird" or told him he was endangering the world by taking detours, he'd have enough nickels to melt them down and make a big-ass nickel. And, judging from the way even Gordon's mouth wasn't running anymore, it didn't seem like Gordon had put any weight into his own words, either.

> Which was good. Real good. It meant Benrey was doing a nice job of not pressing every one of Gordon's buttons like a kid in an elevator, and being a proper friend. Best friend. More than friend? God, he fucking wished.

> And he'd shut up right in the nick of time, too, because the urge to tease is building up inside of Benrey like pressure in a flaming aerosol can. It's hard not to want to pick at him when Gordon is griping like this, just goading him on with his (strangely cute) bullshit. Benrey mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done as he glides to the edge of the island and leans carefully over the tiny expanse of mottled dirt and glittering water.

> "S'fine. You're fine. S'gonna be fine. Just cleanin' you up, makin' you pretty. Like a good friend. Best friend."

> The water bubbles against the back of his hand as he extends it, dangling Gordon over the surface so he can get a good look at it himself. Maybe, with the proper viewing, he'll realize that this will be a pleasant time all around. Good for him. Fun for Benrey. Bonding experience.

> "Gonna make you, uh, real shiny. Polished. A, ah, regular... Casa... Casa del Nova."

> With that, he hooks a nail under one of the thigh pieces of the HEV suit and waits, eyes resting on Gordon's face in search of approval. Approval he selfishly hopes comes quick, before reflex takes over and he pops it off regardless.

Gordon peers over the edge of Benrey's hand to look down at the water, where it lies placid and clear and a vivid blue-green. Mysterious bubbles aside. It's... it's like one of those pools at Yellowstone, he thinks dizzily. They look so warm and inviting and then you step in and suddenly your flesh is deciding to melt right off of you. Gordon's stomach swoops unpleasantly.

Then Benrey offhandedly mentions making him pretty, as if he were just trying to sell Gordon on a new restaurant, and it swoops for an entirely different reason. An irritating reason.

"Don't just fucking say things like that," he says hotly, his voice pitching up and cracking from nerves.

But it becomes an afterthought in short order when Gordon feels Benrey's nail tugging at his HEV suit, and he realizes that Benrey's very, very serious about this. Especially when he fixes Gordon with that intent stare. Like he's waiting for something. Permission? It must be, since he's not making any moves to pop off the armor on his thigh. Gordon looks down at Benrey's finger, chipped black paint peeking out from the corners, then back up at Benrey.

Oh, fuck this. He hates when Benrey does this. It's one of those mind games, or something. Make Gordon be the one to make the call, like it's a game of chicken and Benrey's trying to get him to lose. Instead of, you know, not derailing his entire fucking journey in the first place with the suggestion of a bath. One where, well, it does smell really nice. And he can feel the ambient heat from the water from his perch on Benrey's palm. And Benrey's offering to pry him out of his suit and, presumably, do the washing for him. So Gordon doesn't have to move a muscle. Or even think about it.

His face twists and turns its way through a melange of emotions before he decides, fuck it. Even if this is weird, and Benrey's probably playing some kind of 4-dimensional chess, his mind's already sold itself on the idea. So Gordon's tongue darts out to wet his lips, mouth unexpectedly dry.

"I-- Okay-- You know what, fine. We're already here. Just... no, fucking, tricks or jokes or whatever, man. If you leave me on some fucking rock with my dick out, I'm going to kill you," Gordon tells Benrey.

> What Benrey wants to say is that Gordon is being a baby. A bitch, even. There's no reason for him to get all flustered and pissy when they've already done so many things together. Things that only the closest of bros do, like take down a hostile invading force and push their dicks together and make out. But instead, Benrey takes a deep and steady breath as he works his nails deeper under the chassis of the HEV suit and tugs up with a satisfying click as the latches come undone and the thigh piece flops uselessly off of Gordon.

> "Cool."

> He moves onto the next section, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting above his nose as he looks down at Gordon and tries to focus. Head empty, aside from trying to figure out how in the hell he's actually supposed to undo all the delicate bits with fingers as big as his human. It was easier when he was small, and he supposes he could be small again, but that would be no fun. Perhaps he could just rip it off of Gordon with his teeth like the top of a sardine can, but it would be even less fun to deal with the little guy yelling at him for hours.

> Getting Gordon's goat was fun and all, but god, did the guy know how to harp on a subject like no other person he'd ever met.

> Instead, Benrey's tongue pokes out between his fangs as he presses the tip of his finger against the inside of Gordon's other thigh and lets his fingernail search for the seam, the latch. He cocks his head like an owl and leans down close enough that Gordon could touch his face, heaving out a huge and uncharacteristically irritated breath. From here, he can smell the musky odor of sweat and dirt and grime and alien goo, and it's strangely nice. Earthy. Very Gordon.

> He'd smelled it before, when he wasn't quite this big, when Gordon was unzipping his suit and climbing into his lap and drool pools at the corner of Benrey's mouth, equal parts saliva and lusty Sweet Voice and--

> Click.

> The other piece of thigh armor falls away. The noise shakes Benrey to his senses.

> "Turn please," he orders mindlessly. His voice is a bit more husky and demanding than it had been a moment before.

Gordon watches as Benrey pops off his armor like it's nothing, like Gordon hasn't spent hours fruitlessly trying to do the same himself. It would have saved him the constant indignity of relying on Benrey to get him in and out of the fucking thing. He tries really hard not to think about the indignity of this, too - Benrey's face so close to his, a hot, irritable breath fanning over him, and fingers at his--

Oh. Gordon jumps a little at the insistent press of a fingertip against his inner thigh, and heat rushes to his face. This part's mildly embarrassing at the best of times, when Benrey's smaller and more human-sized, but now? With fingers much too big for the job? Spreading his legs apart where he sits, rubbing insistently against his inner thigh... He can't help the shaky breath that forces its way out of him.

Jesus Christ, his hands are big, Gordon thinks, mind racing. Sure, yes, he's had this thought before, when Benrey was using them to slap gunships out of the air, but it's a little more pointed when they're prodding him like this. He tenses. Not entertaining these thoughts today, thank you. The whole point of this, presumably, was for a normal, ordinary bath. In a pool of mysterious alien water. With his rival stripping him down and scrubbing him. While he's so big that he could squish Gordon like a bug, if he wanted... or pick Gordon up and maneuver him around, broad fingers all over him, sizing him up. If he wanted.

He comes back to himself when he hears a command. Turn please. Quick and insistent. Gordon's eyes jerk away from where they'd been staring at Benrey's finger.

"Turn? Like, fucking-- God, ow--" Gordon hisses through his teeth as the motion twists one of his aching muscles the wrong way. "I don't even know why I'm doing this. It's not like this was stopping you... You know, I'm starting to think you just like bossing people around for no fucking reason." Despite his bitching, he does as he's told.

> Maybe he does like it. The bossing, that is. Benrey isn't sure. It's one of the few human things he knows--his job back at Black Mesa--and it's one of those things he's good at. Usually. At least now he feels good at it, with Gordon actually listening to him.

> He watches as Gordon turns, head shifting to tilt in the other direction, watching as his human trustingly turns his back to him and displays himself in a way that makes more Sweet Voice seep from between his teeth. He sniffs, he uses the back of his free hand to wipe away a trickle of fluorescent fluid trailing from his lips, and quickly wipes his hands off on his pants. His eyes never leaves Gordon's back.

> Lower back.

> His ass.

> Benrey had told him before that it was a nice one, and it was still true... uh, even if he can't really see it with Gordon sitting and all. He can imagine it in its entirety, though, nice and small, even as he fumbles with the latches on the back of the chest piece. He hardly notices as he clicks it open and the front hits the pad of his palm with an audible slap of metal against skin. He reaches around to pluck it away, the side of his hand brushing against Gordon's front.

> Gordon's heaving chest. His soft midsection. His...

> Benrey shakes his head as if snapping himself out of a trance. An involuntary laugh snorts out of his nose as he leans down, peeking over Gordon's shoulder like a creeping dragon, breath hot against the back of Gordon's neck.

> "Cute."

> And with that, he grabs the next part of Gordon: his arm, raising it up effortlessly like a doll's and carefully searching for the next latch.

Maybe facing away from Benrey wasn't the smartest idea, in retrospect. It feels like he's closer, somehow, his breath coming hotter and faster against Gordon's back. Benrey breathing down his neck should be, like, gross. Creepy. Gordon knows by now that Benrey likes to make a big deal about keeping them clean, but it's not like he knows when Benrey brushed last. It shouldn't smell... like that. Sweet. A distinct chemical note on the underside. Like ketones on his breath, but nothing that Gordon can place for certain.

Sweet Voice, probably. It's muted and subtle. He's not belting it out like he usually does, so Gordon can only guess what Benrey's feeling. Unfortunately, he's all too aware of what he's feeling: goosebumps, pebbling his skin from the neck down. A little frisson. They crawl all the way down his arms and make him shiver. He can practically feel Benrey's eyes on him, too, all up close and personal. Don't break a sweat, he wills himself, because he knows Benrey's watching him like a hawk.

It doesn't stop a bead from pooling at the back of his hairline, then losing the fight against gravity and slowly trickling down his neck.

Benrey snorts, and Gordon flinches, cursing under his breath. He couldn't even have that, huh. Then Benrey has the audacity to call him cute. And that makes his blood pulse, briefly flashing his skin with heat, before receding just as quickly and leaving a chill in its wake.

"Wh-- Whoa, okay," Gordon starts. His indignant response is temporarily cut off by Benrey lifting his arm between a thumb and forefinger. He offers about as much resistance as a fucking action figure, even creaking a little for good measure, and it's distracting, okay?

After a few moments, though, he regains his bearings. "Shut up, man," he says, flustered. "I'm not even-- Just-- Quit being weird, okay?" Because, frankly, this is weird. He's not used to Benrey being so... accommodating. Helpful. Nice. And he doesn't know what Benrey's endgame is, here. So it just leaves Gordon feeling off-kilter. Uncertain. A little hot in the face.

> Benrey's eyes flick up like a lizard that's spotted its next meal when he hears Gordon's words, conveniently at the same time as he finds the latch with his nail. The armor on his upper arm falls away with a clonk and his fingers move down to the much-easier-to-remove gloves and wrist pieces, which come undone with a light twist and an even lighter yank. But his gaze isn't even looking at what he's doing, instead resting on the back of Gordon's hair, now wet with sweat and the dampness of his own breath.

> His skin is raised up in little bumps, and so are his hackles. Something bright and violet and base, fluorescent, builds at the back of Benrey's tongue, and he swallows it down. He has to focus, keep his composure. Get the other arm with a few quick clicks, fingers now more adventurous than they were before. The pads trail across Gordon's back, the undersuit bunching with his touch, pressing into his side for no reason other than the urge to feel. Then, when the second arm is freed, he remembers he forgot the boots.

> "Not being weird," Benrey protests as he wrangles Gordon in his grip, sighing heavily as he pinches him lightly in his grasp and rolls him in his hand like some kind of trinket. Until they're face to face once again and Gordon is flat on his back in his palm. He takes a moment to idly scratch his chin before reaching for the metal encasing his lower legs and feet.

> "Not weird to, uh, help a bro out. Be a friend. Friends call friends cute. All the time. Every day. S'pre... pre-requi... prere..." He pauses and stills and, then, with unwarranted confidence, forces the word out and continues fiddling. "It's pre-registered to, uh, do that. Yeah."

Blunt fingers at his arm, his back, his sides, prodding and rolling him around - each investigatory touch makes Gordon cognizant of just how much he's holding his breath. Until Benrey manhandles him into laying flat on his back, that is. A startled noise bursts out of him, and then Gordon's looking straight up at Benrey, with nowhere to go to escape him. Even without a hand pinning him down, he can't help but feel like he's stuck in place, anyway.

At least Gordon can sit up on his elbows a little. Less like he's some kind of specimen that way. And he lets Benrey fiddle with the boots, the strange feeling that curls in his stomach easing up on him the longer Benrey messes with something other than his soft, fleshy, vulnerable bits. He lets out a shaky breath of... relief. Let's go with that.

"IIII don't know about that," he says. "I'll be real with you, I'm not the kind of guy who does that... Uh. Well. Except there was that one time in high school? But it kind of weirded her out and she stopped talking to me."

Gordon pauses for a moment, brows wrinkling in thought. Then he shakes himself. "Anyway, that's not even the point. The point is," Gordon emphasizes, feeling like he's trying to present a convincing legal argument to a judge with all the size and breadth of (and possibly, the powers of) some ancient Greek god, "I think you have a, uh, tenuous grasp of what friendship entails, buddy. My friends don't call me cute."

As an afterthought, under his breath, he adds, "Nobody calls me cute." It comes out more bitter than he expects.

> The boots come off, one after another. The shin guards, too. Politely, Benrey scoops up all the miscellaneous pieces piled in his palm between his free fingers and puts them to rest next to the pool of... well, "water." Liquid. Something, though he's hard pressed to tell you exactly what it is. "The Bath."

> He listens as he does so, to Gordon squawking and muttering and saying, well, things. Things that he's not really listening to as he brings his hands back up to Gordon and tries to figure out where the zipper to the bodysuit is. Technically, he knows where it is, but his fingers are huge and the zippy-uppy part is so small, and he's prodding and poking with gentle strokes along Gordon's chest and belly where he saw the seam once-upon-a-time. He feels his nail click against the metal and it's... uh, well, it's aggravating.

> And Benrey isn't used to this kind of aggravation. Fuck's sake, he just wants to see some dic... ah. He just wants to help his best friend get a nice bath and feel better. Because he is a good guy who does good things like kill gun bugs for tiny dudes who can't shoot straight and not drive off with vehicles when Gordon leaves him alone. He's a good guy who doesn't want to be bad and--

> "Uh," he drawls, his mouth moving before he can really catch himself, "fuckin'... maybe people would call you cute if you, uh, weren't such a, uh, mean. So mean about it. Mean to me, just trying to say nices. To my best friend. Being such a good and a cool."

> His voice dies as he misses the zipper again. Fuck. When he speaks again, it darkens.

> "Please unzip suit? Please? Thank-you."

Soon enough Benrey's got him down to that reinforced bodysuit, the last piece of armor sliding off his hand with little resistance. Usually, this is where this process stops: Benrey gets him out of the armor, and Gordon fucks off and does whatever it is he needs to do. Change. Wash up. Sleep. The part where Benrey starts tugging at the fabric in search of the zipper? That's new. And it catches Gordon so unawares that he can't even speak.

That fingertip strokes him, almost, warm even through the black fabric, and a harsh breath whistles through Gordon's nose. It feels him up from his chest to his belly, a warm and insistent pressure. All the words in Gordon's brain get trapped in a mental sieve. In their place is a single, repeating thought:

Oh, God.

Benrey keeps trying, again and again, fingernails scraping uselessly against Gordon's belly. And his eyebrows furrow harder with the effort, frustration evident in his frown. And his fingers. Their grasping grows rough and imprecise and Gordon's trying so hard to bite his lip because there's an ugly noise threatening to punch his way out of him and Benrey's saying something to him that he can barely focus on and then finally, finally, he's giving up and pulling away. Christ.

It takes a moment for his mental fog to clear and for Benrey's words to sink in. Unzip? Himself? Oh, no. Somehow that's worse.

"Can you, like... give me some privacy, maybe?" Gordon complains.

He immediately feels stupid afterward. It trickles down from his scalp like something cold and slimy. So he clears his throat, and admits, begrudging, "I, uh... I'm not trying to be mean. It's been a long fucking day, okay? You're... uh... Well. Thanks. I guess. For trying to be nice."

There's a beat before the silence gets to be too uncomfortable, and Gordon hurriedly follows it up by saying, "Don't take this the wrong way. I think you could still use a few pointers on being 'nice' to 'humans', you know."

> "Wha?"

> In a second, the irritation is gone. Benrey's expression turns flat. He leans in close to Gordon and inhales deeply (yup, still smells like Gordon) and exhales just as hard.

> "I'm nice," he defends, eyes flicking down the pile of HEV parts on the island. "Fuckin', ah, Mother Tuh-ree-sah. You're the one who is bein'--"

> A pause. Nice. He was being nice, and he wasn't going to pick at Gordon. He wasn't going to point out that he was the one being snippy, while he was out here undressing him, and carrying him around, and getting ready to give him a bath, and maybe touch his--

> Wait.

> "Privacy?"

> The word tastes bad, real bad. The kind of bad that makes Benrey want to scrape his tongue off on his teeth. That isn't how they'd played these games before. Is this even still a game, though? Did "nice" contradict "games" too much? He isn't sure and he doesn't even give himself a chance to think about it as he nudges Gordon encouragingly with a finger and the words just start rolling out of his mouth.

> "No? No place to private at, bro. Maybe gonna have to just, ah, suck it up, friend. Besides--"

> Benrey leans forward on the island on his elbow, chin resting in his hand. As his body tilts, Gordon raises higher up due to his shifting of positions.

> "Can't, ah, can't not look. Dinosaurs and, uh, zombies out here. Ghosts. Gotta keep my eye on you. Safe-tee."

Safety. Right. As much as Gordon doesn't want to admit it, Benrey has a point. He's... vulnerable like this. And it would be just his luck that he gets beset by a peeper puppy with his dick hanging out. More to the point, he knows that it's stupid to develop a sense of modesty all of a sudden when Benrey's seen his dick before. It's just, you know, the size. The scrutiny.

Heat lodges itself in Gordon's face and makes a home there as Benrey brings him all the closer. As if to see him better. "Dinosaurs and zombies," he snorts. He can't believe that's the justification Benrey's giving him. And he can't believe he's buying it.

"Just... fucking, okay. Don't stare, at least," Gordon tells him, as if it will help.

The zipper's nestled in the seam at his neck, right in the center. Gordon fishes it out with shaky fingers. And then, slowly, he drags it down his front.

As he does, his flesh starts to spill from the suit in a creamy sliver. He's paler underneath, skin shielded from the sun for so long that his characteristic tan has all but faded. Consequences of running around in a HEV suit in the middle of Bulgaria. The rattle of the zipper rings in Gordon's ears, louder than life. First his chest, then his stomach, prickling with goosebumps in turn as they're revealed.

Finally, he pulls it down to its endpoint, just under his navel. Gordon's face burns with embarrassment.

> That... was easier than Benrey anticipated. Usually there's more resistance or, you know, playing involved whenever he asked Gordon to do something like that. Usually he had something a little more snide to say. Something in the air has changed, though, and he dimly wonders if maybe all of that advice he'd taken from the Resistors (Resistance? Transistors? Alyx, basically) has actually paid off.

> Learning how to human does, in fact, make interacting with Gordon easier.

> His pupils widen as he stares, mouth slightly agape, as more and more of Gordon's skin is revealed to him, a pretty porcelain color that looks incredibly soft and as delicate as a china doll. Usually he's darker, tanner; Benrey didn't know humans could change colors like that, but it's an interesting development and one that requires further investigation.

> So he leans closer, head tilted, watching the zipper come undone. Curiosity grips him as he gingerly reaches up and hooks his nails into the open edges of the suit and tugs, enough to jostle Gordon and peel away the wrapper but not enough to actually knock Gordon off his feet. As he does so, he ignores the sounds of protests, mouth opening wider and lifting in a sharkish grin.

> He's so pale now, but he's just as soft as Benrey remembers. Just as warm. Hair's still in all the right places, muscles in his arms growing visible as Benrey tugs the sleeves down, then the rest, leaving the top half of the bodysuit dangling from around his still-covered waist.

> He waits a moment, drinking in the sight. He could almost see his--

> No. No. No dick thinking, not now. No. He wasn't going to say anything because he was seriously just trying to be nice. And make Gordon shut up. And...

> And...

> "Cute."

> The word comes out while his brain is still arguing with himself. For a moment, he considers apologizing, or trying to pretend he never said it, but ultimately decides to stand by what he said.

> His eyes lift to rest on Gordon's face as he silently doubles down, waiting for a reply.

"Hey, careful," Gordon yelps, caught off-guard by fingers at the edges of his open suit. "You don't have to fucking-- Benrey, I can do this myself!" But there's no fighting him off before Benrey's tugging it down his shoulders, baring him from the waist up.

Impatient. That's the word that comes to mind. Benrey's itching to get him out of this thing, Gordon realizes. If it wasn't already obvious by that insistent scrape of nails against his jumpsuit, or the way Benrey's looking at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted. That heat in Gordon's cheeks crawls down to his chest. He's staring at Gordon like he's hungry, and all the pasty skin being revealed to him may as well be a juicy T-bone steak. Being half-naked ought to be making him pretty chilly in a place like this, but for some reason, it feels way too fucking hot right now.

Thankfully, Benrey stops there, which gives him a moment to get his bearings. On the other hand, Benrey's calling him fucking cute again, and Gordon was having a bad enough time handling that earlier. Now? Jesus, the guy's barely paying attention to him. Mumbling it like it's an afterthought. He doesn't know what it means.

"I-- I'm not fucking cute, dude, we already established this," he insists, doing his level best not to meet Benrey's stare. Gordon folds his arms, irritable and flushed a bright red. "I'm too mean or whatever. I got the picture. You don't have to keep fucking with me."

> Oh, he's changing colors again. Red now, from the tips of his ears down to his chest, and Benrey snorts a laugh. Of course humans can change colors. He'd seen him do this before. A few times actually.

> But he's just turning red, and being snippy, and he's not making a move to take off the rest of the suit. Benrey's eyes flick from Gordon to the water and, with a low chuckle, he decides to take the cue. Which... was a cue, right? He's pretty sure it's a cue, but humans were weird to begin with and Gordon was odder than most.

> Has to be a cue, he decides after a moment of silence wherein Gordon doesn't budge. He grabs the draping top of the suit and gently peels it downwards towards Gordon's feet, watching it pull away from sweaty, dirty skin. Watching it expose dark curls of hair just below his stomach, and watching Gordon's dick spill out into the open air. Benrey's teeth dig into his lips as he watches, even as his hands move clumsily to strip the rest of the rubbery material off of his legs.

> He's touched that before. Wants to touch it again, wants to say something about it. But he can't because apparently it was bad form to say shit about your best bro's average-but-good meat when he wasn't specifically asking, or at least that's what his stupid, skinny doppelganger had said and--

> God. Wait. No. He shakes his head. Best to focus on anything else.

> What else had the Resist-y Squad said? To listen? Humans liked listening? Even when they were being bitchy little drama-snots?

> Then he should... listen, right? But... what had Gordon said? He wasn't actually paying attention. He furrows his brow and his stare intensifies as he tries to piece together enough of the words he did hear to paint a picture. It takes a moment, but soon, it clicks.

> Oh. Yeah. Not cute. Blah, blah. Something, something "mean."

> Benrey's mouth snaps shut as he struggles to tear his eyes away from Gordon's cock, instead keeping a trained eye on his face. His mind is a machine running on fumes with rattling parts, but he struggles through the distraction. He's going to be reassuring. He's a good friend.

> "Uh... yeah? Mean? Cute? You can be both. Bratty little, ah, Gordon Meanman with his nice... cute. Cute little hog."

> The words come out before he can stop them.

> Goddammit.

Oh, God, okay, so none of what he said got through, clearly. He squawks out as much. Gordon's mind spins into overdrive as Benrey manifestly does not let him take care of it himself, instead peeling the jumpsuit clean off his hips and legs and exposing him from top to bottom. His heart thunders in his chest, and he presses his legs tightly together in a futile attempt at modesty.

"My-- my cute little-- Jesus Christ, Benrey, you can not say shit like like that!" Gordon snaps. He jams his hands between his legs to cover himself, humiliation boiling over.

Fucking Benrey. Always saying the worst possible shit, the most embarrassing shit. Gordon thinks this as furiously as he can, because if he acknowledges that there's anything other than purestrain embarrassment and indignation at play, he's gonna snap like a twig. That's all it is. He's a normal guy, and normal guys don't feel their dicks twitch when their best friend calls their dick cute. And... little. That's worse. Much worse.

The thing that Gordon's still failing to understand is why Benrey's still calling him cute. Yeah, it gets his goat, but it's not like Benrey was in the habit of pulling this shit before. And... And Gordon doesn't know why it's getting to him so much, either.

The first time seemed like a prank. A bad joke. The second time, an accident. And the third - fourth - fifth? The times after that, he's not sure anymore. But each time it gets his skin burning hotter and his heart skipping a beat and Gordon's still pissed off but he's not sure exactly why. (Well, in the general sense. This time, it's because Benrey's straight up insulting his dick, thank you.)

"Why did I even agree to this," he moans, head hanging between his shoulders. "Everything's always gotta be a big fucking ordeal for Gordon. You know what, just put me down if you're gonna-- gonna make fun of my meat or whatever! I'll get myself a bath and then we can go and forget this ever happened."

> There is something about the way Gordon fusses at him that makes Benrey's heart skip a beat, though it also awakens something in the back of his mind that he's been consciously trying to tamp down. The urge to pick at him grows as large as his smile as he hooks two fingers under Gordon's arms and lifts him up and out of his palm like a claw in a skill crane. Words dance on the tip of his tongue, ones better fit for a schoolyard bully, and he rumbles a dark laugh as he contemplates what to say.

> It seems the crack about his hog got him all worked up in a delicious sort of way, judging from the way he's still bright crimson and his dick seems appreciative of Benrey's attention. He could double down on that. Then again, he was supposed to be nice in this situation, wasn't he? He'd been doing so good up until this point, and he could imagine the Resist-y People would be proud if they could see him now.

> But the reaction. It's... it's good. Seeing Gordon's dick twitch, seeing him bright as a tomato, seeing him sweating and nervously dodging his gaze. All were signs that he was interested, that he may just be thinking the same things Benrey has been trying not to think and... fuck, them's good thoughts. Great thoughts.

> Maybe there's a line to walk between. Play the game and still be "nice." Benrey wets his lips and huffs a sweet-scented laugh into Gordon's face, before gently lowering him into the water. The surface of the pool practically sparks as Gordon's bare feet make contact, and a shimmering azure mist billows into the air.

> "Nuh-uh. Nope," Benrey replies with a pop of the p. "You're, uh, tired. Gonna, y'know, get you sparkly. Clean. Squeaky. Pretty. Make you feel so good you'll, uh, wanna buy BFF necklaces after."

> Once Gordon is nestled in the pool, he leans down close and presses down on his shoulders to urge him into a seated position.

> "'Sides, ah. Not making fun. S'nice. Cute. Fun size."

> Emphasis on "fun," Benrey thinks, and his smile widens.

A tingle effervesces across Gordon's skin as Benrey slowly lowers him into the water, something like carbonation but not quite. For one, bubbles aren't nucleating on him so much as drifting toward the surface, sluggish and small. But the effect is as curiously refreshing as a cold glass of Pepsi.

In contrast, the water itself is warm and clear, and the humidity fogs up his glasses in short order. Makes it hard to see Benrey before he's firmly suggesting that Gordon sit down. With his hand. He's not expecting it, and he sinks to his knees with a splash and a quiet "whoa, shit".

Gordon rights himself, sitting back against the edge of the pool. And he opens his mouth to say-- well, something, you know, there was a lot to unpack in whatever the fuck Benrey just said to him, but he barely gets it out before Benrey's talking over him.

Cute. Fun size.

"Stop, okay, just stop talking about my meat! Can we please move on? Any other topic?" He crosses his arms in front of his face.

This is, it's too fucking much, okay, there's-- it's just-- the word was already starting to crawl under his skin, and he's just an average American male! You're not supposed to say this shit to another dude! And you're not supposed to, fucking, swallow and shudder when you hear that shit, either. Not supposed to like being talked down to like that. By... by such a big guy. Who probably does think he's a fun size right now. Probably wants to...

Gordon splashes his face with water. Then he takes off his glasses after the fact, feeling like an idiot. See, this is why he's got to get Benrey to knock it off. Too much. Gets him lost in his own head. Gets his blood pumping. And the last thing he wants is to embarrass himself by looking a gift horse in the mouth, getting a boner when Benrey's just trying to do him a solid.

Well. At least that's what he's saying he's doing. The jury's still out on that one. But either way, the most likely outcome is that Benrey never lets him live it down, and Gordon doesn't know if he can handle the psychological devastation right now. So.

"Here, look, I'll even... okay, so, what is this stuff, anyway? It feels like I'm taking a bath in a... a hot energy drink. But like, in a good way?" He cups some in his hand and lets it spill through his fingers. "Last time I jumped in this stuff, I think it fixed a bone. Is that normal? Weirdest fucking thing I ever felt, man."

> "I 'unno," Benrey answers honestly. Because, well, he doesn't know what this stuff is. Even if he knows a lot about Xen (and would be hard-pressed to tell you exactly how he knows these things), it's not like he knew much more than "this thing will eat you" and "this thing won't." All he knows is that these pools feel good and smell good and do things that are good, and could more than likely get Gordon clean. Make him have a more agreeable scent than the already agreeable people-odor he's already wearing.

> The Gordon smell. It's... a nice smell.

> "It's water. Uh. Bubbles." Benrey dips his fingertips in the pool to wet them and feels the curious, sparkling sensation around his skin; it's warm and cold and fizzy and, honestly? Yeah, kind of refreshing. Like caffeinated Pop Rocks or something. He dimly wonders what it tastes like, but ultimately decides not to drink the bath water.

> "Doesn't matter. You're thinking a lot. About wrong things. Need to focus on, uh, getting you ready. For the ball. Gordo-rella." He pauses, scowling. That was bad even for him. Quickly, he recovers, as if it never happened. "So, quiet? Please? Relax?"

> With that, Benrey extends one wet finger and presses against Gordon's chest, as carefully as he can, working in the glittering water and scrubbing gingerly at his chest hair. He works his muscles with a care he didn't know he possessed, and then maneuvers to his shoulders. He feels Gordon's muscles loosening underneath his touch and it makes him feel... accomplished.

> But his eyes keep straying down, down into the water where Gordon's dick should be, obscured by bubbles and blue. And he exhales, fighting the urge to press a button, to raise him up and see if it's still twitching in anticipation, wondering if he'll see it break the surface and greet him.

> Benrey's eyes screw shut and his fingers still as he takes a moment to force himself to be, as Gordon would say, "normal." It is a foreign feeling.

> He is not a fan.

"G-Gordo-rella?" Gordon bursts out laughing despite himself. "That's so bad, I know you can do better than that!" And the funny thing is, he does know. Benrey's got jokes. He's... good at making Gordon laugh. Even when he's clearly phoning it in.

The laughter sets him at ease for the first time since they'd set out the day before. And when Benrey reaches out to start scrubbing, Gordon flinches, but does as Benrey suggests and eventually relaxes into it.

Benrey's strangely quiet as he does it. Doesn't make any dumb quips. Doesn't start talking about video games or whatever. So Gordon doesn't feel inclined to break the silence, either. The meaner part of him insists that it's just because he doesn't want to set Benrey off on some dipshit tangent, but the truth is, it's kind of nice. The quiet. Even if it's bordering on surreal. All he can hear is the quiet sound of Benrey washing his skin, dipping his fingers into the water. His breathing, measured but heavy. And the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.

The bath itself isn't half-bad, either. He didn't expect Benrey to be this... careful. Not a word Gordon really associates with the guy. But Benrey's fingers work his muscles in tight circles, slow and firm, washing off however many days of sweat and dirt and blood, and Gordon's finds himself melting a little. Letting his eyes drift shut.

He groans when Benrey works his thumb into his back just right, dislodging a knot in the muscle he wasn't even aware of until it was gone. "Oh my God, how did you do that," Gordon breathes.

> Oh. Oh.

> That noise was a... nice one. A pleasant one. One that makes Benrey hesitate for a second and lose his smile before quickly regaining it and pretending he'd never misplaced it in the first place. And he figures Gordon likely didn't notice--his human can't see without the glasses--so he says nothing as he dips his fingers yet again and massages into Gordon's shoulders, exploring every inch and feeling how bizarre every groove and curve is underneath the pad of his finger.

> It's odd, but not a bad odd. The kind of odd that requires further investigation because, while he's had his hands on Gordon before, this feels different. Better, even, in some ways. Motivated by equal parts curiosity and mounting desire, he continues to glide across Gordon's skin and work his muscles and feel them loosen and pause to take in the rapid thudding of Gordon's tiny, tiny pulse against his skin.

> Benrey swallows the Sweet Voice pooling in the back of his mouth. He gags. He coughs into his shoulder. His voice breaks a bit as his normally flat demeanor begins to falter amid a mob of intrusive thoughts that march right into his brain like little soldiers.

> "Can do it 'cause 'm not human. Got magic fingers. Call now. For $19.99, we'll throw in a second one free," Benrey recites, but his eyes are still looking for a hint of cock. But not just that--

> "Limited time offer. Supplies going fast. Better, uh, pick up that phone."

> -- his chest, bits of leg sticking out of the water, that pretty neck, that long hair--

> "Call in, uh, next fifteen minutes and I'll... uh..."

> --that stomach, slightly soft around the middle, and arms that were too strong for somebody of his persuasion--

> "Uh."

> -- every inch that HEV suit wouldn't let him see. Gordon would look so much better in something more... breezy. Clingy. Revealing.

> "Fuck," he says breathily. Something roils inside him, and a lot of it is unfortunately roiling below the belt. So much for subtlety. So much for "nice."

Benrey keeps scrubbing, keeps rubbing his sore muscles between thumbs and index fingers, and it takes a conscious effort for Gordon not to doze off. Even the prickling of fizzy bubbles against his skin fights an upward battle to keep him awake. It's just, he's been on the go for way too long, now, and days of tension are leaching out of him, and Benrey's, like, weirdly good at this. For once, Gordon doesn't have to be thinking about parallel universes and the end of the fucking world or whatever. Somebody else can do the thinking for him.

And then he starts rambling about magic fingers like he's hosting some kind of infomercial and Gordon's laugh comes easier and harder than it has any right to. But Benrey's trailing off now, distracted. Swearing under his breath. Gordon blinks open his eyes and glances up at him.

Despite his lack of glasses, Benrey's big enough (and close enough) that Gordon can make out most of his expression, even if it's fuzzy and indistinct. His mouth hangs open a little, and his brows are knotted up under the cast shadow of his helmet. Like he's thinking about something.

"Free shipping?" Gordon finishes his joke for him. Benrey must have lost his train of thought again. Gordon's mostly used to it... mostly.

He shrugs and rolls his shoulders from side to side, grunting and making small, quiet noises as he stretches. Man, that feels good. There must be something in the water, even if Benrey was, as usual, unhelpful as to what.

Finally, Gordon decides to tug out the band from his hair, spilling it loose over his shoulders. He snaps it around his wrist for safekeeping, then runs his hands through his hair to shake it out.

"Uh. While we're at it. Think you could get my hair later? Like, I don't know where you got the soap from, but I'm assuming you can just, like, magic up some conditioner or something, too."

> Benrey doesn't know how to tell Gordon he didn't actually have soaps. He said so, but he... he didn't. If not for Gordon pointing out that he could "magic" some up, he might have been really stuck, but with a quick shake of his head to bring himself back to his senses, his face lights up once more with a teasing smile and his tone eases back into his typical taunting monotone.

> "Uh. Yeahs. Soaps and, uh, condo-stuff. Got'cha."

> There is a flash of green as he lifts his hand above him (in a dramatic way that he hopes is as cool and impressive as it looks in his head), and feels something slimy manifest in his hands. Slimy and, well, scented like a Glade plug-in. Like flowers and "summer breezes" and things that are a lot more Earth-y than the Sweet Voice. It's a nice color, too, but one that doesn't match how he feels it should look, because it smells more like blue than it does white and...

> ... You know what? It doesn't matter.

> Benrey dips a fingertip in the soap like a child about to paint and, tongue poking out between his teeth once more, sets to work giving Gordon a once-over yet again. He hopes that maybe Gordon won't notice or point out the fact he hadn't even used soap in the first place, as distracted as he was, and just accept the fact that Benrey is once more rubbing his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his legs. Lifting up limbs and maneuvering them to get into hard-to-reach places. Pushing a little firmer than before to feel for that fluttering pulse.

> God, his own heart is beginning to match it beat for beat.

> "Yeah," Benrey mutters at long last as his tongue darts back into his mouth, "I can. Do that. Get your hair."

> His hair. His hair is so pretty when it's down, already having grown out after he cut it in the Bad Ending World. Silky and nice with bits of gray that make him look like he's as smart as he thinks he is--

> No, no. Nice. Nice. He is grappling with the idea of being nice!

> "Get your hair with, uh, real shit. Good shampoo. Actual soaps and stuff that ain't, uh, the stuff. Your stuff. Head and Shoulders. Make you look real good, real nice. Nice for m--uh."

> He pauses. He snaps his mouth shut. He pauses over Gordon's body and thinks for a moment. He wants to say it, he wants to tease and pick and make Gordon flush bright red and play their stupid goddamn game, but now isn't the time. He doesn't think so, at least? Maybe it is?

> Does Gordon think it is? He hopes so, but he doesn't know how to tell. And, apparently, humans didn't like it when their alien best friends played games they didn't want to play.

> "... Mandatory hair inspection," he recovers. "Black Mesa, uh, protocol. Already fucked up the passport. Don't... don't fuck up hair day."

Blood doesn't so much rush to Gordon's face as it crawls, moving as sluggishly as his mind does, processing this. He knows what Benrey was gonna say before he snapped his mouth shut like a mousetrap. Gordon swore he could even hear the teeth click.

Maybe he didn't actually say it, but Gordon's entire system reacts as though he has, because, fucking, he did! For all intents and purposes! A bright, prickling heat surges down his spine that has nothing to do with the water. Why does he talk like that?! Fucking cooing at him, like Benrey's taking some kind of sick pleasure in teasing him in the most embarrassing way possible... but that's about what Gordon expects at this point.

So why did he stop himself?

When Benrey marshals his voice into something more flat and toneless, Gordon frowns. He's... he's really trying, isn't he. Trying to do something decent without turning it into one of their fucked up little games. Some of the mental furniture rearranges itself in Gordon's head, pictures straightened and doorways unjammed.

Unfortunately, all the dusting and clearing in the world can't change the fact that the foundation in his head is wired to make him a paranoid little fucker. And Benrey's always playing some kind of 4th-dimensional chess with him, anyway, right? He's just being rational. Wary.

That said... he's already here. He might as well relax and deal with the consequences later. Especially when... oh.

Benrey's washing him in earnest, fingers pressing into him and manipulating him. They're all over him, probing him without direction, and now Gordon's not sure if "relaxed" is the best descriptor for himself. There's just, there's a lot of touching happening, and Benrey's hands are so, so big, and Gordon can just make out the tip of Benrey's tongue poking through his teeth and something about that intense focus - on him - makes Gordon's breathing go shallow.

Christ. He can't-- He shouldn't think about this. This is the kind of sick shit that only happens in his head, not in real life. Gordon's just a normal guy with something very wrong with him, and that "something" makes him more prone than most to awful little fantasies, intrusive thoughts.

That's all this is. There's gotta be something wrong with him to want somebody ten times his size to touch him like this, but in, like, a horny way. Like some kind of freakjob doing gross shit with an action figure. Maybe it doesn't make him a bad person. So long as he keeps it to himself. He'll keep all his weird little fantasies right next to his heart, and then he'll die. That's that.

It's almost over, Gordon tells himself furiously, willing his blood to stop rushing to his dick and his stomach to stop coiling with heat. If he can just focus, he can will his boner down before he has to get out of the pool and then Benrey will be none the wiser.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't fuck up the passport," Gordon blusters, in an attempt to power through it. "I never needed one before! If anything, I think you fucked up, man. Never told me about Black Mesa Picture Day or whatever."

> Benrey's fingers do not pause as Gordon fusses at him, but his eyes can't stay focused on his own work. He's too busy watching Gordon's throat bob as he swallows around a lump, or how his blush is darkening and spreading. He's gauging the look in his eyes, looking for any indication that he can go ahead and make it weird, but--even though he's sweating and nervous and fidgety and acting just like he does when they're playing--Benrey is too nervous to make a move.

> And "nervous" wasn't a part of his vocabulary until that Alyx lady and Gordon's own downhill slide made it obvious that he actually had to think human to interact with humans. His human specifically.

> So, even though he sees the signs, he decides to bite his tongue. It is foreign, it is uncomfortable, and it's almost painful to choke down. To redirect his alien brain into more terrestrial channels. To try to figure out what a human person would do in his situation and, barring that, just continuing to do what he was supposed to be doing in the first place.

> Bathing Gordon.

> "Shouldn't have to tell you. S'in the, ah, employee handbook. Welcome packet. Folder. Right next to Warhammer 401k and, uh, ensure-ants."

> He cups a small amount of water in his palm and trickles it over Gordon's body, watching it drain down his form in sparkling rivulets. They trace his contours, weaving into every nook and cranny and crease that Benrey couldn't reach, and he watches them with an intensity that even he can feel. A warmth in his gut, a twitch of his dick. His tongue laps at his lips like a hungry animal; he wants to lick every droplet off of Gordon and explore ever inch of him as thoroughly as the bathwater.

> But... no. No, no. He's normal. He's normal and human and he's being nice, and Gordon hasn't said anything so he's going to close his eyes, huff angrily, and then continue on his merry way.

> "Everyone knows about, uh, Hair Inspection Day. And Passport Inspection. You, ah, you're just... uh."

> Benrey breathes heavily out of his nose as his eyes lock on Gordon yet again. Staring up at him, red-faced. Hair now adhered to his skin from the water. Chest heaving. He reaches out in spite of himself and presses a fingertip to Gordon's torso once more, feeling that rapid pulse and feeling it rise and fall with each breath. Knowing he could make Gordon's heart race faster and really put his lungs to work.

> He wants to feel him pant, wants to hear each heavy breath accompanied with his name and...

> No. God, it's getting so fucking hard to resist the game, but Benrey is good! Good for his best friend! He's learned and he's going to stay good. He's just being nice. He can be nice without being--

> "Missed a spot," Benrey lies as he pulls his finger away. He pretends to rinse Gordon off once more and sputters a cough. "Now, let's get those, ah, locks. Clean and brushed. Shiny. Barbie Girl, Barbie World, am I right?"

Gordon ducks his head instinctively as Benrey douses him with water, shielding his face. There's a huff from above him, and then another, breath hot and heavy on Gordon's neck. The closest comparable experience is... it's like being trapped under some kind of big fucking animal. A bear, maybe, snorting at the nape of his neck before it decides to eat him. Violently.

Cool. He loves thoughts like that. A pleasant reminder that they don't exactly carry fucking risperidone in the aftermath of a fascist takeover.

He shakes his head again to rid himself of it, then looks at Benrey in surprise when he presses a fingertip to his chest. It just rests there, warm and steady. Not pulling or pinching or shoving or any of the things Gordon expects. Gears whir to life in his head. Benrey's being-- he's being kind of fucking weird, but not in the ways Gordon's grown accustomed to, and when he's spent the entirety of their working relationship trying to get his sea legs, it throws him off just as badly when the boat stops rocking.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but it's not just Barbies who have to wash their hair," Gordon snorts at him. "You got me all worried now, man, I don't even know if you know the basics. It's shampoo, then conditioner, okay?"

After a moment, he slicks his hair back out of his face, too. For good measure. "And try not to get it in my eyes, either... Actually, uh, I'm kind of having second thoughts about this. Maybe you should just let me handle it. No offense."

> "Know what I'm doin'. I got hair. Nice hair. Better than... uh, Mr. 2-in-1," Benrey protests, masking the sudden wave of panic that just roiled up inside of him. Just the idea of not touching Gordon is too much, and he inwardly crinkles at the thought of missing his chance to feel his human again. And again. And again. Petting and scrubbing and massaging and imagining what it would be like to get Gordon close enough to his face that he could taste him.

> But... he can't do that. He's not allowed. This isn't The Game. This is A Nice Favor for His Person and, well, he's got to be normal. And chill. And calm. And this is all really too fucking hard.

> However, as long as he plays by the rules, he still gets a chance to touch Gordon, and he supposes that is a small victory. It's what spurs him on to press his thighs together and shift his weight to hide his burgeoning boner behind the Xenian island so that Gordon can't be alarmed or scandalized or angry or accusatory. It's what prompts him to summon from the ether, yet again, a new supply of nice-smelling soaps and an equally pleasant conditioner that still don't match the color his brain tells him they should be.

> And, with fangs pressed into his bottom lip, he dips his finger into the shampoo freshly spawned in his palm and swirls it gently, watching as Gordon regards him with a mixture of curiosity and what he hopes isn't disdain. He's been working so hard to try to not make the guy angry, and he's struggling not to slip.

> Slowly, he drips a dollop of soap onto Gordon's head--towards the back, since he is honestly trying to obey the request not to blind him--followed by a few drops of glittering, warm water. He monitors the way Gordon's expression changes as he presses against his head as gently as he can and begins to work it into a lather.

> It's... nice. It's not the usual rough stuff and bullying he's used to, but there is something undeniably pleasant about watching Gordon melt into his touch as he works, careful and light, his body rocking with the movements in a way that makes Benrey feel both strangely aroused and, well... warm. As warm as the pool of water, all on the inside like a badly heated burrito. It's new, and uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, and he savors it by trying to make the moment stretch.

> From the scalp and downwards, until his finger is stroking the side of Gordon's cheek and reaching under his chin as if trying to tilt his head up for a kiss he was way too big to give. Like a true romantic that he knew, in his gut, he wasn't actually anywhere close to being. But it felt right, and the dazed and pleasant look in Gordon's eyes shatter the alien armor around his heart in one powerful blow.

> Benrey swallows hard and says nothing. He just scrubs and stares. And scrubs. And stares.

> Slow, precise, delicate circles. Enjoying the moment, and buying time as he tries to untangle this utterly alien knot of feelings that is twisting around in his gut. Feelings he isn't sure he understands or particularly wants, but addictive all the same.

"Oh, that's kinda nice, actually," Gordon mumbles distantly, as Benrey starts to lather up his hair.

It's impressive, honestly, just how delicate Benrey's capable of being when he puts his mind to it. The pressure's firm enough that it feels good against his scalp, but he's not being knocked around or given a headache or anything. It's... pleasant. His eyes drift shut again, now that he's pretty sure Benrey's got the hang of it.

That finger slips lower, lower, stroking the side of Gordon's jaw, and Gordon leans into it. Lets him work soap into the underside of his facial hair. (And that's nice, too. It's the kind of thing he figured Benrey would miss.) And if Benrey rubs a bit slower, tilts his head up just a little so that Gordon has to peer up at him through slowly-blinking eyes, well, he's not going to complain.

Benrey's eyes are so big, so close to his and so intently focused that-- that he's sweating a little, just visible at the edge of Gordon's vision. Gordon's heart beats faster, and a strange tension begins to wind itself tight in him. It's like Benrey's trying to scan him. All that attention focused directly on him gins up butterflies in his stomach.

Gordon's suddenly hit by the awareness that nobody's done anything like this for him in a long, long time. Maybe ever. And here he is, letting his frenemy (best frenemy, whispers an annoying little voice that sounds suspiciously like Benrey) scrub him clean. Take care of him. How in the fuck did he end up here? And, more importantly, why is he so comfortable with this? This is the guy who got his arm cut off, not, fucking, not his live-in girlfriend. That broke up with him a couple years ago, citing the fact that he was "a puffed-up MIT asshole". Whatever. Details.

After a long stretch of silence, Gordon breaks it by saying, "I, uh, I think that's good. Yeah. Lemme just..."

And he pushes Benrey's finger away before ducking his head under the water, hoping Benrey doesn't notice the way his voice cracks.

> It... almost feels like he's being spurned when his finger is pushed away. There's a quaver in Gordon's voice and he isn't sure if it's nerves or rejection. In an instant, a long-dormant part of Benrey's brain flares to life, leaving him mentally bouncing theories as to why his person had sounded so off. It could have been that he was having the same sorts of thoughts Benrey had been having the whole time, or it could have been that he had done something wrong. Getting advice on how to handle Gordon came with the unpredictable side effect of giving him a lot to worry about in terms of "boundaries" and "behaving," which he honestly wasn't comfortable or keen on dealing with.

> These insecurities melt away as he watches Gordon duck under the water, however. It creates a hiccup in the system, a blue screen that necessitates a reboot. There's something distracting about the way his back arches forward, muscles moving, head dipping beneath the surface. On his knees, ass lifting up slightly so he has a touch more leverage. Hair floating to the top, and then clinging tightly to his skin as he emerges with a gasp and throws his head back and slicks it out of his face and...

> ... His face is dripping. Sopping. Water trailing from his mouth and down his beard. Running down his temples, his cheeks. Like sweat. Like... something else.

> "Holy shit," Benrey mutters with the barest hint of voice. He pauses, he tries to think of something to say that would mask the fact he's not being "normal," and he's been playing The Game the whole time, regardless of what he's been telling himself. The hamster is running, the gears are whirring, but Windows is still updating and he's at a loss for anything better to say.

> So he doubles down. His voice grows louder.

> "Holy shit."

Gordon winches his eyes shut as he wipes water from them, slinging his hair back out of his face for good measure. God, he can feel how much less greasy it is now, and it's like taking off an itchy sweater for the first time. Makes him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, man, that's honestly really... uh..."

He slows to a stop, thrown off by Benrey muttering something. Almost inaudible. It gets him to crane his neck to look up at Benrey properly, about to ask, before Benrey says it again. Louder. Okay, yeah, he did catch that right the first time, huh.

Even though he's out of focus, Gordon can still see how wide his eyes are. How slack his face is. He doesn't need the finer details to notice Benrey's hand hovering in midair, like he's been interrupted in the middle of a thought. Staring at him like... like...

Heat crashes over Gordon in a violent wave, from the crown of his head to the pit of his belly. He's not even-- he's not even doing anything. He's sopping wet, and he can't fucking stand the way his hair looks when it's laying flat and slick against his head like this, and he can't exactly hide all the unseemly scars and and stretch marks and soft spots and all the other issues he's poked at in the mirror time and time again. (He had a growth spurt as a teenager, okay, and stretching him out an extra foot and a half so quickly didn't give his skin a lot of time to adapt.)

In short, he feels more naked and exposed now, half-covered by the foamy surface of this shallow pool, than he did when Benrey had him in his palm with his entire dick out. And it makes Gordon fucking throb under the surface of the water.

He's gotta be making fun of me, Gordon desperately tells himself. Defense mechanism. It's not working as well as it usually does, and he subconsciously presses his thighs tighter together.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, suddenly dry despite the water carding down his face.

"What," starts Gordon. But he doesn't know where to take that question, and it dies as quick as it came.

> Game over. It's done. Benrey's used his final life and lost it in a valiant attempt to beat the final boss, but now he's gawking down at Gordon who is gawking right back up at him with a tell-tale look on his face that makes Benrey almost positive that he's playing just as hard. His own breath quickens as once complicated thoughts congeal into something more comfortable, something more streamlined, something more natural.

> Something that Alyx would have been disappointed to hear, especially after how good he had been doing.

> He inhales sharply through his nose and leans in close, the air coming back out at a low laugh as his mouth twists into a hungry grin. A finger extends and he presses it against the side of Gordon's face, an almost loving stroke. He can feel a burst of heat in his cheeks and he knows, glasses or not, that Gordon can probably see how red he's getting. He shifts his legs as he floats beside the island, trying to accommodate a cock that is now frighteningly hard and twitching against his stomach.

> "What 'what?'" Benrey asks, his voice monotonous but still somehow teasing. "Can't a bro, uh, admire his bro? Have a look-see? Look nice. Pretty."

> His finger drops to the water and stirs it a bit, creating a roil of bubbles that send a pleasant, tingling sensation up his hand, his arm. It seems to travel straight to his heart, which is pounding furiously in his chest.

> "You, uh... you good? Need anymore help? Getting clean? Hard to reach places?"

> A pause. He feels his stomach twist into knots. This has never really happened before while playing this game, but it's powerful. Makes him feel desperate. Needy. Makes him feel guilty and he hates it because he never feels guilty.

> As quickly as the mask breaks, he picks up the pieces and puts them back together. He slides it back on. He takes a deep breath, fumbling with his words.

> "Want to, uh... pla... pretty? Want to pretty? Want best friend Benrey to make you, uh, cleaner? Prettier? Help you? Please? Thank-you."

Two paths emerge before Gordon. On the one, well-worn and well-lit, he would tell Benrey, "No thanks, I'm good," and he would tell Benrey to turn around so he can dry off and crawl back into the jumpsuit. And then he would let Benrey fit him in the armor again, trying his best to ignore those fingers on his skin, and later he would duck away and jerk himself raw thinking about it. Swearing at himself. Wishing he could be normal for once in his fucking life and not develop questionable new fantasies about the one guy who's as out of place in this world as he is.

On the other, bracketed by brambles and dark, uncharted woods, Gordon would... He would...

He'd get it through his head that he's not the only little fucking weirdo in this relationship. That Benrey keeps staring at him like that for a reason.

And that Benrey's trying so fucking hard to play nice because... well... Gordon hasn't wrapped his head around that one yet, but he has his suspicions. Some of them more worrying than others. But the point is, Benrey's not taking the bait. He's got Gordon in a highly vulnerable position, and he could be pushing Gordon around if he wanted, playing their little game and driving him up the wall.

But he isn't. He keeps choking it back. It's unsettling. Gordon doesn't know how to handle it. He kind of wishes, in the back of his mind, that Benrey would tack on his 'schoolyard bully' demeanor again. At least that Gordon understands on some level. Push, pull, tussle.

And most unsettling of all is that downright tender way that Benrey drags a finger along his cheek. Anxiety thrums to life in Gordon's blood. No, no, that's not-- This is weird. This is so weird. There's something roiling and ugly churning in his stomach, and he doesn't like it one bit. He's not coping with it, he needs to-- to wrangle this situation, get some control over it, steer it back to familiar territory.

And in doing so, Gordon floors it directly into the woods.

He looks back at Benrey, taking in the hot flush crawling up his skin. The awkward shifting. I'm not the only freak here, Gordon reminds himself, blood pounding in his ears.

So he shifts himself. Sits back, draws his legs up so that his knees peek out of the water. Lets them fall to the sides, just a little. And he says, tucking a strand of wet hair behind his ear,

"What, and you're not even gonna-- That's some low-hanging fruit you're leaving on the vine. Startin' to get worried about you, man. You haven't gone this long without making fun of me in... uh, ever."

> Wait. Was that...?

> Was that admission?

> Benrey's pupils grow wide at the words, and his smile threatens to falter as he feels the cogs creaking inside of his head. Connecting the dots with all the newfound information he has on human people is like doing the advanced science stuff Gordon seemed to believe he was so special for knowing. There's emotional equations, rechecking the data, counter-arguments for every theory he comes up with, but in the end a little lightbulb flickers to life. The lights are on, somebody is home, and by god does that somebody want to play ball already.

> Benrey's finger stills on Gordon's cheek and he feels an uncharacteristic lump grow in his throat as his face grows redder and sweat beads at his brow. That weird emotion that once wrapped itself around its siblings, Worry and Guilt, finally cut itself loose and tangles itself in his stomach. He doesn't like it--it's too warm, and it's not the horny kind of heat that he's used to--but he allows it to stay. It feels like it may turn into something good if he just lets it incubate.

> "Uh, what? Not gonna... huh?"

> Benrey's voice cracks just like Gordon's had a moment before. He pretends it never happened and seamlessly continues.

> "Not gonna, ah, make fun of you. Gonna... gonna pick that fruit, though."

> His finger trails down Gordon's chin, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest. It rests dangerously low on his belly, threatening to dip lower. He grins at Gordon, leans in close, and huffs a laugh that's less malicious than it is honestly amused with its own cleverness.

> "Uh, get it? Fruit? Picked? You're, ah, you're the fruit, bro."

> A pause.

> "Laugh, please."

Gordon swallows, hard. The implications hit him like a bowling ball. That somebody's dropping on him. Maybe from an overpass or something. He's spinning out a little, alright, and losing his grip on the metaphor.

Benrey's fingertip leaves goosebumps in its wake, and his breathing goes shallow as the nail lightly catches on the crook of his neck. Lower, lower, slipping just below the surface of the water to rest on his belly, and Gordon thanks every deity he can imagine (and some he can't) that the bubbles hide... well. This, feeling it throb where it lies heavy against his hip.

Despite himself, he does actually laugh when Benrey prompts it. It comes out high and way louder than he intended, but still. Now that's a metaphor he's got a good grasp on, he thinks wildly. Oh, Christ.

"That's-- that's not really what I meant," Gordon tries to argue, but not with very much conviction. "But, uh, ha ha! Great joke! Fucking love jokes, man!"

> Benrey doesn't really hear what Gordon is saying. He does know that tone, though, from times they've played The Game before. It's a tone that speaks of permission, a sort of polite denial without the force. The kind of arguing that Benrey knows he can get away with ignoring because it's not sincere. Game talk. A challenge.

> Their own secret language of want.

> "Thank-you," Benrey purrs when Gordon forces a laugh, and his finger rubs a slow, slow circle into Gordon's stomach. He's sure Gordon notices when it bumps a bit too low, because he can feel something tell-tale just beneath the surface of the water. His grin grows at the realization that he was on the right track, tongue slipping out from between his teeth and running along his lips. A show, given to Gordon.

> A show he desperately wants Gordon to notice is meant for him. A tech demo. A promise.

> "But, uh... if that ain't what you meant. What did you mean? 'Cause you seem to be enjoyin' this, best friend."

A noise threatens to burst from Gordon's chest when Benrey starts to rub, slow and insistent, and grazes against-- Oh, God. But he clamps his lips tight, and all that escapes him is a harsh puff of air through his nose. He knows now, he knows, and it's written all over his face, a raised eyebrow and a smug smile and the slow, deliberate movement of his tongue over his lower lip.

It's fucking cartoonish, is what it is. Gordon should laugh. Gordon does laugh, again, another nervous little titter that doesn't communicate "amusement" so much as "flustered hysteria".

"I don't know," he blurts out, and it's the most honest thing he's said all day. "Fucking, God, I'm not-- This isn't what it looks like, okay, you just-- you keep looking at me like that, and I don't know what your fucking game is, man!"

He can't look at Benrey, not right now, not when he knows Benrey's looking at him like that, and so he looks down and oh, no, that's a bad idea. Because Benrey's still drawing tight little circles into his skin, unnervingly gentle. And so Gordon's eyes keep darting around, finding nowhere suitable to land.

At least Benrey's taking the bait. He's not doing that weird sappy shit anymore, and Gordon's in more familiar territory: the push and pull. The teasing. So he pulls harder, in hopes that Benrey will knock it off for good.

"If anybody's 'enjoying this', it's you, buddy! I'm just a, uh, innocent bystander, you know?"

> He doesn't sound convincing. There's fractures in his voice, and his words are stumbling like they fell down the stairs. He's looking everywhere but at Benrey, his face red and his eyes nervously darting from thing to thing to thing. But, in the end, they always come back to him, in one way or another.

> It's tells like this that let Benrey know that he's playing. The Game is afoot, he's been given the go-ahead. It's time to take the ball and run.

> "Uh-huh. Sure. Innocent. Lessee what you're hidin', bro."

> And with that, Benrey removes his finger from Gordon's stomach, instead parting his fingers into a V-shape and hooking Gordon underneath his arms. It's like a claw in a skill crane and, with a snort, he lifts Gordon out of the water. Naked, wet, and standing at attention from the looks of it; his human apparently had been playing along a lot longer than Benrey knew. He watches Gordon dangling a few feet from the pool at the end of his hand and smirks.

> But there's something different now, isn't there? Something Benrey sees in his human that makes that weird feeling he's been fighting twirl and twist. He's barely even noticing Gordon's boner more than he's looking at the way his hair is clinging to his face, and the way his eyes are flicking up at him expectantly, and how warm and small and cute he looks. He looks delicate and handsome and he wants to touch him, but he wants to touch all of him, and his heart is thumping so hard he starts to worry because... fuck. Is he dying? Is Gordon killing him just by being cute?

> Benrey swallows hard. He hopes his expression didn't falter. He broadens his grin in case it did, until the muscles in his cheeks honestly hurt. And he inhales deeply and forces a mocking laugh and squeezes his fingers around Gordon gently in an attempt to further mock him.

> "I 'unno, bro. Looks like you're, uh... you're carrying without a permit. That's... uh, an infract... fracta... infection. You're a bad boy, aren't'cha?"

Gordon yelps as those fingers hook under his arms and drag him out of the water. Oh, God, his legs are kicking out from underneath him, and his hands scrabble at Benrey's, and Benrey's just smirking at him all up close and personal and he's fucked, he's really, really fucked. His fucking dick bobs in the air like-- like-- he doesn't know, he doesn't have a simile for this! Gordon's never been in this situation before! But bob it does, until he comes to a stop right in front of Benrey's face.

"It's infraction, dude!" Gordon snaps, his mind jumping to the least important thing Benrey said. "Fucking 'infraction'! And I don't-- I don't know what you expect when you're all, fucking--"

He's cut off by a gasp when Benrey squeezes him, just a little. Makes Gordon keenly aware of those big fingers. He can just... he can do whatever he fucking wants, huh? Pick Gordon up like it's nothing? Wrap those fingers around him, so big and hot and rough against his skin, and move all his limbs around just like he was doing earlier and--

And--

Gordon blinks, coming back to himself. Face hot. Mouth dry. And Benrey's grin looks impossibly wider.

"You know," he finishes weakly.

> "Maybe I do," Benrey responds, jostling Gordon lightly. "Maybe I don't. Maybe you should tell me, bro. When I'm all fuckin' what?"

> He lifts Gordon higher, and closer. Really gets a good look at him, leaning in and running his tongue along his jagged teeth. Like a predator, like something that wants to swallow Gordon whole, though that's the last thing on his mind. He wants to taste Gordon, that's for sure, but there's... there's more to it.

> He wants to reel him in. Follow this weird feeling. Press his lips against Gordon and--

> Benrey inhales sharply through his nose. Gordon smells positively delicious. Like something fruity and sweet and earthly. And he looks delicious, too, all soft and supple and soaked to the bone, smooth skin glistening in the alien lights.

> His dick twitches, straining against his pants. He's so hard it hurts. He wonders if Gordon can see, but can't imagine he can miss it.

> "C'mon," he teases, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me what I am, bro. Tell best friend Benrey what's on your mind. Bonding experience. Bros being bros."

He wrenches his eyes shut, breath coming harder and faster despite his efforts to control it. When Benrey fucking talks like that, he can't help it, okay? All-- all smug and condescending and all the shit that should get under his skin-- and does, yeah, it drives him up the wall, but. But. There must be something wrong with him, Gordon thinks desperately. Something warped in the fabric of his mind that makes a shiver race down his spine.

Then he feels warm breath puffing against his face, and he opens his eyes again. Just in time to see a broad tongue run across sharp, sharp teeth. A naked suggestion. Gordon's mouth falls open a little and hangs there, stunned speechless.

Until Benrey mutters, c'mooon, voice low and heated in a way that goes straight to Gordon's belly. And his dick twitches in the open air, fully visible this time. Fuck.

"You're," he starts, staring at his own fingertips, where they're digging into Benrey's hand.

God, this is humiliating! And he should, he should tell Benrey to fuck off and put him down, but he doesn't. That same warp in his fabric goes all the way down to his autonomic nervous system. Heart racing, blood pumping, pupils dilating and sweat beading and every other unconscious reaction he can't wrangle into submission.

Because he wants to be wrangled into submission.

Okay, Christ! He gets it! He doesn't need the color commentary from his own fucking brain!

Gordon takes a deep breath to steel himself, and then he starts again, choked and hesitant, "When you're... God, fucking, touching me and breathing on me and shit, man! Like you'd be doing any better if you had somebody's big fucking hands all over you! Okay?"

As soon as the words leave him, a fresh wave of embarrassment crests and crashes over him. Stupid, stupid, he shouldn't have said it.

> Oh. Well. That was new. Usually, there's a bit more arguing, a bit more resistance, a bit more of Benrey getting called things like "weirdo" and "freak" before they have a good "haha" about it and touch dicks. But Gordon is being so earnest and honest and talking about how he's touching him, about big hands, about doing this same thing to Benrey (sort of talking about it, anyway), and...

> ... And Benrey feels... wanted? Was that the word? Wanted?

> Yeah. He feels wanted.

> And that foreign, alien, hot-cold emotion twisting inside of him balloons and explodes, and there is a sudden, pulse-pounding sensation of want and warmth that courses through his body like a poison. He can feel drool pooling under his tongue and he swallows hard, his smile fading into something more earnest as he tries to maintain a mocking, bullying stare. Tries to keep his head in the game.

> Their game.

> "Oh. You, uh. You like it when I breathe on you? Fuckin'... secret alien power. Uh, blow dryer." He pauses and chuckles. "Heh. Blow."

> He inches Gordon closer to his face, and the closer he brings him, the more he can feel the little bit of warmth radiating off of him. Welcoming him. Blazing hot, like he is on the inside, and flushed so red he looked burned. And that warm, weird, unwelcome emotion surges again as he lets out a sigh and sits Gordon in his palm, plopping him down unceremoniously like a captured bug.

> Only he's not watching him with a childlike curiosity. He's really examining him, trying to wiggle the wrench out of the gears in his brain. With some effort, he pops it loose, and the words pour out of his mouth without any restraint.

> "Bet'cha you'd like it if I, uh... dried you off. Gentle breeze. Pick a scent. Have eight exciting flavors. Blue. Watermelon. Other blue. Tropical, uh, kiss."

> Even he isn't sure why he stressed that last word. The weird emotion spoke for him.

> His mouth snaps shut.

> Awkward.

Whatever Gordon was expecting, it wasn't "being dropped buck-naked onto Benrey's palm". His legs splay out in front of him, and he instinctively tries to draw his knees up. Doesn't change the fact that he's got his boner out in front of God and everybody.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Despite himself, he bursts out laughing. He does his best to choke it back down. "You really, uh, gotta work on your dirty talk, man."

Gordon doesn't manage to catch himself before he all but admits that, yeah, that was dirty talk. This is a situation where Benrey should be trying to talk dirty to him. It's breaking the rules a little. Breaking kayfabe. But it's hard to resist bringing it up when Benrey's trying to get him hot by talking about blowing on him like a spoonful of soup.

Then he actually thinks about what Benrey said. Tropical kiss. That's not-- that's not anything. That's not real. Benrey's just talking about kissing him, in whatever weird fucking roundabout way he usually does. A small part of him softens. It's... almost cute. If he were inclined to ever describe Benrey that way. Which he isn't.

But Gordon plays along anyway. "What are you talking about? Scents? Dude, I smelled your breath earlier, and lemme tell you, it wasn't any kind of fucking tropical kiss."

> "Uh, no. S'one of the other flavors," Benrey responds indignantly, façade breaking for a moment. "That flavor was, uh... Glade Plug-in."

> As he speaks, he reels Gordon in closer, sitting in his palm and still sopping wet. He looks so small, so delicate, so... cute, and the thought makes his heart flutter again. It grabs his tongue and twists it into an awkward knot that takes a moment to untie. He works fast, hoping to save face. Get back in the game.

> But it's hard. Harder than before, and as Gordon stares at him expectantly, he's suddenly floundering. While he is externally stiff, flat, and monotonous, on the inside he is scrambling to pick up his scattered index cards during a speech. He wants to play, but he wants to taste. He wants to stroke Gordon's head as much as his dick and he doesn't know why. He wants to say something naughty and nice all at the same time and...

> "Lemme, uh. Demo. Demon-stray-shun," Benrey says, interrupting his own thoughts. "Tropical kiss. Free sample. Here we go."

> And with that, he brings Gordon to his mouth. He presses the smaller man into his lips, a small and chaste kiss being planted in the first place he can reach: Gordon's throat. Only it's... not just his throat. It's basically his whole shoulder, and throat, and beneath his jaw. He practically envelops him, could literally swallow him if he wanted to, but pulls away and snorts a laugh as though this spontaneous act was premeditated as a joke.

> He sounds unconvincing.

> Even more so when he chuckles, "See? Coconut. Sea breeze. Lime. Seagulls. All the classic smells."

Lips press against Gordon's skin before he's fully prepared for it, and he lets out a surprised little sound. Jaw and throat alike find themselves enveloped, a heat and softness and moisture the likes of which he's never felt quite like this. And then it's over. Gordon's still left dizzily processing this as Benrey draws back.

"Did you just kiss me?" Gordon asks, stupidly. He touches a hand to his jaw, where there's a hint of moisture lingering.

The longer Gordon thinks about it, the more disoriented he becomes. Benrey's never kissed him like that before. All, fucking, sweet and tender. Those aren't words in his vocab. Like, yeah, sure, they've kissed before, but only in frantic, snarling bursts. This is strange and new.

But... at the same time... that's not all it is, is it. At this scale, chasteness is impossible. Gordon's so small in his hand, wet and splayed like some kind of foal, and those hands could wrap around every inch of him at once just to touch him. Lips, kissing wide swathes of skin. Hot breaths of air forced through Benrey's nose and spurring the hairs on the back of Gordon's neck to stand up. The unpleasant realization that Benrey is very, very big, and could probably just swallow Gordon whole if he so chose. You know. Normal things to worry about.

But he doesn't. He just lets Gordon go with a kiss. And Gordon flushes up to his ears, still a little dumbstruck.

> That was... new. That wasn't like the lust-fueled, rushed kisses he'd given Gordon while trying to get fingers around his cock, but it wasn't bad. It was something that scratched an itch he didn't know he had, something that made his lips tingle, something that milked an incredibly good feeling out of that foreign emotion swirling inside of him. It's intoxicating in a way human substances never could quite pull off, and Benrey feels an addiction already forming.

> It takes him a moment to realize that Gordon has spoken. It's just a tiny sound to his colossal ears, one he nearly misses from the full-body throb of lust and affection. It's not just his dick anymore. His heart is thundering against every bone, every inch of skin, and he feels almost overwhelmed. Again, like he's dying. This is new, it's intense.

> He wets his lips and furrows his brow, and with a surprising amount of clarity, rattles, "Yeah... uh. I guess I did, huh?"

> His tongue continues to run over his lips. His teeth. His eyes dart to Gordon. He's struggling to play the game properly, but there's a sudden bout of nerves involved. He can't help but wonder if this is how Gordon feels all the time, and the realization clonks him like a clawhammer.

> If this is how Gordon feels all the time, then no wonder he's always such a mess. It's latching onto his jaw and holding it shut like an invisible muzzle, it's pumping him full of drugs that don't exist, it's making him feel small despite being absolutely batshit levels of huge. And, it feels like he's learning... god, what had Alyx called it? Empathy? He's not sure how much he likes it, but it mingles well with the now-welcome warmth following the kiss in a way that feels positively, cathartically self-destructive.

> Benrey coughs. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tease. He looks to Gordon with an intensity even he's surprised he can pull off.

> "You, uh. Like it? Wan' another one? I got, uh, plenty. Warehouses full. Best Friend Special. BOGO."

Gordon watches Benrey's tongue slide over his teeth like it's in slow motion, a reminder of what lies just underneath the surface. And he freezes under the intensity of Benrey's stare, anticipatory sweat beading on his forehead.

"What, you mean you want to..." He trails off with a nervous laugh. "C'mon, man, put me down! I know you get a kick out of, fucking, making fun of me or whatever, but I don't know what you're getting out of this!"

> Unfortunately, Benrey knows exactly what he was getting out of this. A feeling, strong and tingly that's now full of a primal need that he understands quite a bit better. And, beyond that, he was getting permission. Full permission in every movement Gordon made, every lilt of his voice, every glance up at him that was filled with a hunger that his human never got quite got the hang of voicing. It's a look that Benrey knows good and well, though, from the other time they've played their little games.

> He says nothing. He just smiles, moves Gordon to his mouth again, and pushes his lips gently against his collar bone, though it stretches down to his chest. He can feel Gordon's nipple brush against the corner of his lip, hair brushing against his mouth, the taste of the strange, glittering water and skin as he parts his lips and rumbles a laugh into Gordon.

> He pulls away. He maneuvers his human. He presses his mouth against him again, brushing his stomach with a feather-light kiss that nearly encompasses his dick. He can feel it pressing against him, feel it twitch as he pokes a tongue out between his teeth and presses the very tip into his soft flesh.

> His eyes angle up to Gordon's in a silent bid for a sign. The lick intensifies, nimbly avoiding the cock poking at the very corner of his mouth.

> He continues to say nothing. He has a feeling he doesn't have to. Gordon isn't the only one who can get away with communicating silent intent in their back-and-forth.

Of course Benrey's not gonna answer him. Of course Benrey's just gonna grin at him - like an asshole - and kiss him again, lips soft against his chest. Right over his heart. It's cartoonish, is what it is. And, unfortunately, it's also more ticklish than Gordon expects, and he snorts aloud.

"What are you doing? You're being weird, dude."

When Benrey laughs back at him, his huffed breath ruffles Gordon's body hair, and it just makes that whole "sensitivity" problem worse. Gordon tries to choke down a giggle and fails. Despite himself, it's... it's nice. He almost feels light-headed.

And then Benrey's doing it again, a soft kiss against his middle, shifting him bodily into position, and Gordon laughs again, shoving at his face. Playful. Roughhousing. Their usual.

And again. "That-- That tickles, man, c'mon!"

And again, hot against his belly. Mouth parted. Benrey's chin grazes his dick, which he'd all but forgotten about in his reflexive urge to kick Benrey away. A peal of laughter bleeds into a gasp. All the worse when Gordon feels the wet-hot tip of a tongue push into his skin.

Oh God. It feels just like he thought it would. In that dream, that fucking dream, the one he can't get out of his mind. The one that's made Gordon look twice every time Benrey grins at him, teeth sharp and glossy. He freezes, afraid even to breathe too heavily and press himself all the more against Benrey's tongue.

"What are you doing," he asks again, this time less of a playful rebuff and more of a high squeak. Then it's hotter, wetter, more of the broad side of Benrey's tongue flattening against him, and his dick twitches, hard.

Fuck.

> Alyx would be disappointed, Benrey thinks. He was doing so good and playing so nice, and now he's licking a hot, wet stripe across Gordon's belly, feeling the hairs and skin against his tongue, teeth barely grazing against sensitive flesh. But, he knows things she doesn't and will never know, about the game and the language that he and Gordon have built. He squeaks in defiance, but with a tone that shows only polite refusal: Oh, I couldn't possibly, but if you insist.

> Gordon isn't pressing against his face. He isn't pushing him away. He isn't snarling and cursing, and he hasn't made any move to extricate himself. He's parting his legs invitingly, his voice is getting higher in want and anticipation, and his dick is so hard. As hard as Benrey's, to be honest, and twitching almost as if its beckoning.

> "What'm I doing?" Benrey purrs, and he can see Gordon's body tremble at the way it rumbles through him. "M'helpin'. S'what best friends do."

> With that, his jaw opens wide, his tongue slithering out and the tip dipping lower. Low enough to catch his cock, his legs, the entire bottom of his stomach. It presses hard against Gordon and then creeps upward before coiling up politely behind Benrey's jagged smile. Drool pools at the corner of his lips and he swipes it away with his spare hand.

> He opens his mouth and dives back in again, the faintest hint of flesh and salt and soap and glittering, sweet Xen water dancing across his tongue. It fills him with another burst of primal want, though it's watching the flush on Gordon grow deeper that satiates that other, newer beast nesting inside of him.

Hot, wet, sinuous, pressing against his belly like a snake, making him gasp and jerk instinctively - Gordon's head spins on contact. And Benrey's eyes keep flicking up to meet his, like he's gauging Gordon's reaction. Looking for the go-ahead. Like-- Like they haven't been playing this fucking game for hours, glorified foreplay, you know, like he hadn't let Benrey practically feel him up behind the bleachers while he was (is) stripped down to nothing.

When Gordon's legs jerk open, though, he doesn't snap them closed again. He lets them fall open, leaving room for Benrey's face. If he wanted. To put his face anywhere around there. It's embarrassing as soon as the thought hits his conscious mind, and Gordon burns a bright red down to his shoulders.

"I-I don't know if this is what every 'best friend' is supposed to d-- oh-- oh God, Benrey--"

His voice pitches up, raw and hoarse, as Benrey's tongue flattens itself against his thighs and dick. No more games. Just what this was always building up to, this whole time, if Gordon had just paid a little more attention, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and seen the hunger in Benrey's eyes. And the full knowledge of it cracks over his skull like an egg.

His chest heaves desperately to catch his breath, but it's so much, he can't--

He can't--

Benrey's going back for more, licking him in slow, deliberate strokes and chuffing like a big cat against him, and Gordon can't fucking think. His hands clench at Benrey's, then, finding that inadequate, at his own face. His hair.

"Benrey," he chokes out again. "You're gonna-- oh-- you just gave me a bath and you're gonna get me all fuckin' nasty again, man!"

It comes out as a whine that belies just how fucking stupid he sounds.

> "I'll, uh, just bathe you again. No biggie."

> Benrey's voice is low, dismissive. There is a dark and teasing chuckle hidden just under the surface, as much of a predator as the rest of him. Waiting for a moment to strike, to snag his prey and drag it beneath the surface. But not now, not now.

> Benrey likes to play with his food.

> His alien tongue is strangely dexterous, encircling Gordon's thighs and tracing wet lines into the crease where they met his body. Faint trails of Sweet Voice-tainted saliva leave visible marks of where he's been, allowing Gordon to ogle at exactly when Benrey is doing to him even after he's moved on. Even after he's moved from one leg to the other, to his belly, to his cock.

> His own aches as he flattens his tongue against his dick and licks upwards, like an animal lapping water. His tongue curls delicately and folds back into his mouth, scraping against pointed teeth before emerging again. Hungry, tasting, teasing and growing faster, more deliberate. The taste of Gordon swirl in his mouth and he feels a heat building in his belly so hot and dangerous that it almost makes him feel ill.

> And it intensifies with every squeak Gordon makes, every pant that falls out of his mouth. It drives him onward, a leopard on the prowl, gradually cornering its next meal. His own breath is becoming ragged, his mind a messy whorl of emotions and thoughts that make time seem as though it hardly matters. He's long forgotten how long he's been teasing, eyes nearly crossed to focus on Gordon. Benrey has long been lost in the sounds he makes, the way he writhes.

> It's almost like divine inspiration when it strikes him that he should maybe push him a bit harder.

> Delicately, and uncharacteristically slow, he rolls his tongue back into his mouth. He parts his lips and fits them around Gordon's length. He can't suck, not at this size, but he hums in satisfaction, the vibrations pulsing straight from him and into his human.

> If he wasn't so afraid of doing damage, he'd have smiled.

"We don't have time to--" Gordon breaks off in a moan, that compulsive need to worry stopped in its tracks by Benrey's tongue.

He shivers from his neck down to his toes when it worms around his thighs, digging into those sensitive creases in his skin. Something like a laugh bubbles out of him, but it's also something like a whimper, with a hint of a plea.

"You can't," he gasps, fighting for breath, "you can't do this to me, man, you don't even-- ah! Fuck! Don't even know!"

Gordon turns his face to the side and buries a noise into Benrey's hand. Makes it easier to cope when Benrey licks up to his chest and swirls his tongue, his own breath loud and hot around it. Tasting everywhere he can get to. Benrey just keeps going, salivating and groaning for the sheer thrill of it, and it makes heat pulse off Gordon's skin in waves.

Faster, harder, enveloping him in ways he had only dreamed possible, something only he can do - Benrey - just for him, he doesn't do this shit with anyone else, how could he. Gordon squirms and gasps in his grip, legs straining to arch into that wet heat.

Agony creeps into his voice, low and haggard. "Benrey," he whines, "how are you so fucking... good at this, why are you even--"

He doesn't get to finish that thought before Benrey's lips wrap around him, and he hums, smug as a cat that's gotten the cream, and Gordon cries out so hard that some winged thing bursts out from a nearby outcropping. How is-- Why is he-- what does he even get out of this, he thinks wildly, brain desperately clinging to neuroticism even in the face of sexual obliteration.

> Every time Gordon shifts his weight, whines, looks away, says a word, Benrey feels that warm, weird emotion surge through him in a way that defies explanation. A feeling he thinks he can now identify, but is hesitant to verbalize, lest he somehow break the rules. But, it's so much stronger than before, especially after everything they'd been through, especially with the way Gordon is finally saying what he really means. Instead of snapping that he's being weird, he's whimpering praise and the words hang crookedly in his head like paintings in a forgotten room.

> "Benrey, how are you so fucking... good at this?"

> The boner he'd been ignoring for what seemed like millennia is now aching, and he pushes his hips against the side of the island and grinds upwards in hopes of finding something resembling relief. Unsurprisingly, what he finds is a crotch full of rocks, and he winces even as he continues to lavish Gordon with attention, breath hot out of his nose as he continues to hum and mouth at his dick. As he unfurls his tongue once more and presses it against his entire body and pushes Gordon against the palm of his hand, something akin to a wet hug. As the tip once again finds Gordon's cock and greedily laps at it, mesmerized by how prominent it is compared to the rest of his soft body.

> There is no give. Just hardness, sinking into the sensitive muscle.

> As he continues on--gently sucking on entire hands, tracing circles into the wet skin of his stomach, tasting the inside of his thighs while grazing his junk with the side of his tongue--he grunts. He feels his hips rocking just out of Gordon's sight. He clenches his free hand when its not in use pulling Gordon's legs apart for easier access or fiddling with his arm to get access to his fingers.

> It's instinctual, and impossible to ignore. He aches, and he knows Gordon can see he's losing himself to this as much as his prey.

> He waits to see if Gordon will have anything to say about it.

Gordon grabs desperately at Benrey's face, a nasal noise forced out of him on every exhale. It's more than a blowjob, it's, it's Benrey humming through his entire fucking body, okay? He can feel it down to his bones, and the inside of Benrey's mouth is achingly warm and so, so wet, and Benrey just keeps mouthing at him, tongue unfurling behind his teeth to lap up Gordon's length in a hot stripe.

It's... it's good. It's so good. Gordon closes his eyes tight and moans aloud.

Benrey moans, too, as his lips part from Gordon's dick to envelop his fingers instead. He pants through his nose and shuffles awkwardly, and the uncomfortable motion gets Gordon to open his eyes again. And he really looks, this time.

Oh.

He's hard.

Benrey's hard, and he's rocking his hips forward into the barren earth. And he's got his hands on Gordon instead of himself. Thumbing his chest and spreading him open. The burden of that knowledge makes Gordon pant like a dog.

"Oh my God," he warbles, voice cracking as Benrey draws patterns into his stomach with his tongue, "are you-- are you not gonna--"

Gordon slaps his hands over his mouth, suddenly regretting his words. No, he's not going to ask if Benrey's gonna touch his own dick, Jesus Christ. That's none of his business. What does he even care, anyway. It's not like he wants to see it. Not like he's curious about how big it would look once Benrey whipped it out. Gordon's aware of the general, you know, size and girth, proportionally, but it looks so much bigger down there, even in the confines of his work pants. It's not really fair.

And then Benrey grunts against him and flicks the tip of his tongue against his dick even faster, and Gordon can't stop the agonized whine that forces its way out of him.

> Benrey's tongue rolls up Gordon's body yet again, and again, and again. It envelops his dick, his thighs, his stomach, and everything in between. He watches, he waits, and eventually he hears Gordon's voice small and broken from his palm. It is enough to make him recoil, to open the floodgates in his mind. That warm feeling floods the inside of his skull and drowns out every thought out but lust, who is gasping for air defiantly.

> "Huh?"

> Benrey pauses, looking down at Gordon--soaked and slimy and oh-so-small--laying with his legs parted, his face flushed, his eyes locked on the very prominent erection straining against his pants. His own trail down to it and he smirks as the weight of Gordon's almost-question hits him.

> "Oh... huh? Wha? Touch myself? Is, uh, is that what you were gonna say?"

> He leans down over Gordon, tongue sticking out between sharp teeth but frustratingly distant from his body. The hand he'd once used to manhandle his human pulled away, fingers slipping into his waistband behind his belt. He sneers, but there is no actual malice behind it. Feigned mockery, just to make Gordon grow brighter. Redder.

> "You... seem to like the idea. You, uh. You... you wanna see? That what you want? Wanna see best friend Benrey's massive hog? Wanna... wanna touch it?"

> A pause, a laugh.

> "Want me to touch it? Seems you like the idea. I can do it. Just, uh, gotta say so."

Gordon mumbles a quiet plea into his hands, begging for some higher power to-- to do something. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that Benrey's sticking his tongue between his teeth, now, looking at him as if he's some problem to be solved or some piece of furniture to wrangle into place. Instead of keeping that tongue right where he had it. Gordon squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose. He's not disappointed, actually. That would involve caring about what Benrey was doing at all. Which he doesn't.

"You can... you can do whatever you want, man. It's your life," he says, not meeting Benrey's eyes.

Not like he wants to... oh, God. That's Benrey's hand in his pants, isn't it? Slipping under the waistband before Gordon’s even finished his sentence. A sound escapes him that he really wishes wouldn't. He’s really into this, huh, Gordon thinks distantly, just as surprised by the realization as he has been all the previous times he’s figured out that, yes, Benrey actually is pretty hot for him. Like he’s still waiting for the Band-Aid to be ripped off, even now. Even after Benrey’s sucked his dick in a fucking dumpster. (You take what you can get.)

And-- And there it is, huh. Larger than life. Gordon swallows, a little intimidated. Then he wants to curse himself out for feeling intimidated by Benrey’s dick. Freud would have a field day with him.

#writin stuff #please clap.

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moon-spirit-yue · 3 years

Text

Idea inspired by @incorrectgg. Namaari going through it for this one. Sapphic yearning Namaari series:

Raya, yawning: hey Sisu, what are you doing?

Sisu, waving her talons around: I’m trying to use my magic! I know there’s more I can do but it just isn’t clicking right now

Raya, frowning: aw, that sucks. Anything I can do to help?

Sisu: I don’t think so. The most you can do is just stand there and wait to see if there’s some kind of change in you

Raya, nodding: alright, don’t try anything too crazy. I’m worried how close Namaari is to us by now. It’d be really convenient if she just let us go on our gem heist in peace

Sisu, snorting: yeah it- *gasps as a weird light comes from Raya’s body and enters Sisu’s talons* ....I just did something, didn’t I? Oops, sorry bestie

Raya, rolling her eyes: you do tend to mess up like this a lot, don’t you? Whatever, just don’t be so damn clumsy next time

Sisu, pouting: ouch, what’s up with you? You’re never this harsh! *realization* I just took away all of your positive emotions and memories, didn’t I? Shit, I really wish I remembered I could do that. Ah man, please don’t tell me I gave her partial amnesia

Raya: the hell are you blabbering about? You’re acting weird

Sisu, laughing nervously: hey, don’t worry about it! Let’s just go before Namaari catches up with us

Raya, frowning: who’s Namaari? Sounds like a binturi

Sisu, mumbling: so I did giver her partial amnesia, but this is fine *speaking normally* well that’s one way to put it! Long story short, she’s been tracking you down for years and is definitely in love with you. Also she sort kinda betrayed you when you guys were 12 so I think she’s feeling extra guilty about it. I’ll tell you the full story on the way but we should keep moving

Raya, groaning: fine. Let’s go

*in Talon about three hours later*

Raya, searching for the gem piece while Sisu accidentally steals half of Talon’s products: sweet hell this place is a dump

Namaari, finding her: Raya, I’ve had enough of this. You will be imprisoned in Fang for theft and destruction of property. Come with me willingly or face the consequences

Raya, squinting at her: do I know you?

Namaari, rolling her eyes: whatever new trick you have up your sleeve, it’s not going to work

Raya, sitting down and starting to eat an apple: look man, I’ve never seen you before in my life, so get the hell away from me

Namaari, getting irritated: I don’t have the patience for this, binturi. You and the gem pieces are coming with me

Raya, scoffing: you really are a broken record, aren’t you?

Namaari, frowning: it’s pathetic that you have to act like you don’t know me

Raya, furrowing her brows in concentration: wait, I think I do remember you. Sisu told me about you. You’re Namaari, right?

Namaari, relieved that she’s being kinda cooperative: yes! Thank you! Don’t know what that charade was about but now that it’s over-

Raya, laughing: you seem to be the pathetic one, don’t you think? Only an idiot would try finding a girl that hates her guts. You think I’d actually be able to forgive you after what you’ve done? I may not really remember you, but I’m sure that if it came down to trusting you or death, I’d chose death. And you actually developed feelings for me? Yikes. Better get over that unrequited crush there, princess. Pining is not a good look for you. Though to be fair, I doubt anything could be a good look for you

Namaari, feeling a deep ache in her chest: do you really feel that way?

Sisu, rushing up to them: NO! BAD RAYA! STOP EMOTIONALLY SCARRING YOUR FUTURE WIFE! *waves her talons and watches the light go back into Raya’s chest*

Raya, snapping out of it: toi, that was horrible! I felt like the Druun. I do not want to go through that again so- Namaari how did you find me and why do you look like you’re about to cry?

Namaari, very much on the verge of tears: uhhhhh well you just told me how much you hated me just now so pardon me for feeling a bit hurt

Raya, confused: when did I say that? Why do you even care if I hate you?

Namaari, huffing: one, you said it just now. And two, I’m sorry for falling in love with you okay? I don’t think I have the energy for this feud anymore so go. Run away like you always do-

Raya, pulling her into a hug: I love you too. Whatever I said just now wasn’t actually me, Sisu did a magic thing that basically took away everything positive in my life

Namaari: aww, so I make you happy, don’t I dep la?

Raya, blushing: shut up

Sisu, tearing up: you guys are the cutest! Wait. If I took away positive things in your life why did you remember me?!

Raya, giggling: to be fair, you’ve caused me a lot of grief since I summoned you back, Sisu

Namaari, laughing: c’mon, we have a gem to steal

Raya, eyes sparkling: you’re coming with us?!

Namaari, nodding: of course. I’ll do everything I can to earn your trust back

Raya, kissing her cheek: thanks, binturi. Sorry for whatever it is I said, by the way

Namaari, blushing: anytime, Raya. Also don’t worry about what you said. I’m pretty sure I have thing for mean girls now because you insulting me was actually pretty hot

Sisu, grumbling: I am a divine water dragon and my bestie tells me I’ve given her a lot of trouble since she summoned me? I’m suing the universe for this-

Taglist: @faithfulwarrior-og @isitbussinjanelle @ratld-sideblog @tigerlillyruiz @anywhere-but-here-plz

#raya and the last dragon #raya x namaari #rayaari #namaari #namaari x raya #raya and namaari #ratld #ratld namaari #ratld raya #raya disney #rayamaari #disney raya #raya of heart #raymaari #raya namaari #namaari of fang #raya incorrect quotes #ratld incorrect quotes

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