#that i would actually get this far despite all the effort and struggle ive been putting into finally getting to this point

[lightningfilledsaber]

I can and will make everything about being trans

[blitzyn]

pervert

miguel o'hara x spiderman!reader

request : none

Synopsis: A game of cat and mouse goes to shit, and you find yourself bound in Miguel's webs.

a/n -> literally nobody asked for this but he's been stuck in my mind for decades and i wanted to get something out for my bbg <3 also super sorry i disappeared again, writers block straight up bitch slapped me and left me in a ditch, plus ive been losing interest in writing for genshin or just the game in general, unfortunately.

wc -> 3.3k

cw -> very dubcon, mean dom miguel, degradation, bondage?, face fucking, google translated spanish, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, slight and brief choking, (semi) public sex??, not beta read

Exhilaration filled your veins as breathy laughs escaped your throat, weaving through buildings and rubble with the precision of someone who has experienced this type of chase countless times before.

And that's because you have. You've been in a near never-ending game of cat and mouse with the esteemed Miguel O'Hara, always close enough to feel the swipe of his talons in the air but too far to catch. No matter how many times he's cornered you, you always find a way to get past him; it was predictable at this point.

That pissed Miguel off like no other, hellbent on capturing you to put an end to your snide remarks, to put you in your place. While that usually would've enticed you in any other circumstance, you weren't too keen on letting him dig his claws into you now that you were chest-deep in this predicament — and his wrath.

"Stop running, already!" he shouted, the sharp edges of fury evident in his voice.

"I'm not running!" you respond, peering back at him with a smug grin. True to your words, you, quite literally, were not running. You were swinging with the agility of a seasoned acrobat, twisting and flipping through debris while looking like you were having fun. You offered him occasional glances and nearly laughed each time. Seeing him, a grown-ass man, almost constantly on all fours was amusing, but hearing him curse and grunt and growl made electricity shoot down your spine in a way that nearly got you caught several times.

Adrenaline filled your body and threatened to burst through your chest each time you evaded him. "Missed me!" you laughed, juking away from his swipe.

"So close!" you flip over him with a taunt. "Try again next time!"

"¡Voy a matarte!¹" He growls, and it was hard to ignore the shudder that rushed through your body. You slightly winced at the feeling. If you don't get your shit together when he spoke Spanish, then you were asking to get caught.

But it's not like you'd mind — Actually, yes, you fucking would!

You click your teeth in annoyance. Despite how hard you tried, you couldn't remove Miguel from your thoughts even though he was right behind you, hunting you down like a wild animal. Your mind strayed toward his broad shoulders, beautifully tiny waist, fat ass (that you'd give a lot to slap), and the massive piece of rubble being hurled at your body.

You blink out of your stupor, feeling your senses going off rather violently. Oh shit.

Everything seemed to move painfully slow as you stared at the debris with wide eyes, noticing Miguel's red web attached to it as he brought it down. You flung your arm out in an attempt to attach your webs to something and swing away, but was unable to pull yourself fast enough as the debris pinned you down to the roof of a building.

"Fuck!" you thought as you grunted and squeezed your eyes shut, agony tearing through your entire body. Swiftly, you pushed against the ground to shove the heavy object off of you, groaning with effort. Just as you managed to stand back up, you heard the familiar thwip! of his web wrapping around your waist and arms to yank you to him.

"Caught you," he said, voice rough and breathless as he panted hard. He loomed over you menacingly, hands curled into a fist.

You struggled, kicking and straining against your binds. "Come on, Miguel." You offer a tense grin. "We both know this won't last very long."

"Ay dios míos,²" he growled, dropping to a knee to roughly press a hand on your face, his fingers digging into your cheekbones. "¡Cállate!³"

...

Woah.

You stared at him with wide eyes, feeling your cock stir in your pants. Oh fuck.

It was hard to ignore your ever growing attraction (and hard-on) for him that seemed to intensify when he deactivated the hologram of his mask. Sweat beaded at his temple while his eyes narrowed at your bound figure, fangs peeking out from behind his lips as he caught his breath.

Even when you were the target of his anger, he was still breathtakingly hot.

You opened your mouth again to shout at him — probably to let you go or something along those lines — but Miguel wasn't having it.

"Why is it so much to ask for you to keep your fucking mouth shut for once?" he hissed, squeezing your cheeks tight enough to ache, but it only went straight to your dick. "Is that all you can do? Run your mouth until someone gets sick of your shit and shuts it for you? Huh?"

You whimpered, meekly shaking your head in denial. Tightly closing your eyes, you swallowed hard and squirmed, secretly trying to will away your hard cock straining against your clothes.

"You're so annoying! Stop moving," he demanded, reflexively looking down to adjust his position over you. His eyes raked over your body for a moment before zeroing in on your erection, pausing in surprise.

.

..

...

"Oh, you pervert."

Your eyelids snapped open at his words, mortification seeping deep in your chest as you shifted your head away from him in shame. Despite everything, you could only feel yourself getting harder under his intense gaze.

"Is that why you made me chase after you?" He forced you to look at him again, your face aching at his manhandling. "Because you wanted to fulfill some dirty fantasy of yours?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You couldn't find anyone willing to satisfy that depraved urge, so you turned to me. Just how desperate are you?"

You shook your head again, letting out muffled words. He mercifully removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to speak, sliding lower to rest on your throat. "I was just playing..."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head mockingly, momentarily adjusting himself to grope your painfully stiff dick. "And this was your master plan? To get off at the face of danger? You're more of a degenerate than I thought."

"N-No, I didn't—" you moaned, reflexively bucking your hips up into his hand.

"Stop lying." He squeezed the hand around your throat just enough to force labored gasps from you. "It's stupid how you don't think I've seen the way you look at me — how you think I haven't noticed you eyefucking me."

A furious blush rises on your cheeks as your cock twitches in his hold. It doesn't go unnoticed.

He laughed again, staring at you in mock disbelief. "You're enjoying this."

And this time, you don't deny it.

"Can't say I expected anything higher from you." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and removed his hands from your throat and dick to place them on your thighs. Effortlessly, he pried them apart to slot himself in between your legs, pressing his crotch flush against your ass.

Groaning, you lifted your hips a bit in an attempt to grind on him. With a growl, he swiftly slapped a hand on your abdomen to push you back on the ground.

"Don't move," he said, glaring at you with a mix of arousal and irritation in his eyes. "I've had enough of you getting your way." He leaned forward, a wince crossing your face when he pressed some of his weight onto your stomach. "It's my turn."

"My way—?" You cut yourself off with a huff when he gave you a stern look.

A thought seemed to pique his interest when he suddenly decided to kneel beside your head. It was nigh impossible to tear your eyes away from his crotch, the area beginning to glitch with a dim, pale blue glow at the strain from his hardening cock.

"Let's put your mouth to better use." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and deactivated the hologram covering his dick. It landed on your face with a quiet slap before his hand guided it to your lips.

You hesitantly parted them, only for them to be forced open wider to make room for his cock. You let out a surprised sound at the entry, but he was entirely focused on making you take him completely.

He was gracious enough to take it slow, relishing in the sounds of your gags and sputters and every deep inhale.

"Thaaat's it," he drawled out, sighing heavily when he felt your tongue rub against the underside of the shaft. "Fuck..."

Your eyelashes fluttered as he buried your nose into his pubic hair, uncontrollably drooling over him while you sucked and licked what you could. You felt him harden in your mouth, forcing himself deeper into your throat while it tightened and spasmed.

He increased the speed of his thrusts, absentmindedly shuffling closer to your face. A shiver ran down your spine when he slithered a hand on the junction between the back of your head and neck to hold you firmly.

A garbled whine left your throat as you subconsciously jerked your hips upwards, searching for some form of relief for your aching cock. You strained against the webs around your torso and arms, utterly intoxicated with his taste, his scent, his sounds—with him.

With a groan, he shoved himself as far as he could inside your throat and held you in place, ignoring how you instinctively struggled against him. A high-pitched ring sounded through your ears as your head spun, chest tightening with the need for oxygen.

Shuddering, he finally pulled out of you, watching with satisfaction as you coughed and gasped for air. A mix of saliva and precum connected your lips and the tip of his cock, to which you quickly licked away. You let him inspect you with a hand still buried in your hair, gaze locked in on your drool slicked chin and swollen lips.

A quiet hmph left him before he turned to place himself back in-between your thighs again, this time extending his talons to tear a path in your clothes from your ass to your crotch.

"H-Hey! Hold on—" you protested and kicked his arm away from you.

"Shut up," he cut you off, swatting your foot away while grasping your painfully hard cock again. "Don't act like you don't want this."

"G-God..." you moaned, furrowing your brows as you stared at him. A squeak left your throat when he suddenly pressed your legs to your chest, a quiet ptuh! escaping his lips alongside a glob of saliva that landed on your asshole.

Retracting his talons, he let go of one of your legs to press two fingers against your hole, shoving them inside you abruptly. You winced at the sting his thick fingers made as it mixed in with the arousal that burned in your gut. He separated them in a scissoring motion, moving in and out at a pace that had you yearning for more. His fingertips brushed against spots so frustratingly close to your prostate, you were sure he was purposefully avoiding it to mess with you.

"H-Hurry up," you demanded, the ache in your balls beginning to prove to be something you could hardly handle.

He gave you a sharp look. "Tell me to hurry up again and I'm leaving you like this."

You stared at each other for a moment longer before you looked away in defeat, muttering under your breath. He ignored you and added another finger, the wet squelching blending in with your soft moans. His hard cock pressed on your thigh, and you briefly wondered how he wasn't fucking you within an inch of your life already.

Quickly enough, you were able to realize that he wanted to make you wait. He wanted to give you a hard time — just like you did to him.

"C-C'mon, Miguel." You breathlessly chuckled, straining against the webs around your torso.

"What?" He raised a brow, satisfaction seeping into his expression at your growing desperation.

You opened your mouth again when he unexpectedly jabbed his fingertips onto your prostate, sending a violent surge of electricity through your body. "Fuck!" You cried out as a spurt of precum leaked out of your dick and enlarged the wet spot on your clothes. He continued targeting the gland, refusing to let you get a word in your sentence. The coil in your abdomen tightened into an almost unbearable degree before he abruptly removed his hand from you entirely.

"God, just fuck me already!" You jerked your hips upwards in a futile search for stimulation.

"You sound just like a whore," he commented, tone full of condescension. A heat washed over your body at his words as you stared at him with wide eyes. You tensed when he leaned down, lust and mirth swirling within his red irises. "Is that all you are?"

"What?" You found yourself unable to look away from him. "N-No, I—"

He shoved his cock inside you mid-sentence, tearing a loud moan from your throat. He held your thighs to fold you in half, using his body weight to pin you down. You panted hard as you tilted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. It was hard to focus on anything else but his dick filling you up so perfectly.

Miguel released a gutteral groan, grinding his hips against you. He dug his fingertips into your legs hard enough to bruise, but that was the least of his worries — not when he had you below him. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned back (mercifully removing some of the pressure on your chest) and watched himself move in and out of you, pulling out almost all the way before he slammed himself back inside.

"Ohh, fuck!"

"This is what gets you — mierda⁴ — all compliant, huh?" He taunted, abdomen flexing with every thrust. "The moment you get some dick inside you, you're like a trained mutt."

You opened your eyes to weakly glare at him, to deny what he said, but the moans spilling from your lips did nothing but prove him right.

"Te gusta cuando te trato como si no fueras nada, ¿no?⁵" He leaned back down, hooking his arms around the back of your knees as he pressed his chest against yours, curling his wrists around your thighs to grip the flesh. His breath was hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, lips so close you could feel the vibrations of his voice in your ear drum. "Aren't I right, you dirty little pervert?"

"N-No! S'not right!" You cried out, the burn of his cock stretching you out mixing in with the pleasure so deliciously it was almost addicting.

"Deja de mentirte y admítelo, puta,⁶" he hissed, widening his mouth to graze a fang along your neck threateningly, which sent a shiver down your spine. "Admit it — that you're a depraved whore."

"Admit it." He emphasized each syllable with a thrust, ramming into you hard enough to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

"Shit—fuck! Oh, god!" You sobbed, arching your back into him. You nearly came at the feeling of his abdomen rubbing your aching dick. "I'm a whore! M'your whore!"

His cock throbbed fervently at your words, rewarding you with groans and grunts directly into your ear. Your ass slightly stung at the force of his thrusts as he fucked his anger into you, but neither of you cared.

"Fuuuck!" You drawled out. "Miguel, m'so close! Let — ngh, ah — Let me cum!"

"Yeah?" He cooed in your ear, gently licking the shell. "You gonna cum f'me?"

"Yes, yes—!"

"Then beg."

He stopped moving so unexpectedly that it left you disoriented for a few moments as you stupidly stared at him with wide, watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"Beg to cum," he leaned away from you to get a clearer look at your face. "I'm not repeating myself."

You took a moment to catch your breath (and secretly savor the feeling of his dick twitching inside you). "God, please, Miguel! I need it so bad. I need to cum — please let me cum! I'll be good, I promise! Fuck, Miguel, please let me cum! Please, please, please!"

The sight of the tears along your lash lines sent electricity down his spine as his breath hitched. "You'll be good?" He dryly laughed. "I don't think I believe you."

You opened your mouth in defense when he suddenly slammed himself back inside you, tearing a moan instead of words from your throat. He fucked you hard and fast and deep, grunting in a way you could only describe as animalistic.

But you loved it. You loved how he controlled your body so effortlessly, how he treated you like a cheap fuck toy. You mentally deemed all those chases worth it in the end.

The heat from less than a minute or two prior returned full force as you tilted your head back in ecstasy. You babbled out incoherent words of (what Miguel suspected to be) praise, straining against your binds once again.

You screamed out when the coil in your abdomen finally snapped, electricity shooting down your spine as your cock spurt cum underneath your clothes. You weren't able to process the stain in the fabric when you realized that he hadn't slowed down, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm to chase his own.

You stared up at him, admiring the slight flush on his cheeks, how his brows furrowed in concentration, and even his eyes that shone with disdain towards you.

You could feel his dick throbbing inside you, and you quickly realized that he was about to cum as well. The ecstasy you were granted slowly began to merge with the pain of overstimulation, but it only made the hazy bliss you were in so much better.

"Yes, yes, Miguel!" You gasped out as your legs trembled in his hold. "Cum inside me, please, I want it!"

He grunted at your words, fucking you with a few more harsh thrusts before he suddenly pulled out. It took you a moment longer than normal for you to process the uncomfortable emptiness as he let go of one of your legs to quickly jerk himself off.

"What—No! Please, Miguel!" You pleaded uselessly, wincing when he tightened his grip on your thigh and unintentionally extended his talons. They penetrated through your clothes and pierced your skin, drawing a bit of blood, but that was neither of your concern at the moment.

"Ay, solo cállate ya,⁷" he growled, releasing your thigh to press his palm against your mouth to silence you. You let out pathetic whines and whimpers, but Miguel was focused on achieving his orgasm.

With a final few strokes, he finally came with a loud groan as his cum spurt onto the floor. He angled his hips to make sure none of it landed on you, much to your obvious dismay. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back and stared at your bound body, trembling and helpless. It was satisfying to see you in such a state.

He reactivated the hologram over his softening cock before binding your legs together in a way that hid the large hole in your pants to prevent anyone from figuring out what the two of you did.

He sighed heavily and slung you over his shoulder, standing up to look around and figure out where the fuck he was.

"You have a really nice ass," you commented after a moment, unable to keep your compliments to yourself.

He groaned. It was gonna be a long trip back to HQ.

Translations:

1: "I'm going to kill you!"

2: "Oh my god."

3: "Shut up!"

4: "Shit..."

5: "You like it when I treat you like you're nothing, don't you?"

6: "Stop lying to yourself and admit it."

7: "Oh, just shut up already."

cross-posted on ao3

[cerebralinvasion]

Hiii! I have a BSD request! Its a bot dark but its related to something that Ive been working through lately. Can you do as many bsd characters as you can reacting to their S/O getting emotional on their birthday because they "didn't think they would make it this far"? Like they struggled with severe depression and suicidal thoughts/SH in their childhood and honestly didn't expect to make it to the age they are now? Its almost my birthday and I've been struggling with the same thing so i wanted some fluff with my favorite characters to help me through it! :) thank you so much!

trigger warnings: mentions of past self harm, depression, and suicidal ideation (reader no longer struggles with those things for the most part)

characters: fyodor, nikolai, dazai, ranpo, yosano, poe, chuuya, jouno, akutagawa

notes: ack sorry this took so long D: i know it’s probably long past your birthday by the time i get this out, but i wish you a happy birthday and i hope you enjoy anyways :))

fyodor

♡ fyodor being fyodor knows exactly what you’re feeling

♡ he understands perfectly why you’re getting emotional and reacting the way you are

♡ and he doesn’t judge you for it in the slightest, he thinks that the way you feel is perfectly valid

♡ he’s just not sure exactly how he should approach the issue or how he can actually help you

♡ but he really does want you to feel well

♡ it’s likely he’d wait for a calm moment between the two of you when there’s not much else going on

♡ something like enjoying a cup of tea together during the morning

♡ he’ll very very subtly poke at the topic and wait for you to explain it all yourself

♡ and once you do he’ll take that chance to comfort you now that you’ve brought it up

♡ “there’s no need for tears, alright? the past is is past and you’re here and well now. that’s what matters. no matter what you thought, you did make it this far.”

nikolai

♡ nikolai is able to tell what’s up when you’re getting upset, even if you try to hide it

♡ but he’s not too keen on making you feel bad or being too blunt when it comes to this

♡ so he mainly tries to focus on distracting you and giving you the best birthday he can

♡ lots of surprises and things for you to enjoy, stuff that makes you personally happy

♡ he kind of pretends to be oblivious to the fact that you’re down for the most part

♡ because he doesn’t want to accidentally make you feel like your emotions are dampening the mood

♡ because they’re not!! your feelings are perfectly valid to him

♡ so instead he only subtly touches on the topic near the end of the day once everything begins to settle down.

♡ “hmmm… you had a good time today, right? so it’s a good thing you’re still around! and as long as i can see your smile then all is right!”

dazai

♡ yeah dazai definitely gets the feeling

♡ but also… it’s dazai

♡ don’t get me wrong, he wants to be able to comfort you and make you feel better

♡ but he just… doesn’t know how

♡ he doesn’t need you to explain or tell him what’s wrong

♡ he already knows

♡ and he’ll probably try to make you feel better by diverting your attention

♡ making a big show of celebrating your birthday, giving you gifts and trying to make it the best birthday he can

♡ he wants to celebrate not only your birthday but the fact that you actually made it this far, even if you didn’t think you could

♡ so his cheesy over the top words proclaring him to be ‘completely at your service for the day’ and all the effort he put in to cater your birthday to you

♡ is kind of his way of telling you that he’s proud, and that he thinks you deserve to celebrate

♡ it’s not until later that night does dazai express his feelings directly

♡ when you’re both half asleep and holding each other under the blankets

♡ “i’m so happy you’re still here to celebrate. i hope you had fun today. and i want us to do this again.”

♡ again… that’s right

♡ he wants to make sure he can celebrate your birthday again

♡ and again, and again after that

ranpo

♡ despite his skills as a detective, ranpo can be pretty oblivious

♡ but he knows that somethings up, even if he doesn’t know what

♡ and he doesn’t like that! it’s your birthday! and you’re his partner!

♡ he thinks you really deserve to be happy and have a good day

♡ and he thinks that beating around the bush won’t help you feel better

♡ so while he will initially wait for you to tell him yourself

♡ if he decides your taking to long, he’ll just jumpstart the conversation

♡ so he very bluntly asks what’s wrong with you

♡ it might’ve come off as rude if you didn’t know him better, but you can tell he genuinely wants to know

♡ when you do tell him he’s kind of like ‘oh’

♡ and he sits there quietly for a little while

♡ because he doesn’t exactly know what to say

♡ it’s not often that he cares about being sensitive with others feelings and being careful about making them happy

♡ but when it’s you, he puts in a lot more effort to watch his words

♡ he thinks a lot more before he speaks, because he really does care about how you feel

♡ “you didn’t think you’d make it this far, but you did, didn’t you? you’ve made it through.” he pauses for a second before beginning to speak in a quieter tone. “and you’re going to keep making it through. so don’t be sad anymore… please?”

yosano

♡ oh my god

♡ what’s this?

♡ a single person in this list that actually has good communication skills?? impossible.

♡ but for real, yosano doesn’t beat around the bush

♡ the second she gets an inkling that you’re not doing well, she brings up the topic

♡ in an actual normal way

♡ she’s not overly blunt to the point of rude, but she’s also not skittish around the topic

♡ a soft ‘are you alright?’ with a concerned glance to you

♡ when you do explain she’s very understanding

♡ while she may not specialize in psychology, it’s still something she has some basic knowledge of

♡ so even though she can’t say she’s experienced the same feelings you have, she very much so understands them

♡ “and yet you’ve persevered despite the circumstances. i know it hasn’t been easy, but you did it anyways. it took a lot of strength and i believe that’s more than enough cause to celebrate. because you deserve a wonderful birthday and many more.”

poe

♡ poe is really nervous about accidentally making you more upset when it comes to this

♡ he really wants to make you happy! and he hates seeing you sad

♡ but he just doesn’t know what to do, and is really scared of doing the wrong thing

♡ so he tries to be cautious

♡ being extra soft with you and making sure not to say anything that could touch a sensitive subject, for the most part

♡ though at some point, one of you is gonna give

♡ whether it’s you finally confessing to him about the way you’d feeling

♡ or it’s him just getting to worried seeing you so down

♡ whoever brought it up, when you do begin to explain he’s very quiet, encouraging you to speak your mind without interruption before he responds

♡ “i’m so sorry to hear you feel that way…if you ever need my help, please let me know. i really do care about you and i don’t know what i would do if you ever needed me and i wasn’t there for you.”

chuuya

♡ chuuya loves you a lot it’s true!

♡ but he definitely doesn’t notice you feeling down at first

♡ it’s not that he doesn’t care! he cares about you so so much

♡ it’s just that, he’s not very… observant

♡ he pays attention, yes, but he’s not the very best at reading people

♡ he might be able to tell that somethings up, but he won’t be able to figure out what exactly is wrong unless you tell him

♡ so as soon as you do explain why you’ve been down it instantly clicks for him

♡ and he feels like a dumbass for not getting it sooner

♡ he makes sure to let you know how genuinely proud he is of you

♡ and how happy he is that you made it to where you are today

♡ “you’re so strong, i hope you know that. i’m so proud of you. i’m so lucky you’re alive.”

jouno

♡ unlike chuuya, jouno is very observant, especially when it comes to you

♡ so he was able to tell what was wrong

♡ especially since he was aware of your history with both self harm and suicidal thoughts before now

♡ does this mean he knows how to talk to you about it?

♡ absolutely not i’m so sorry

♡ while jouno is very much used to observing and being aware of how others felt, due to their heartbeat

♡ he’s not at all used to actually caring the way he does when it comes to you

♡ so he’s not exactly sure how to genuinely make you feel better, but that’s not to say he doesn’t try

♡ “you don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to. but if you need to talk i’m here to listen, yeah?”

♡ like he said, he’ll listen if you’d like to talk

♡ but if you’d rather not have a discussion he understands that as well

♡ if you don’t feel like talking about it, his method of cheering you up would probably involve distraction

♡ telling you interesting facts and stuff to get your mind off of it

♡ because while he’s not the best at filling a conversation with comforting words he is decently adept when it comes to small talk and casual chatter

akutagawa

♡ akutagawa is not a man who understands emotions very well

♡ not his own and certainly not others

♡ but if there’s one thing he knows it’s that he wants you to be happy

♡ and he’s worried because he doesn’t know how to do that

♡ but he really really wants to, more than anything

♡ he doesn’t know how to approach the topic

♡ even if he can tell you’re upset, he fears if he brings it up, he may make it worse

♡ so it’ll be up to you to tell him plainly how you feel

♡ “i… i can’t say that i will know how to help you when you feel this way, but i can say that i will always be on your side. and if you ever need it, i am always here to listen. i’m glad that you’re still around.”

♡ it’s quiet and mumbled, his words unsure and shaky

♡ he isn’t used to talking from the heart like this

♡ but every word is true

[garglyswoof]

Oh which Giana darling books have you read? I’ve only read her anti-heroes in love duet which I did actually really like but I did read it when I was craving a mafia romance. Elena is a true ice queen nd just their chemistry and tension and was insane! They were both really each other’s match too 🥹 and the smut was good 😂

Have you read her fallen men series? I keep wanting to try it but it’s such a big series that it seems intimidating.

But “hmm this is not very good but i'm still enjoying it” makes so much sense! I’ve felt that way about some books I’ve read too and even given some of them 5 stars if I’m being real. But could definitely see that being the vibe with Giana Darling books too so I get it

So this is going to be not the response you expected, but really just a Treatise:tm: on romance books and my relationship with them. doing a read more bc i am verbose

When I read a romance book that I really enjoy, it will never be my favorite book. I can love it, but I know both intellectually and emotionally that it is not something that will stick with me through time. Even books that do attempt to tackle more serious issues simply do not have enough time to do that justice in tandem with a typical romance plotline.

In general, the prose used in contemporary romance is very run-of-the-mill. There are no lines that make me stop in my tracks because of the beauty of them (like i've read in many a romance fanfic). It is to be easily consumed and appreciated. I love romance books so much, I read them nightly. But goodness, the prose runs the gamut from "oh wow this is really bad but im still enjoying it" to "wow, this writer does pacing very well, has some funny lines, and has made efforts to explore some emotional depth". It never hits "I need to share this quote with everyone I know because it struck me to my core."

Good (and even bad) romance is more about dialogue vs setting, about the moment of falling instead of an intricate plot, and about two people coming together vs. deeply examining each of them on their own. It is about page turning oh my GODDDDD the tension is unreaaaaaaaal vs holy shit that was such a well-written story and im blown away

That being said, we all have the tropes and character archetypes we love. To actually bring it around to your ask, Darling writes pretty good alpha males (though I prefer JT Geissinger's, if you're looking for pseudo-mafia romances) and that's why I enjoyed her books. In fic and books, I am a sucker for things i would not accept in a million years in a real human guy lmao. Many people do not get past the student/teacher aspect of the first fallen man book, but that's a trope i somehow devour despite it being anathema irl. You can frankly read them out of order (@accidental-rambler will tell you no way lmao. yes kate, i still think of you when i think about reading things out of order XD).

So that's what i mean. published romance is for tropey goodness, for light and frothy reading. If i want more emotional depth from my romance, then i will most likely find it in fanfic, because the established nature of the characters allows for far more indepth examinations of feelings, of how the past we've seen in canon affects them emotionally, of these thoughts and feelings that really...matter to me. In fanfic, Ive also been with the character more and have the deep connection already there, and it allows me to dive into their headspace with ease so fics just have a cheat built in lol. Romance books just dont have the time to do that and still tell their story. Also, sometimes I just am not looking for plot in a romance???? I'm just looking for feelings or smut, and the plot is actually in the way lol. Published romance authors can't quite win with me.

In summary, I love romance, but I struggle with my perception of it and perspective because it just doesn't feel deep enough. It's something I continue to work through. Thanks for letting me partially do it here.

[dumblemonchickenwing]

vent. too much information

I remembered I had notes on my phone saved, where I wrote down my feelings about my ex. This feels wrong to do, but even now I find my feelings are being controlled by their past actions.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

This whole thing just breaks me on various levels. Perhaps I was always supposed to only value platonic friendships, and what happened to me was my punishment for going into something new to me, and betraying my friend.

Today's addition:

I sort of felt something felt bad or off, and felt disoriented and confused, but now when I was making my bed, I thought to myself "I make my brother's bed every day too, and its considered a normal thing that should be taken for granted." And then I had a flashback to my ex's words and times with them.

I realized I felt like I was taken for granted, and everything I did. Obviously I did things Not for the sake of having something given to me in return. i started to feel that way after I got treated by them a 'certain way'. Despite me working hard for the relationship, I'd hear them lecture me and say how I "should work for relationship".

I listened to them when they vented. I was by their side when they were depressed and said hurtful or wrong things. I never judged them for their mental sicknesses. I proposed suggestions or said comforting words, even on times when they were unfair to me. I showed patience even on days when they accused me, doubted me, lashed out on me. I did what they wanted to do together. I did what they said was their need. I took time even when I was busy to comfort them. I didnt traumadump on them even when I had terrible things going on in my life because I knew they had their own stuff going on and that it would be unfair to them. I was not getting mad at them for struggling bc ..why would I? It would be unfair.

I did the activities they enjoyed, albeit I admit I was not the best watcher of streams and had my moments (esp when I was depressed or triggered by the content and behaved unexcited but didnt say what was wrong). I even waited for them when they were busy with.. gaming and school and other stuff.

And with all that, they would hint that Im doing something not good enough, and would keep on telling me "relationship is work". And yet Their part of work was them enjoying their life and not manipulating me.

When one time I tried to address how they were not very fair toward me, they, instead of hearing me out, replied by saying "Ive changed for you". Not "why do you think that way?" or "i want to listen to your point of view", but blatant "Hey, I know I was unfair and manipulative, but I have actually changed , and Your are problematic here, and frankly also you are ungrateful."

When They put what they called 'work", I believed them, I still do. And I was grateful for every littel crumb they left. But for them..

they'd say "Yeah, my needs are met so far, im satisifed". Not "Thank you for what you do, it must have been hard" or anything close to that. Just "My needs are met". Like I am a worker , and I should meet their standards (although, that was how I have been treated from the very beginning. Someone who must meet their standards)

When I addressed and said "I feel my efforts are taken for granted." I dont remember eveyr detail but I ll admit they did adk "How so?" But I was so confused and infuriated by years of mistreatment that I didnt react adequately at all. They then said "I think My efforts are taken for granted." And they couldnt bring a proper example, and said "for example, I ask you how you are doing".

_________________________________

Phone notes.

Written on 27 of July:

Blatanly manipulating me

Threatening me

Traumadumping on first days when we just met without asking my consent

Comparing traumas when you didn't bother to learn what i deal with Antagonizing me and making assumptions about me based on your feelings alone.

When I didn't even do anything for you to say all the sruff you said to my face . Treating me like I was a bonus to your life and not my own being Took for granted all the hell i ve gone through to be with you.

Took for granted that i spoke Your language when I had other whole first language. Used my physical struggle as a cute quirk Yelled at me and cursed at me when I was at my lowest and out of energy to be strong, and never apologized for any of it. Blamed it on me instead. Acted like I add to Your problems

Overall being so damn entitled to me, to my being, to my time, to my energy, to my feelings. Blatanly refused to change something I suggested, in your attitude,bc i needed it bc it deeply hurt and made me feel like i was nothing. Refused to listen and called my attempts to explain myself as arguing without trying to look into what i felt or tried to say. Ghosted me and gave cold treatment, acted unfair, and Then demanded My apology. Made sexual advances without asking my consent and instead of owning up to mistakes or respecting my space, guilt tripped me For Having Trauma Related Uncomfortableness - by bringing up your trauma . Demanded my attention when i had classes, yet Shouted at me or got Openly mad because of you needing to focus on school. Said "it's pointless to talk with you" "you shit on me(my boundaries)" to my face when I was just trying to speak bc I was deeply upset (and traumatized by all the things you had done to me.) Would get upset at me being myself, and would only calm down once i got crooked into doing and acting like you.

___________________________

Written on 23 of April:

I could and I've always been willing to show understanding and let many things slide. But I'm just so tired. I've been doing it toward them, many.many times. Hearing that bordeline accusative request ,"look at how it makes me feel, be nicer to me" feels like insult to the deep, big,  injury. I Always looked at how things made them feel. I been giving in at every step. I've been making steps at hard times. And hearing them say that in a tone that implies I didn't work enough or like I was a jerk who didn't show understanding, arrives me at conclusion that they just.. didn't see it, or are insensitive toward our history. I gave in many times, I can't even count them. When they could make fun of me and turn away from me when i was struggling. And on top of that, they'd invalidate my personal problems and struggles by claiming I don't have them , just cause they feel like i don't have them. Oh, and also that time when they needed break from the stress they got from yelling at me.  When something was off, they'd jump to accusations at me, would decide for me what my intentions were or who i was When something was off, they'd say to me hurtful things like "you can't be reasoned with", "i just can't with you", "it's pointless to talk with you" They didn't want to listen to my pleads about what hurts me, and when i asked from them to change something they'd said "I won't do it" And yet i was not allowed to leave because they'd threaten me or throw guilt tripping lines at me. And with all that, they claimed they loved me and even told me that its them who does the work and i dont appreciate it , which only added insult to the injury. The way they treated me throughout years, left huge stain on me . I can't even articulate or put my thoughts together when i have to speak about them. I had to attempt to rewrite explanations on how they made me feel, for 2 years, to make sense of it. This note was written after many many attempts. I hope it was consize and informative enough this time.

_______________

Little things:

One day, when they kept talking about politics, asked them to not talk politics bc I struggle with it and its hard for me. They said "okay"

On the next day, they messaged me with political stuff again.

__

It gets hard to type on mobile for me. my fingers struggle to move. So I use autofill or omit certain words and my way of writing looks a bit.. odd.

They started writing the same way when talking to me. Explained it by saying it looks cute and they find it quirky (?)

__

When I tried to talk seriously with them about what hurt me in our interactions, I struggle with finding words, so my way of wording what upset me sounds odd.

They immediately would use my own words to shift blame on me, even when the blame was misplaced. Stopped trying to articulte my hurts, because hurts to have my words stolen.

__

Had the courage to share something I dont tell peope because its a very deep mental issue I have that controls my well being and im ashamed of it. Confided in them about it once.

Saw them using my struggle in a joke them wrote where they self-deprecated. "Im just standing in the corridor bc I forgot something looking like a freak . I bet the ghosts are afraid of me". Saw that post in their blog right after I shared it.

Hurt pretty much, because that issue is very serious, and leads to me have [redacted] ideas just to ecape them. and they used it as a joke. and used it to make it about themselves. and to self-deprecate. when I actually cared about them.

__

[alphabravocharliedelta]

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader Epilogue

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Word Count: 6300+

[Chapter X]

Summary: The conclusion.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, injuries, etc. 

Notes: Sorry this took forever to come out! I managed to simplify this chapter from 8000+ words to around 6300 since I wasn’t exactly happy with the excessive details. Though, I hope this chapter is still enjoyable, so thanks for your patience.

February, 1984

New Jersey

Your brow twitches as noise begins to fill your ears.

A steady beep played rhythmically beside you. Accompanying it was the sound of a radio, slightly static, as well as minimal chatter that occurred a short distance away. You move your finger as physical feelings begin to return. It wasn’t long before a piercing pain seared at the back of your head before reducing to a lingering tingle.

It took a while before you could open up your eye and your usual visual field was now cut by a small bit. The whiteness of the hospital walls felt more blinding than it should have, and it only added onto the distaste of the color. Everything felt out of focus, and you give yourself a few moments to properly adjust.

Your body was treated heavily in medical bandages and equipment. A heavy weight rested over the left side of your face where your eye should be open. There was a clip on your finger, as well as an IV up your arm. A nasal tube was up your nose, and you tried your best not to gag at the feeling of something in your throat.

Adjusting your posture was a struggle, but you manage to prop yourself up. Beside you on your right was a small table that had a vase filled with a bouquet of flowers along with some balloons. A bit childish, but the gesture was what mattered.

How long have you been sleeping?

As if on time, you see a nurse stick her head in through the doorway. Upon noticing your awakened state, you turned your head only to watch her scurry off with widened eyes. It wasn’t long before she returned with a doctor tagging along, in which they both proceeded to take your vitals and remove anything you no longer needed. 

“Do you remember how you got here?”

“No.” Your voice sounded horrible, throat sore and dry and lips parched from the lack of water. The nurse seemed to get the gist, bringing over a cup of water for you. 

“Can you move your fingers for me?”

A few more questions, and then began the spiel of how memory loss after a traumatic event is common, as it’s the mind’s way of protecting itself from further harm. Or some shit like that.

“You were caught in the crossfire that occurred down at the mall a month ago.”

You nodded. Right. The mall. Images of Stitch popped up, as well as what he did to you, but that was all you remembered. Anything afterwards was blank. 

Wait.

A month?

“As far as everything else goes, everything seems normal. Your body’s recovering at a fast rate, so it shouldn’t be long before you can leave. Your boyfriend will be glad to hear that.” You caught the nurse winking before she tilts her head slightly to the left. “He’s a keeper you know.”

You withheld a remark, wanting to call her out on the statement. It was a lot to process.

“We’re going to check up on you later, so page us if you need anything.”

It was only after the nurse and doctor left that you noticed Adler situated on a chair with his arms crossed in the left corner of the room. You couldn’t see him at first until you turned your head. Was he covering your blind spot?

Adler wore a light grey knit vest with a long sleeve white button up underneath. His hair was unkempt with tufts poking out in a disheveled fashion compared to its usual combed from, the unshaven stubble topping it all off. The jacket he gave you was wrapped over the back of his chair. His aviators were hanging loosely from his ears, just on the verge of slipping from his nose. You couldn’t tell exactly, but with the soft snoring and steady breathing he was, in fact, asleep.

This was probably one of the few times you saw him ever sleeping. He was always awake by the time you woke up, and if he ever just so happened to take a nap in the middle of the day, his face was always covered, whether with a magazine, newspaper, or even his jacket. The moment you address him, he would sit up wide awake as if you never caught him in the act.

You wanted to wake him, but decided against it. He looked so exhausted on that chair. The poor bastard's probably been sleepless the past month, and he needed to rest. 

Despite the current circumstances you were in, it was rather placid, just watching Adler sleep soundly. 

Although, you couldn’t help but remember back to that fateful arctic day whenever you did look at him. There was always the flash of the whiteness of snow behind your eyes before the brief shiver of cold of the Arctic breeze. With the dive into the memories, a particular question would always conjure up with no definitive answer:

What if you had shot Adler instead?

Your hand flew to your waist then, your mind giving you warnings about his subtle movements. It was the gut feeling, your instincts acting on its own, noticing the details that gave away his intentions.

How his hand discreetly fell to his side with his back turned to you, gazing out onto the ocean as the sunlight highlighted his features. Adler looked oddly peaceful, and yet he had dared to sever ties on that whim. 

It was so easy to pull the trigger. You've done it an endless amount of times. On your own former Soviet comrades, on the Americans… You played both sides of the chessboard, so there should have been no hesitation or doubt when it came towards deciding your enemies. It was up to you in the end.

The sight was lined up perfectly. Right there, at his chest. You were both exhausted and mentally drained. It would have taken a second, and yet your finger never even lifted from its spot. Was it his expression that stopped you? But, he wore his aviators. He always did.

Yet, there was something captivating about him that day, whether it be his words or that simple outlook off the edge. It wasn't romantic by any means, but it was just that particular moment that he let his guard down around you, and you fell for it. A sign of trust you came to acknowledge, and it was used against you.

Even after the speculation, you knew you couldn't do it. You couldn't bring yourself to shoot him. Was it the fact that you believed you were long time acquaintances since Vietnam? The truth was revealed to you, but it was hard to simply debunk everything you’ve been manipulated in believing in. 

And that final look he gave you. Right before you free fell into the water. Regret, despair, sorrow… Yet firm. His face hardened and cold in an endeavor to bury his feelings as he followed through his orders. 

What would you have done, then? Would you have done the same to him as he did to you: toss him off the cliff while staring down at his shrinking figure as it plunged into the cold water below?

Maybe you would have returned to Perseus. He had taught you everything you knew now, practically shaping your life in whatever form he desired. 

But, considering that you foiled one of their biggest plans yet, there was no possibility of returning to his side. Instead, you would have had to leave everything behind and shed your identity of a CIA operative and Perseus member. Leave Adler on that cliff as red spouted from his chest and bled into his clothes while staining the ground. 

But, you didn't.

And now in that sick twist of fate, from living on that old Russian base, to being discovered and reenlisted, you almost gave your life up for Russell Adler once again— the man who caused it all.

Why did you agree to work with them again?

You could have just rotted away at Langley, or in some private prison. If they were kind enough, maybe they would even let you live as a regular civilian.

A scoff.

Yeah right. You were the CIA's MKUltra project, there was no way you would have gotten that free. It was already a gamble for Adler and Park to convince them to have you undergo the conditioning, and to insist on raising the dosage was the only way to ensure it’s efficiency. 

Unless he was scared of you. Maybe Adler actually got attached to you, and got frightened at the idea of you finding the truth— it would break the relationship he managed to build up by actually working beside you.

Relationship.

The nurse’s statement echoed in the depths of your mind, the word “boyfriend” repeating itself over and over.

What kind of high school humor was going around? You guys weren’t dating or anything. Would a kiss signify a lover’s relationship?

Yeah, right.

You both tried to kill each other at one point, but even then there was no use denying that something deeper was happening. Nothing to the extent of being in an intense romantic relationship, but there was something. 

The TV in the corner of your hospital room was currently playing the news, still talking about what happened at the mall. That there was suddenly a shoot out at night time, caused by an angry armed mob who stuck in to wreck the place in retaliation to the reopening. 

"The mall was empty when the shooting started, and only one person was reported in critical condition. Investigation efforts led by the New Jersey Police Department have gone nowhere..."

You tuned it out.

After a month of being in a deep sleep, you couldn't fall back asleep that easily. You were left on the hospital bed, and every little movement you made would result in searing pain before dissolving thanks to the painkillers. Stuck in place with the news channel on, you could only contemplate as to how you made it this far without dying. You really were unkillable.

Outside the window was a populated and vibrant city, filled with cars and bustling streets. The baby blue sky had pillows of clouds that broke the sea as the sun peeked out from behind them. There was an airplane breaking free from civilization just over the horizon.

"Bell?" 

Your mood shifts at the sound of your alias as the familiar voice bounced around. It was a bit raspy and deeper than usual, and it failed to aid your attempt to fight the grin that stretched ear to ear. With a relieved exhale, you say: "Hey Russ.”

Shock practically consumed Adler's being as he attempted to fathom the words you just spoke as he tried to readjust his glasses. Eventually he gave up on them, and let them hang from the vest. It looked like he'd just seen a ghost. The tug of his cheek, to the small jaw drop, you waited as he searched that mental dictionary for words.

"You're awake."

"That's the first thing you greet me with?"

There was that rare smile of his. Your sarcasm never left you.

Adler pulls his chair closer to your bedside. His hand twitches a bit, before returning back to his side and sitting back down. He licks his lips, unsure how to carry out his next move. “How do you feel?”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

You shake your head. “Not really. Care to elaborate?”

There was some hesitation before he started speaking. Adler proceeded to give you a heavy account of what happened as if he was at a debrief— How they discovered the N6 barrels before getting ambushed, him running to the arcade for cover, then Stitch sneaking up on him. You appeared at this moment, firing shots at their general direction before tackling Stitch off of him.

“You barely made it to the hospital.”

“And Stitch?”

Adler pauses. “We… couldn’t officially confirm the body.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? He was right there—”

“His body was gone when we did a clean up sweep.”

“You’re telling me that there’s a chance that he’s walking around with a knife in his forehead?” You lurch forward, only to flinch at the pain. 

“Bell!” Adler users you to lie back down.

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Just tell me the rest.”

He didn’t go into detail regarding the events after, but reiterated that you became conscious while being escorted to the ER, refusing to let them put a needle in your arm to sedate you, and how he needed to step in.

“Once again, Prince Charming comes and saves the day,” you snicker, only to hitch your breath. It hurt to chuckle.

Adler’s already somber expression seemed to deepen. “I’m not always going to be there to save you, Bell.”

Apparently, cracking a joke wasn’t the right move. “You know I didn’t mean—”

“You almost died for fuck’s sake!” he lets out abruptly. “Were you always this selfish? You were already injured as is, you didn’t need to run in and—”

He cuts himself off, watching that grin fade away. A pang of regret hits him.

“And what, Adler? Save your life?” you spat defensively, throat already getting dry again. “I did it for you. But I guess taking a knife for someone is a selfish act now, is it?”

“I didn’t ask you to— Ugh, fuck.” Adler buries his face into his hands, contemplating. “I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t be yelling at you but… It’s just… I see you in this state, and the thought of you dying just makes me insane. I should have just brought you to Washington. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t be in this damn bed.”

You gave out a sign, lowering your shoulders. There was no point in being agitated. You were both scared, and the last thing you wanted to happen was to widen the rift once again between the both of you. “It’s fine. These kinds of things are expected in this kind of work.”

Adler takes a breath, shuddering slightly. “Even so, the last thing I want to do is carry your casket down an aisle.”

“You went two years thinking I died. You can move on.”

“No. I know, but… now it’s different. It’s you, Bell.” Adler nibbles at the side of his cheek, unsure if he should continue talking. You gave no response, the look in your eyes giving him permission to continue. He exhales slowly.

It’s always been you.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he continues, “But… I know for a fact I haven’t felt this way for a long time, until recently. The last time was with her. It didn’t last as long as I thought it would. Yet, that short spur of happiness that I got while with her was something I never thought I could be granted the pleasure of knowing.”

You could only nod. 

“But of course, being in this type of job… She couldn’t handle it, eloped with someone that wasn’t military, then broke the news to me the moment I returned.” Adler tightens his jaw, as if recalling a bittersweet memory. “Turns out, there was a lot of shit we didn’t agree about. But, like always, I moved on.”

There was a bit of nostalgia within his words, sprinkled with a bit of fondness and no ill intent. No jealousy when he reminisced about it, nor any lingering tones of regret or grudges. 

“At least, that’s what I told myself… And then there’s you.” He finally locks his eyes onto yours. “I know you still hate me for what I’ve done, and I accept that. But, as we worked alongside each other, that unexplainable feeling started to come back. I tried my damn hardest to ignore it, but even then, I made a decision that brought more pain onto you.”

It nearly slipped past you, but there were small breaks between his sentences thanks to Adler sucking in some air. His voice was beginning to weaken the longer he talked.

“You shouldn’t be here. With me, with the CIA. You survived through so much shit as is, and we forced you back into it. Just the thought of losing you makes me go insane, so… When Stitch got you, I almost fucking lost it.”

Adler clasped his hands together, pressing them firmly against each other to stop himself from breaking down. You note that his nose and eyes were just a tinge of pink. What was he getting at?

“I don’t want to leave your side. But I… don’t want you to get hurt anymore, Bell. The more I think about it, the more I realize you didn’t deserve this. I made you this way. If you continue to work with us, then there’s going to be instances where I’m not there for you. I don’t want that. What happens if I’m a second too slow—”

You cut him off, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him towards you as you lean forward. 

He freezes as both your lips make contact, but didn't fight it. He melts into it, letting his mouth do the work as he closes his eyes.

For someone as tough as you once were, it was almost pathetic to see how you managed to fall for a guy like him. What did you see in him that he didn’t? As confident as Adler was, constantly reassuring and supporting you, he could only ponder as to why everything just worked out.

In the end, despite the insecurities shared by the both of you, this was something he had been wanting to do for so long. 

It's been nearly seven fucking months since you both shared that kiss in your room. He wasn't the type for obnoxious public displays of affection, but hell, even he had a yearning for that shit. Even alluding to the idea that the one kiss in your room could have been the last was scarring, so this one needed to count.

But, the wait was worthwhile. It was slow and tender, done so with such care that it made his own heart skip a beat. With each second it became more passionate, yet still had that careful touch. He wasn't going to let any more chances slip by him.

You withdraw a few millimeters, taking a second to catch your breath, before once again making contact, this time from the corner of his mouth. Trailing up his cheek you could feel his scruff brush against your bandages. Adler refused to even move under your touch, giving out a shaky exhale.

Your lips meet his scar, and you deliver a final, graceful and slow peck on it. 

“No one's getting rid of me that easily,” you declare before pulling away. "Especially you, Russell Adler."

He shudders, wiping his nose with the back of his hand while choking back a sob. 

It wasn't something he didn't think he would desire, and yet this kind of contact is what he's been missing. And for you to give affection to the brand that he was secretly self-conscious about held more meaning than you'll ever realize.

After going years without having someone, after his ex-wife, even he believed that love was something he just didn’t deserve, nor should he be bothered to seek it out. He dedicated his life to his job since then, so innocent people could live normally. It was always for the greater good, and yet Adler himself forgot that even he needed to take care of himself. 

There were nights where he would just sit in silence, reliving past events, just wishing for someone to comfort him through all of it.

Your head fit right under his chin and you waited silently, listening to his uneven breaths. Your hands gripped at his clothes as if you were holding for dear life. 

“Thank you, Bell.”

After taking time trying to settle back in, you could feel Adler press his lips against the top of your head. It was a bit of an uncomfortable position to be in, and you could feel the painkillers beginning to wear off, but you didn’t want to move. Staying there inside the warm embrace of the man you’ve become too attached to was a moment you wanted to cherish.

Adler’s arms loosen up, giving you room to pull away. 

Still, you stay close, just a couple inches away from his face. He doesn't object as you tuck some strands of hair behind his ear. Your finger runs down the back of it before trailing down to stroke the edge of his jawline, leaving him to eye you reproachfully while finding closure. You finally were awake, animating and talking right in front of him after a month of being met with silence.

Your index stops at his chin, before following the path of his scar and up to his lips, where your finger then traced them ever so lightly with the touch of a feather. You couldn't even react in time as Adler steals a quick kiss from you, which he then sends you a triumphant grin afterwards. 

"Just making sure."

While neither of you uttered those three beloved words, it was clear enough how you felt about one another. 

"So…" you begin, gazing longingly in the sea of blue. "About that date..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Adler pulls up into a decently crowded lot, and parks inside an empty stall. He takes the keys out of the engine, leaving the car and you follow suit. The doors closed with a nice slam and he locks his car. 

“You know, Bell… I could think of a hundred different other places to eat that are way better than this joint.”

“If I remember, you said that you would take me wherever I wanted, and this is it.”

Just thirty minutes ago you were discharged from the hospital after saying an extra week. With no medical history, or insurance, Adler had personally come to retrieve you for the long anticipated date, and the first thing you requested was to go eat breakfast somewhere.

You and Adler were now sitting at a booth inside an IHOP at 7:33 in the morning. 

He was wearing a tan long sleeve turtleneck, his jacket hanging from the shoulders. The aviators were off, sitting neatly on the table. He almost looked like a different person without them, but with the scar stretching across his face, there was no way of mistaking him.

Both of you were waiting for your order, letting the morning rays hit through the window. There was the clatter of plates and metal utensils in the background, a few waitresses going around and delivering orders to their respective tables.

Upon your request, after a week of shitty hospital food and a month of tube feeding, you needed some good food. While you were never familiar about the United States in general, this happened to be the closest place to the hospital that caught your eye. It probably wasn't the best of establishments, but anything goes.

“How’s the eye?” Adler asks. 

“It's seen better days.” 

He shook his head while sighing at your attempt at being slick. But he was smiling a tiny bit. “Nice try, [L/N]. But, seriously, what’d they say?”

“...I can still work.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You bit your lip. The eyepatch was a clear indicator of the answer.

Underneath it was a pad of gauze taped securely over your eye. You could feel it throbbing from time to time, and had to take painkillers every few hours so you could sleep. Your left arm was in a sling while your right one sat comfortably inside your black bomber jacket, although both were wrapped with bandages. At this point, every part of your body had gone through some kind of trauma. 

“...They said it was hard to tell.”

Adler nods. It wasn’t the greatest news to hear, and he would have to do more research later. “Considering that it’s you we’re talking about, there shouldn’t be an issue in rehabilitating.”

You grin at his positivity. “Of course.”

"Good."

His gaze comes to focus on your face. 

That once, untouched skin of yours now had a long and thin discolored streak that ran right down the left side, starting from your forehead, going under the eyepatch, then right down to your jaw as if a single tear rolled down and left behind an imprint of its trail. It felt unfitting for someone of your nature.

"What's wrong?" you ask. Adler shakes his head, brushing it off.

"It's nothing."

You point to your scar with a conceited look. "'You mean this? Is it noticeable?'"

"Really, [Y/N]? You're stealing my lines now?" 

The sound of your laughter that followed was relaxing for him to hear. "We're matching now."

Adler couldn't help but smirk along. "With that eyepatch? No, you resemble Weaver, if anything."

"This Weaver guy’s pretty famous. Everyone else seems to know of him. Do we really have that much in common?"

"You’d be surprised. He's Russian, for one. Also has an eyepatch for the same reason as you." He pauses to think. "I actually haven't heard from him for a while. But, hey, who knows? Maybe you'll meet each other some day."

"So… Let me get this straight. I heard it from Woods and Mason, but Kravchenko stabs this Weaver friend in the eye, then you take Stitch's for revenge. Then that bastard takes my eye—"

"We've basically come full circle."

"Damn. You guys really have some unfinished business."

"It's what we're paid for."

Everyone's history ran deep with one another, and soon enough you would be thrown into the mix of special officers with intricate ties. It had taken quite the effort to convince Adler that you refused to be removed from the team (and the CIA together). With everything you have experienced, the thought of simply returning to civilian life was foreign. 

“Speaking of pay… You're going to take the med bills from my check, right?” you ask as the thought crossed your mind. Considering your injuries and the intensive care you went through, the bills were certainly more than one page. “Because, if that's the case–”

“Already been taken care of.”

You were going to ask "by who", but judging from Adler's expression, you already knew the answer. His eyes lingered a bit longer, before drifting towards someone walking towards the table.

The waitress came over, setting down two cups of coffee. You thank her, and you could hear a soft "your welcome" as she walked away. 

Reaching out for the cup, you tried to grab the handle, only for you to completely miss and grab air. Your brows knitted in concentration, you tried again.

"Need some help?" Adler asks with pure amusement.

"No, I got it."

"Clearly not. That was my cup."

Adler placed his hand on top of yours, guiding you to the handle of your cup. His hands were big, feeling hard and rough placed on top of yours. Feeling the porcelain, closed your fingers around it. 

"Thanks..." you mutter, feeling some heat rising on your cheeks. 

"See? Not that hard."

"I wish I could see, Russ, but I'm kinda blind in one eye," you retort lightly.

The coffee mug in your hands was warm to the touch. It stung a bit, especially with your injuries, but in an odd way it felt comforting. Using a spoon, you twirled around the coffee, watching it change into a lighter shade of brown before tasting it and adjusting the flavor. Adler didn't say much, only watching just in case something happened. If you needed assistance, he was right there.

"So, when do we get back to work?" you ask, hopeful. You took a sip of your coffee, making sure it was close to your lips before tilting the mug slightly.

"You still want to work? Even after all that?"

Adler was taken aback. If he were to put himself in your shoes, he would have thrown in the towel by now. Your work ethic was impressive, even more so knowing your history, and it was extremely concerning. It was because of it that you were getting closer to him, and the association between you two would only make the target on your back larger. Stitch abducting you as a hostage was the epitome of his fears, only fueling his hatred for the man even further.

He nearly lost you because of this connection. 

"I do. I mean, we still have unfinished business with Perseus."

You couldn't exactly say that you were scared of being abandoned. Or that you had nowhere else to go if you were to retire per say. Knowing how the team worked endlessly undercover, there was a low chance of ever seeing them again, and they were all that you had. Even if your relationship with them has been tested, they still never failed you. And you won’t let them down.

“Even so, the CIA considers you a threat to national security,” Adler regards, making sure you were the only one that could hear. A danger to the general public, mentally unstable, unfit for duty… the list went on.

“You guys are the only things I have left, and you are not going to take that away from me,” you counter. The brief sensation of something sharp sparked in your stomach, so you quickly eased up and leaned back. “Besides, that’s what they said about Mason, too. Operation Charybdis, was it? And look where he is now. If he’s still an operative in the CIA despite all that, then I can as well.”

“That’s classified info, [L/N]. How did you—”

“What can I say?” You shrug nonchalantly, setting your cup back down. “I’m a person of many talents.”

“You knowing that only proves their point further.”

You pout, offended. “What are they going to do, shoot me?”

Adler groans, knowing full well that he couldn’t convince you otherwise. Though, in the depths of his mind, he was secretly happy about it. Your arrogance, along with a few other things, needed some work. “I'll see what I can do, but for now let’s not discuss any of that here.”

“Sir, with all due respect, it’s eight in the morning, and we’re sitting in fucking IHOP,” you tease. "I don't think anyone is awake enough to eavesdrop."

While the two of you were regular civilians for today, the way you both looked would easily catch the eyes of anyone passing by. A man with a huge scar on his face, and another with an eyepatch, arms bandaged from the fingertips to the shoulder. The waitress couldn’t even look at you without her eyes drifting elsewhere despite her attempts.

"I just remembered," Adler perks up suddenly, digging something out from his pocket, setting it on the table. "A gift from the team, to celebrate your release."

It was a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper. A bow was slapped on top of it, a tag attached to it which had "[Y/N]" written on the back of it, Adler's penmanship easily eligible.

"And, uh, this keychain from Woods." He hands you a tiny jar of sand with the Florida white engravings on the outside, and you couldn't help but grin. 

"How thoughtful of him."

You turn your attention to the box, taking a peek at Adler for permission, and he gives you a nod. Opening it carefully, you found a newly packaged Walkman, still in the box. It was a newer model, one you haven't seen yet. Slimmer and lighter, too. 

"What do you think?" Adler asks, unable to gauge your feelings.

"Are you sure I can have this?" You couldn't find any words. 

"Stop undervaluing yourself, [L/N]. You deserve it. You contribute a lot to the team, we couldn't have done it without you.”

You nod, holding the box as if it were a newborn baby. You thought of which cassette to play first, only to remember you didn't have them anymore. As if cue, Adler set two tapes down. One MIX 2 and another you have never seen before, MIX 3. How original, you thought. You reach out, your arm straining itself as you went to retrieve the tapes, only for Adler to once again take your hand and place it on top. An odd feeling bubbles in your stomach.

Butterflies again.

"You know I still can see right?" you state, looking straight at him, but he didn’t meet your gaze, instead looking out the window. "Just because I only have one eye at the moment doesn't mean you need to baby me."

"To be fair, you aren’t doing much to stop me either."

It was a habit you noticed about him. Actions speak louder than words, the only exception would be how he would address you by your actual name instead of Bell whenever it was just the two of you outside of work-related business. 

"Anyways. There's a few of my personal favorites in here." He taps the third cassette.  "Had a friend of mine compile it together this time."

"Didn't know you were a music person." You take the Walkman out of it's packaging, tossing aside the extra papers and plastic.

"I'm not, but I have a good ear for talent."

After putting MIX 3 inside the Walkman, you pondered over if you should listen to it. Deciding not to, especially when you were out with Adler, you wrapped the earphone wires around it, pocketing it alongside with the other cassette. "I'll listen to it later, if that's fine."

"By all means."

Your eyes wander for a bit, watching a waitress help another table. “What’s the date again today?”

“February twenty-eighth.”

“Ah, thought so.” You got up from your seat. “Wait here for a moment.”

Adler gives you an intrigued look, but shrugs it off as you walk off. Taking a sip of his coffee, he watches a couple cars enter and leave the parking lot from his spot. It was one of those few occasions that the mornings were seldom and chill, and eating at a breakfast joint earned him some peace of mind.

While it wasn’t the best place to eat at, your presence alone brought him happiness. You were back to your usual self despite fighting against all odds just weeks before. 

You took a glimpse at him over your shoulder, before returning to talk to the waitress, who nodded before going behind the counter. You were planning something, but he didn’t know what.

“What was that?” Adler asks a bit accusingly as you return to your seat. 

“Just remembered something, that’s all.”

“And you’re going to leave me hanging?”

“You’ll find out in a bit.”

Adler stops pestering you, surveying your face for anything that could give away your secret, but he couldn't find anything. 

You notice this, and give him a sly grin. "Someone's impatient today."

Of course he was. It was the first time you were out of the hospital, and the last thing he wanted was for you to over exert yourself and open up any wounds. 

But before he could even respond with a snarky rebuttal, the waitress you talked to earlier comes back with a plate and sets it down gently on the table, along with two forks and some napkins. On it was a stack of pancakes with a small scoop of butter on top, which was already melting and dripping down the sides. The lady brought over a bottle of syrup.

"Happy birthday," you greet. "It's free, so don't worry about paying for it."

"Two weeks ago."

"Yeah, well I wasn't exactly fully awake for your birthday, was I? Better late than never."

No one ever really did something like this for him, nor did he expect you to remember his birthday. It wasn't much to celebrate as he got older, it was just another year he managed to live, but this time it felt different. 

"Lazar also told me about this thing called Valentine's Day, but… like I said," you continue, "So, might as well celebrate your birthday and Valentine's at the same time. Since, we're you know, I guess—"

"On a date," he finishes. "We're adults, no need to get so worked up about it. But, thank you, [Y/N]."

A simple morning coffee run date turned into a tiny birthday/Valentine's celebration. Weird, considering it was weeks past, but it was heartwarming to say the least. 

No wonder he fell for you. And seeing you do these little gestures for him makes him even more determined to hold you close and protect you. To see someone like you turn into a bashful, nervous wreck when showing affection was something Adler found cute.

Adler chuckles at your embarrassment as he reaches out to the forks and hands one over to you. You take it graciously, feeling his hand bump against yours. 

Your first date.

"Something bugging you?" Adler voices his concern, waiting for you to take the first bite.

You cut a small piece with your fork. "No. Just thinking."

"About?"

"You."

You wanted to learn more about him. Not by researching or through the CIA database, but through himself. What kind of person was he, really? You wanted to hear his story and his experiences, and you wanted to be there for him to return the favor. His struggles, his efforts… All of it. No more lies and fabrication.

Adler graces you with a coquettish smile. "Well, don't think too hard now. We may be on a 'date', but don't let me distract you from the important stuff."

"But, you are the 'important stuff'."

“Keep flirting like that and you'll start to sound like Lazar.”

And, if he was interested, you would tell him about yourself, too. Whatever you remembered, where you were born… There was still lots to rediscover about yourself, but you knew he would be there right beside you.

Just like he promised.

[hangovercurse]

Come and Go

Part iii of the Without You series: Colson struggles to explain himself, only pushing Y/N further away.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, angst, Colson being really bad at communicating

Word Count: 1500

| i | ii | iv | v | vi |

masterlist

“Colson?”

You were shocked at first, then upset, and then you were angry. “You can’t just fucking break into my house.” You yelled at him, placing your laptop on the coffee table.

He held his hands up in surrender, “I knew you wouldn’t let me in if I knocked and I have a key so technically it’s not really breaking in.”

“Get out!” You yelled, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you stand up.

“Okay, look. I know you’re upset-“

“Upset? Colson do you remember what you did? What you said to me? And now you show up at my goddamn house what, 2 weeks later? I’m not upset you fucking moron, I’m fucking pissed off right now.”

“I know I fucked up, okay? I’ve gotten enough of a lecture from the guys.” He said, looking more annoyed than apologetic.

You rolled your eyes, sitting back down. “Yeah you seem like you really feel bad Cols.” You said sarcastically.

“What do you mean? I am sorry, Y/N. Sorry I’m not down on one knee or some shit. What did you expect, really?”

You fought hard to keep tears from reaching your eyes. “I didn’t expect anything, honestly. But if you’re gonna come here and waste my time you could at least act sincere about it. You’re acting like this is a joke or some shit. I mean why are you really here?”

Colson walked backwards towards the door, “honestly I’m just here to get the boys off my back. Now I can tell them I tried to apologize and you turned me down and we don’t ever have to talk again, sound good?”

You thought that the next time you saw him you would be begging him to take you back, but now your blood was boiling. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Remember, you mean nothing to me. I don’t give a shit if you actually forgive me or not. In fact I’d rather you not, because then you’ll stay as far away from me as fuckin possible.” His voice was harsh, like he was cutting you with a poisoned blade.

You could only sit and let his words hit you, willing yourself not to break down until he left. You spoke quietly, because that was all you could bare to do. “Get out.”

And he did.

 Another week passed, and you seemed to have regressed back into the broken girl. You couldn’t seem to get his words out of your head.

And you felt stupid because you had other friends. You had great friends. But almost all of them were friends you made through Colson and you didn’t want to make them choose. So you chose for them.

Pete still texted you daily, but you’d resorted to giving him short answers or just not answering all together. You hadn’t told him about Colson coming over or what he said, he was already caught in the middle enough as it was.

The one person you told was Rook, only because he told you if you didn’t tell him about it then he would show up at your house and not leave until you told him. And you’d rather just type it all out than have to speak to another person. You just felt so emotionally drained, having an actual conversation with someone just seemed like too much effort.

But, despite telling you he would not come to your house because you told him, he ended up on your doorstep with a very angry Colson.

He rang the doorbell, scaring you slightly. Why was someone at your door at 11 pm?

Against your better judgement, you answered, finding the two boys on your porch.

You raised your eyebrow at Rook, waiting for him to explain himself. “Can we come in?” He asked and you rolled your eyes.

“You can come in. Not him.” You motioned to Colson without looking at him. You had yet to meet his eyes, but his were shooting holes through you.

“Y/N. We’re coming in. I’m tired of this shit. We’re not leaving until you two figure this out.” Rook was very obviously annoyed, and despite your body in the doorway, he moved into your house. Colson stayed at the door, still looking at you.

You turned away from him, letting him inside, “whatever.” You mumbled. Rook had made himself comfortable in your kitchen, grabbing a beer from your fridge and chips from your cupboard.

You walked into the living room, taking a seat on one of your couches awkwardly. Why the hell were you feeling awkward in your own house?

Colson sat on the other couch, his eyes still following you as you looked everywhere except him. Rook called from the other room, “I don’t hear you guys figuring your shit out!”

“Goddamn man what the fuck do you want us to say? This is fucking bullshit.” Colson called back, standing up from the couch and turning to the door.

Rook blocked his path, venom in his voice. “Sit down. You’re not fucking leaving.” His voice got quieter and you almost missed his next words. “Fucking fix this.”

Colson let out a sigh, “fine, but can you at least give us some space man?”

Rook studied Colson for a moment. “Fine. But if you hurt her again I’ll kill you, bro.” He opened the front door, giving you a small smile and a wink before closing it behind him.

Colson turned back towards you, studying you, trying to figure out where he stood with you. You were looking down at your hands, picking your nails to avoid looking at Colson’s blue eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything, Colson. I’ll just tell Rook you tried to apologize for real this time and I shut you down. I just want all this shit to be done with. I’m over it.”

You didn’t know it, but Colson’s heart sank further into his stomach. You sounded so defeated, so broken. It was exactly what he intended to do, and he knew it would hurt him too, but he wasn’t sure he could see you like this anymore.

He slowly made his way back towards you, taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch you sat on. “I think it’s time I was honest with you,” he paused, “and with myself.”

“No offense Colson but I think I’ve had enough honesty from you to last a lifetime.” You muttered, still looking at your lap.

“Can you just hear me out? Please?” You didn’t answer, so he took his cue to continue. “I’m scared, Y/N. I’m fucking terrified.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “If you’re that scared of living without Megan then just go beg for her back.”

He took a deep breath, “That’s not what I’m scared of.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, turning your head towards him but still avoiding his eyes.

“I’m scared of.” He paused, trying to find the words, “I’m scared of falling in love.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus Colson. That’s a shitty fucking-“

“Just let me finish, please.”

“Whatever.” You mumbled, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to actually fix anything.

Colson took another deep breath. “I’m scared of falling in love because every time I do, the person I love gets hurt. I’m not good for anyone. I- I fuck people up.”

You were still pretty confused but you put some dots together. “So, what, you were upset that you hurt Megan and you blamed it on me? Right. Cool. Great talk.” You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to get up and leave.

“Can you fucking listen to me, please?” He turned towards you. “I wasn’t in love with Megan, that was the whole problem.”

You finally found the courage to look at him. His blue eyes pierced yours as you studied his face. The sunken bags under his eyes, the unshaven stubble adorning his jaw, the unkempt hair.

“I’m in love with you. And I think I always have been.”

His words came out as a whisper. You felt tears surface and it took everything inside of you not to let them fall.

“You’re an asshole.” You stood up, walking towards the bedroom.

He followed you, “what do you mean?”

You turned back to face him, standing in your doorframe. “Yeah, Colson, this is all really funny to you, I’m sure. Is this your way of humiliating me even more? You make me feel like shit and then you try to convince me you love me? And then I fall for it and you-“

You were cut off as Colson’s lips met yours, his hands on either side of your face. At first you reacted, kissing him back before coming to your senses. You pushed him off of you and he stumbled back.

The tears in your eyes began to fall and you felt utterly ridiculous. “Fuck you. Get out of my house. Don’t ever fucking talk to me again.” You said, closing your bedroom door in his face.

[tigerdrop]

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.

[theparanormalperiodical]

Top 10 Controversial Horror Films That Are Famous For All The Wrong Reasons *gags* *cries*

At the beating heart of horror is offence.

From that undeniable sense of something not being quite right, to the CGI-blood-spurtin’-adrenaline-fuelled scenes that leave us shaking in our boots, horror pivots on the knife edge of controversy.

It’s used to drive plots. It’s used to drive hype. And at the end of the month, it drives studio executives to the bank.

Horror films can be traumatic enough. But there are some films that bear the cross of controversy more than others. There are some films that have been branded as so damaging to their potential viewers that merely circulating copies of the film is illegal.

And yet their infamy has forged cult viewership. What was once shielded from us has now become ‘must see’.

Today we are going to be counting down horror’s most controversial films and what made them quite so topical.

*I’m going to star the ones that you can actually watch without getting traumatised. Some are controversial not because of their content but because some religious or political groups disagreed with them*

#10 - The Blair Witch Project (1999)*

Let’s ease in with a classic - a classic you can watch without sleeping with the light on.

In this found-footage flick we see a team of film students as they explore a local urban legend. But what they find leads them to unknown and ungodly territory.

The problem with this film is that it was marketed as a true story. No, not based on a true story, a true story. Yep, they claimed what we were seeing was real, found footage of some teens going mad as they forage deeper into mysterious woods.

IMBd went so far as to report that the actors were dead. Then, the movie studio super-charged their efforts to confirm to the public that not only was this film 100% real, the three main actors were still missing. The parents of the actors then started receiving sympathy cards.

There’s even a mocked up website that perpetuates these claims. 

#9 - Night Of The Living Dead (1968)*

Time for another not-too-disturbing film.

This is the original zombie apocalypse film saw a group of Americans attempt to survive an incoming attack of the undead while trapped in a rural farmhouse.

But the Motion Picture Association of America wasn’t too happy about it. The film rating system was yet to be in place, allowing children to also show up for an afternoon screening and be greeted by a 97 minute montage of extreme violence.

“The kids in the audience were stunned. There was almost complete silence. The movie had stopped being delightfully scary about halfway through, and had become unexpectedly terrifying. There was a little girl across the aisle from me, maybe nine years old, who was sitting very still in her seat and crying”

#8 - Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986)

In this psychological film, we watch a random crime spree take place at the hands of a couple serial killers. Loosely based on real murderers Henry Lee Lucas and Ottis Toole, its controversial reputation was founded on the gore ‘n’ guts screened in the movie.

Whilst it didn’t receive much attention from the public, various classification boards across the world ensured new versions edited with certain scenes - often involving sexual assault and necrophilia - removed for viewers.

In 2003, the BBFC (the UK classification board) finally allowed the uncut version to be released and Australia followed suit in 2005.

#7 - I Spit On Your Grave (1978)

It’s the original rape-revenge flick. And it managed to piss everyone off.

Originally titled Day of the Woman, it tells the story of a fiction writer who exacts revenge on a group of four men who gang rape her.

Despite its pro-women claim-to-fame, the 30 minute rape scene begs to differ. Furious debate surrounds its feminist label as a film that forces the audience to endure rape from a female perspective and long-winded violence against men (something which is often reserved for women in horror). Regardless, the graphic violence earned it a steady ban in Ireland, Norway, Iceland, and West Germany.

#6 - Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984)*

You don’t get many controversial Christmas films. They typically stick to a cookie-cutter plot ‘n’ purpose every holiday season. But there are no strong women who need to rediscover the meaning of Christmas here.

Instead, we see a child traumatised by seeing his parents murdered on Christmas Eve go on a seasonal rampage as an adult.

A week after its release in the early 80s, it was pulled from theatres due to backlash. Marketing was focused on a Santa Claus killer with adverts often airing during family-friendly TV programmes and meant numerous children developed a phobia of Father Christmas. Large crowds protested cinemas with one notable protest involving angry families singing carols at the Interboro Quad Theater in The Bronx.

It was only in 2009 - 25 years after its original release - that a DVD of the film was first made available for purchase in the UK.

#5 - Psycho (1960)*

This legendary film follows the disappearance of a young woman after her encounter with a strange man called Norman Bates, one of horror’s most iconic figures. The controversy that would engulf this fim lay not in the violent attack on an innocent woman or even the disturbing content of the film.

Oh, no. It was because of what the leading lady was wearing.

In the opening scene of the film, we see Janet Leigh wearing nothing but a bra.

*gasp*

This racy attire was emblazoned across promotional material, meeting Hitchcock’s high standards of creating controversy around the movie. There was a no late admission policy for movie theaters, and the posters told viewers “Do not reveal the surprises!” to maintain a mysterious aura around the plot twist.

#4 - The Human Centipede (2009) (all of ‘em)

I’ve watched a lot of horror films, in case you couldn’t tell.

I’m used to watching a scary movie, shaking off the anxiety, and moving on with my life. But there are some that stayed with me. I only watched the trailer for the first movie, and it legitimately traumatised me. It gave me quite a severe, sudden bout of a depression for a solid month when I was 13.

Throughout horror’s goriest franchise, we see an evil doctor and amateur mad scientist attempt to sow several people together into a centipede-like chain from mouth to anus.

*retches*

At the heart of promoting the franchise was controversy. Tom Six, the director, forced a narrative that claimed from the first film that this was "100% medically accurate". He even alleged a Dutch doctor helped inspire the film, confirming that with an IV drip, this was entirely possible.

Although it didn’t receive furore that amounted to serious censorship or long-term banning, it was infamous for having its viewers vomiting in the cinema aisles.

The second film, however, was subject to much more severe controversy and could not legally be supplied in the UK until 2011 due to its heavy focus on sexual abuse, more graphic violence than the original film, and it’s pretty vile depiction of a murderer that was intellectually disabled.

Audiences were used to the graphic nature of the franchise by the third and final release. As the least-controversial and least-enjoyable film according to critics, it barely made a dent in the horror community.

Good riddance, I guess?

#3 - Faces Of Death (1978)

I’m not sure I’d recommend this one per se - but I will give it credit for being an interesting project.

This documentary-style film is a montage of footage of people dying in different ways. As a result of its very graphic and very real content, it was banned and censored in many countries. Only in 2003 was it released on DVD in the UK after a scene was cut featuring dogs fighting and a monkey being beaten to death.

Germany, Australia, and New Zealand followed suit, reversing their bans and releasing edited versions.

However, 7 years after its release, the media revamped its interest in the film after a maths teacher showed it to his class at a Californian high school. Two of his students claimed they were so traumatised they received a costly settlement to reimburse their emotional distress. Things took a darker turn a year later, when a 14 year old bludgeoned a classmate to death with a baseball bat; he claimed he wanted to see what it would be like to actually kill someone after watching Faces of Death.

#2 - Cannibal Holocaust (1980)

This Italian film’s title alone hints towards two frightening things: flesh-eating humans and genocide. In this found-footage movie we see an anthropologist lead a rescue team into the Amazon rainforest to find a group of filmmakers that went missing.

The rampant graphic content including sexual assault and animal cruelty showcased in the film (7 animals were killed during filming in some pretty horrific ways) led to it being banned in 50 countries.

Some also alleged that a handful of deaths seen in the film were real, as were the missing film crew. In fact, the actors portraying the documentarians signed contracts that stopped them appearing in motion pictures for an entire year to maintain the illusion of reality.

And only 10 days after its premiere, the director was charged with obscenity and the film confiscated. All copies were to be turned over to the authorities. There are currently a range of versions that have been edited to varying degrees and are allowed for circulation.

#1 - A Serbian Film (2010)

No.

Nope.

Don’t do it. Don’t watch this film.

A Serbian Film follows a retired porn star who agrees to feature in an “art film” for some cash. Little does he know this film will include rape, incest, pedophilia, necrophilia…

Just don’t watch it.

It is still banned in South Korea, New Zealand, Australia. It is supposedly a parody of politically correct films made in Serbia that are funded by foreign groups and allegedly speaks openly about post-war society and the struggle for survival.

*shakes head*

Off to have a 3 hour shower, brb.

If you, uhhh, liked this post please like and reblog.

And if you want to hear more about horror and the supernatural every week hit follow!

[a-square-minus-one]

Honey 10

Thank you for those who have stuck to this progressing story. Here is the new chapter. You can find the whole story on AO3 and fanfic. 

I killed him.

Raven wakes up long before the team realizes she has. She can’t even register the itchy hospital bed sheets on top of her; her limbs are glued to the cot. Her chest expands as she breathes but she’d struggle less breathing underwater.

Malchior was a disgusting being. Intent to create chaos wherever he went. His only goal was to wreak havoc because he could and because no one could stop him. His life’s work was figuring out ways he could outdo his last destructive feat. His eyes only twinkled when he was asserting his dominance over something.

And she had killed him.

Or at least, separated his consciousness from its physical manifestation.

Or can you even separate that?

She made his limbs stop working.

His mouth would no longer form incantations.

Where would his thoughts go?

Would he be able to sort them or even hear them?

Or were they just whispers on another plane of existence?

Nausea makes Raven sit abruptly, the IV tugging painfully in her arm. She feels more than tastes the vomit fly out of her mouth. Chunks  of yellow bits propel out onto the floor next to her, right by Starfire’s purple boots. Starfire is quick to move Raven’s hair out of the way, despite the fact that doing so sinks her boots right into the undigested food. A few tears escape Raven’s eyes.

“Star…” she groans, making a feeble attempt to push Starfire out the way but the alien just shushes her and rubs her hand over Raven’s back. A green hand extends a plastic cup of water towards her.

“Small sips,” Gar reminds her. She takes the cup out of his hands and raises it to her lips. Raven stiffens when he moves closer, replacing Starfire’s hands with his own. She stares over the rim of the cup at his torso, feeling her eyebrows crinkling. He picks up the hair from her neck. She hears a snap and feels her hair moving left to right. Then he’s at a reasonable distance again. She places a hand on her warm, now bare, neck.

“You-” she clears her throat. “-you can tie a ponytail?”

“Can’t you?” Garfield asks, looking incredibly amused. She feels her face heat up as she places the water on the tray next to her and lays back on the cot. She looks to Star’s boots and then to her face.

“I’m so-”

“Shh I will be hearing none of that friend,” Starfire says, handing Raven a wipe. Raven wipes off one side of her lips. Her hand pauses when she gets to the other side.

“How many civilians?” Raven asks, her fingers trembling behind the tissue. Garfield immediately straightens out his relaxed shoulders. His jaw tightens. Starfire looks down to her feet. Raven turns to Cyborg.

“Two.”

Two fingers touch her lips as the contents of her stomach turn again. Her eyes well up as she swallows around the undigested food rising in her esophagus.

“Ages?” she asks in an almost imperceptible voice.

No one answers.

She clenches her fingers around the wipe and presses it to her forehead.

“Ages?” she pleads.

“54 and 65,” Cyborg says; his rage is like a hot iron in her side. Raven feels Starfire’s despair pelting her on the other side like an open waterfall. Garfield’s emotions are all sharp corners and metal bristles. She can’t even bear to approach the edges of it for fear that she’ll pop and everything will come pouring out of her. She sinks back into her cot trying to tighten her core under the pressure of all their emotions. She almost finds balance in the current until she senses something, like seaweed twisting on her toes when she’s swimming in the ocean.  

“You’re not telling me something,” she says, eyeing Garfield who hasn’t looked her way since tying up her hair. She almost didn’t want to ask considering how tenuous her hold on herself is.

“There was a six year old boy,” Nightwing says, entering the room with arms crossed over his chest. He leans against the doorframe of the med bay. Raven lets out a long breath. She spends a lot of her life thinking about how she breathes. Breathing is the first step to meditation. Right now she wonders what it would be like to be trapped at the end of a long exhale.

“He-”

“Is in ICU,” Nightwing finishes. She brings knees to her chest and sinks her head into them, gripping the fitted sheet on the cot. Her throat is one fire.

“We have to visit the family,” she says, looking at her team members. Everyone pauses.

“We did,” Garfield says, scratching the back of his neck the way he does when he’s pensive or nervous. Raven squints her eyes. She lays her legs flat on the cot.

“I have to visit the families,” she says, shifting to get up. Garfield quickly puts his hands on her shins and she almost kicks him off in surprise.

“You can’t,” Garfield says.

“Why not?”

“The public doesn’t love us right now,” Nightwing says, moving from his position at the door.

Then she feels it, pressing against her. Fire, all around her, filling the gaps between her fingertips, licking up the back of her knees. She almost gasps at the intensity of it.

“You’re angry,” she says, quickly looking up at Nightwing. A few strands of her hair have escaped the ponytail Garfield made for her. Starfire steps forward.

“We all are,” she says. Raven doesn’t look her way, keeping her eyes locked on the immobile Nightwing. This is a different anger. Nightwing knows she knows; their bond hasn’t faded in the years since she went into his mind.

“Where’s Malchior, Raven? Nightwing asks, his index finger twitching against his bicep. The fire around her stops all together. Something cool, fragile, and thin settles over them like a layer of frost on water. Then Raven makes the mistake of looking down. A fireball hits her in the chest like a cannon, she tumbles backwards on the cot.

“Damnit Raven!” Nightwing says. She looks up at his face, now red underneath his mask.

“Yo dude, chill out. She just woke up,” Garfield says. Nightwing whips towards him, his index finger inches away from Garfield’s chest. Raven is ashamed that she feels immediate relief at Garfield’s expense.

“How about instead of worrying about Raven you explain to me where the hell all the animosity for me came from?” Nightwing says, leaning much too far into Garfield’s personal bubble. Garfield leans back and tilts his head.

“Dude, clearly that wasn’t me.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re not you when you transform into other animals?” Nightwing poses this as a question but the fact that each word is coming out like hisses between his clenched teeth makes it seem like he has already decided his answer.

“You know this isn’t just one of my other animal forms and could you check your tone?” Garfield asks. Raven feels his irritation like pricks from a cactus. She wiggles her fingers.

“Everytime the Beast has been present, I have been targeted,” Nightwing’s tone is even when he says this but punctuated in a manner that suggests he has ruminated on this and has already come to his own conclusions. His words sound rehearsed.

“That’s just not true and either way I’ve shown you for years that I’ve been able to control my powers as much as everyone else on the team, if not better.”

“You weren’t able to two days ago.”

“We don’t fight magical dragons everyday,” Garfield bites out and Nightwing swivels towards Raven again.

“And apparently we never will again!” Spit flies out of Nightwing’s mouth as he leans over the end of Raven’s cot. She sits up straight even though Nightwing’s words land heavy like a punch to her stomach.

“Almost sounds like you’re going to miss him,” Raven hisses back. Nightwing’s face is so red that Raven is sure it will explode off of his body.

“How can you be so desensitized to the loss of a life?”

“Jesus Nightwing relax!  It isn’t like she hunted this man down, which is more than I can say about you and Slade...every six months...like clockwork!”

“And yet he’s still alive.” The muscles on Nightwing’s neck are straining as he turns towards Garfield, bumping his chest a little. Any other man would have taken a step back and on any other occasion Garfield would too but right then, he doesn’t.

“Is that because you haven’t tried or because you’ve never gotten close enough,” Garfield says, jutting his own chest outwards so it bumps Nightwing’s.

“Much closer than you did when he turned Terra into stone.”

“Dude what in the actual fuck?” Garfield growls.

“That is quite enough!” Starfire yells, wedging herself between the pair. “You have both done the crossing of the line! Friend Raven is barely recovered!”

Neither man stands down, glaring at each other over Starfire’s shoulders. “Are you going to arrest me Richard?” Raven asks, chin tilted upwards. Nightwing turns away from Starfire and removes his hand from his utility belt.

“He will do no such thing-” Starfire starts.

“You’re not being fair,” he says. Raven tilts her chin higher and arches an eyebrow.

“If you are not going to arrest me then we have more important things to talk about right now than any morally ambiguous decisions I made that there is no way I can undo,” Raven mumbles. “Even if I really wanted to.”

Nightwing runs a hand through his hair then drops both of his hands on his hips. He’s looking her in the eyes. Anyone else wouldn’t be able to tell because of his mask but she knows he is. He’s trying to consolidate all his anger into a concentrated cube. She respects the effort. Garfield, who is hunched over like his spine is ready to break through the skin of his back, clearly does not.

“We have two of your brothers in custody. Lust and Gluttony. I will be handling interrogations. You can watch from another room. ”

Raven sucks in her bottom lip. She knows her brothers better than Nightwing but she’s on thin ice with him as is. She’d have to let him cool down a little before she can get anywhere near that room.

“If you’re going in alone, I need to heavily armor you.”

Nightwing shrugs stiffly. She nods.

Behind Nightwing, Garfield takes his exit; his anger is radiating off of him like an electric heater. Nightwing looks after him, his lips in a straight line but doesn’t try to stop him.

“How much of a dick was I?” Nightwing asks once Garfield has left the room.

“12/10 bro,” Cyborg says, rubbing his forehead. Nightwing cringes.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Raven says, looking at Cyborg and then towards her IV. Cyborg looks hesitant at first but eventually sighs and does as he’s told.

...........................................................................

“This is very carnivalesque.” Raven says as she sits next to Garfield on the roof. Garfield raises an eyebrow at her “Usually you’re the one who comes to see me on the roof.”

“What?” Garfield asks.

“Nothing,” Raven says, looking down at her feet. She’s not as good as he is at this.

“You should be in the med bay for observations.”

“With all the healing it would be very hard to kill me,” she says. She feels a few fat drops of rain smack her cheek but Garfield doesn’t flinch so she stays put. Raven looks up at the thick clouds moving in the sky.

“Do you think you’ll die like the rest of us?” Garfield asks. Random. Raven hums. “I mean your father...sorry I know it’s a touchy subject-”

“No, go ahead,” Raven says, keeping her eyes on the sky. A warmth spreads in her chest like when she drinks hot tea. It’s been nice for her to see how delicate Garfield is with her boundaries in the last couple of years.

“Trigon is immortal. Does that make you immortal too?” he asks.

“I really hope not,” Raven mumbles immediately. “I’m not a god.”

Her mind immediately goes to Malchior’s lifeless body beneath her.

“Don’t lose any sleep over him,” Garfield says. Raven hums again. “Malchior. That’s who you’re thinking about, right?”

Raven looks away from the sky. Garfield’s lashes are dark and long. He’s green almost everywhere but around his pupils there is a rim of orange that she’s always been fascinated by.

“I took his life away,” she says, curling up her bare toes. “I-I’m afraid…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Garfield interrupts softly. She feels the warmths curl through her insides again. She has to break eye contact.

“I don’t know if I made the right choice. It kind of feels...heavy? If that makes sense.”

“It makes sense.”

It grows quiet again.

“Nightwing was more angry at me than he was at you,” she says. Silence.

A few drops of water land on her thighs. She’s getting a little cold now. She had only come out in the oversized t-shirt she was wearing in the med bay. She thinks it’s Cyborg’s. It fits her like a dress.

“I think he might be right.”

Raven looks up at him, ready to protest. The protests die on her lips when she makes eye contact.

“I keep banking on the fact that I can control the Beast but it kind of sucks. He’s pulling at me all the time.”

“He doesn’t like Nightwing?”

“...He doesn’t like Nightwing’s power over me. Doesn’t like that he’s the one who calls the shots. Which is the complete opposite of me. Usually Nightwing and Cyborg are the ones measuring their dicks to see who gets to be boss.”

Raven snorts.

“Would it be so bad to let him out every once and a while? What else could he want?” Raven asks. Garfield presses his lips together. And his silence stretches like cheese. Just when she thinks it's about the tear, it stretches some more. For much longer than it should. She can’t pinpoint exactly what changes but she is suddenly hyper aware of how long she’s been looking into his eyes. She isn’t about to let on that she noticed the shift though because that would mean that it actually happened.

But maybe she should move?

Or look down?

Why isn’t he saying anything?

Did he lean forward?

Breathe Raven.

She inhales sharply.

There is a flash of lighting in her peripheral vision.

He doesn’t break eye contact.

“Can I see the scar The Beast left?” he finally whispers, keeping eye contact. Oh, that’s what he was thinking about.

She can’t think straight. What did I think he was thinking about? She pulls up her shirt without a second thought, looking down with him...

Then screams internally when she remembers she isn’t wearing any pants.

She freezes. Thunder rumbles.

He doesn’t say anything. She wonders if she’d hear him anyway over the long  ‘AGHH!’ reverberating in her head.

She looks up at him; he hasn’t said anything about her lack of pants. Instead he’s staring intently at her side, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip wedged between his teeth.

Breathe. The team has changed in front of each other before. No big deal.

She wishes she can get a clear read on his emotions but she can barely get a hold on hers.

Then he reaches out his fingertips and slowly runs over the ridges of the three bumpy stripes on her side.

This time she actually shrieks out loud, dropping her shirt immediately. A few rocks on the shore explode into a million little fragments. He pulls his hands away like he just accidentally touched a stove.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry! Jesus, I don’t know why I did that,” he squeals immediately, running a hand through his hair roughly.

Aghhhhhh

“No! It’s... um...fine.Your fingers were just cold.”

The skin around her scars is burning.

Aghhhh .

He shuts his eyes so tightly that she can see little wrinkles at the edges of them. It looks like he wants to turn into a mosquito and fly away. She stays quiet. He places a hand over his eyes.

“Listen...I...I’m sorry about that. The touching,” his voice squeaks. He clears his throat. “But also giving you the scar in the first place.”

He reluctantly moves his hands away and looks at her again.

“I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt Nightwing. I don’t want to ever hurt you,” Garfield says, his skin changing from brown to green as his blush fades.

Agggghhhhh.

She hums.

Not the right response.

He sucks his lips into his mouth, face getting incredibly brown just as it was resuming its original shade.

“I-” he starts.

She looks at him.

He looks at her.

He flies away.

[leqclerc]

Just a random thought, if charles were to move teams mid contract (which i doubt and ive kinda grown attached to ferrari) where do you think he’d most likely end up? 🤔

Since this discussion is back on the dash again I figured I’d sit down and actually try to write something semi coherent about this asjdfj

First of all, you’re absolutely right - he’s just intrinsically linked with Ferrari through the FDA and Prema and Jules and Seb and it’s difficult to picture him in a different team, wearing anything other than red (funnily enough, all of his previous race suits, at least in F1/2 have had bits of red on them.) Secondly, I don’t think he’s going to move mid-contract. 2020 was pretty much the worst it’s gonna get (fucking hopefully @ Ferrari). They know they can’t afford to slip down the ranks that drastically again (at least in the near future) because 1. it was embarrassing and terrible for the team/brand, 2. they would risk losing their star driver. So, I think he’s going to let his 5 year contract run its course and then evaluate his options in, like, the last year of his contract or somewhere around then.

As @scharletred pointed out, I have faith in Charles. I just don’t want to see him be let down by the team through poor management (seriously, sack the dude already), bad strategy, an underperforming car, poor working environment, and just general clownery and incompetence. As a driver, he can do a lot - he’s put both the SF90 and the SF21 on pole on numerous occasions and shocked everyone by outperforming the nightmare that was SF1000 and planting it on grid spots it had no business being in. But he can’t do everything on his own. He can influence strategy calls (and tbf he was asked by his engineer which plan he prefers, for example) but he has virtually no control over things like pit stops or tyre degradation (which is something the car has been struggling with so far this season and he’s acknowledged it) or, crucially, race pace (which is an area they’ve also been lacking in and it showed in Baku despite Charles’s best efforts.)

B*notto just isn’t a competent, well-rounded leader for the long-term. He’s thrown Charles under the bus before and he’ll do it again (speaking about the race in Baku he said “We’ve been [in trouble] maybe a bit more than we should. Then we complicated our race via the drivers themselves.” Yeah, Carlos made a costly mistake and never really recovered but Charles did pretty much all he could given the situation? Wtf?). Sure, all TPs have their moments where they say just a bit too much and are publicly unfair to their driver/s, but the man really needs to stop being such a hindrance on their way to success.

Anyway. I think he’ll stick it out with them at least until his contract runs out. From the sounds of things they’re focusing most of their efforts and dedicating most of their resources towards developing the 2022 car and, you know what, good for them. If they give Charles a competitive car and a reliable team, he can do wonders. And I hope we’ll get to see him shine and fulfill his dream.

As for alternatives...it’s hard to tell. I mean we still don’t know how the new regulations will impact the teams and what the extent of the resulting shake-up will be. The current top dogs might become midfielders while the midfielders might become the top dogs. I know that after almost an entire decade anything other than Mercedes domination (with Red Bull and occasionally Ferrari nipping at their heels) seems unfathomable, but you have to remember, they were absolutely nowhere before the hybrid era. Look at what a seemingly insignificant reg change for 2021 can do to the grid - you’ve got Mercedes struggling and Toto going on the offensive and whinging about flexi wings, Aston being totally lost for the first like four races straight due to the rake issue, Red Bull leading in the standings. Even this time last year that scenario seemed unlikely. Hell, with all the rumours swirling around, we don’t even know for sure if Mercedes will still be Mercedes next year or if they’ll rebrand to some Ineos F1 Team...thing.

Charles is undeniably a hot property (in more ways than one, you know what I’m sayin’) and I’m sure if/when he becomes available the top teams will be very interested in at least sitting down to talk to him. I can’t really see him moving to Red Bull since - apart from Checo - they tend to go for drivers from within their own family and they’ve got lots of promising young drivers waiting in the wings. Also the environment is like notoriously hostile and I think Charles values himself too much to be pitted against Max (assuming he stays with them for longer) in the way that Daniel, Alex, and Pierre were.

McLaren also seem committed to their drivers - and, more importantly, to their new team philosophy and maintaining this image of being the young hip carefree “fun” team. They were actively itching to recruit Daniel for this specific purpose even back when he was looking for a post-Red Bull drive and, when presented with the choice between Seb and Daniel, they went with Daniel because he met their criteria. Charles has a sort of different vibe to him so I’m not sure if he’d be their first choice.

Who else is there...Maybe Alpine if they somehow improve majorly over the years and become an actually competitive team. He’s a French speaker and they have an outwardly more serious vibe about them than, say, McLaren, so he might be a good fit? Although afaik they can be a bit of a mess internally and so far they’re not looking all that strong or “stable” - both Carlos and Daniel left after relatively short stints with the team - so Idk.

Aston Martin is an intriguing prospect because they’re still kind of trying to establish themselves and figure out what they are - not Racing Point anymore but there’s still a lot of crossover with the staff and management so the RP brand is still fresh in people’s minds. They were always a team that had potential and was sort of on the cusp of greatness but never really quite got there, so they’re kind of an unknown to me at the moment. Although then the problem here is that (unless something changes in the near future) it’s very much a family business type situation? And I’m sure any driver will have to be vetted by Lawrence personally to see if he’s a good fit to drive alongside Lance, who in their mind is undoubtedly the leader of the team, the cornerstone around which the team will be built. So I’m not sure if Charles will find his place there, either.

I guess… star quality-wise, performance-wise and so on he could be a good fit in a team like Mercedes. They take themselves seriously but also engage with the public and clearly benefit from Lewis’s established fanbase and social media presence. They also don’t curb - or even actively encourage - his non-driving pursuits like music and fashion (and Charles dabbles in both.) He’s handsome, still young, polite, kind, well-mannered and knows how to speak and present himself to the media. He’s unlikely to put his foot in his mouth with a clumsy, inappropriate statement or radio message and get them in trouble. That’s important. But despite outward appearances and their PR-polished exterior, the internal politics at Mercedes can be… a lot. And if you’re in Lewis’s position, that’s great, the team will 100% give you the support you need to thrive. But if you’re in Valtteri’s designated position… well, that’s a whole other story. Assuming they remain competitive… if they made him their focus, I think that partnership could flourish. But if they just waste him on the second seat, then it’s a no-go.

TL;DR: I have no idea, lmao. He and Ferrari are so intrinsically linked in my mind, it’s difficult trying to picture a reality in which he’s not somehow connected to the team… a reality in which he leaves without giving it his everything, without achieving that dream of winning the championship with them specifically. They’ve got the perfect driver. Let’s just hope they don’t waste him. In terms of switching teams, it really depends on what they’re willing to offer him.

[afternoonpoppy]

Hi, long time watcher, first time asker! So I noticed that in an older work, you mentioned that Wolfram gets the hiccups any time he so much as has a drop of alcohol. So uh... I would die a very happy lady if you wrote something about Wolfram having drinks for the first time. Blushy, buzzed, cuddly, hiccupping magical boy? Uuuuughhh yes pleaaaase.

(aaaaaaa I've had this waiting in my inbox for wait too long and I'm very sorry! It took me a lot longer to get a chance to write this than I wanted to.

Not me accidentally making Allister's school and work history really relatable to my own and not me using this as an excuse to write something taking place in December because it's currently way too hot outside.)

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Allister tapped his finger against the keyboard of his laptop, staring at the screen. The math on the screen stared back at him.

"I hate this," he muttered. "Fram, I can't do math."

Wolfram, seated next to him on the couch, leaned against Allister's shoulder and looked down at the screen as well. "Did you struggle during your classes as well?"

"When I was fully conscious, yes. When I was working off of sleep deprivation, coffee, and panic on exam days, I managed pretty decent grades. Somehow."

Wolfram's expression was a mixture of disapproval and concern as he looked up at Allister.

"Hey, I don't have to do that anymore," Allister said with a shrug. Instead, he just had to suffer through the periodic online courses that fulfilled the accursed 'continuing education' his license required every couple of years. It really wasn't so bad and all the questions were multiple choice. He could always have just answered blindly until he got them correct. But Allister had been raised to be honest and to put actual effort into things. This just happened to be the sort of thing he struggled at.

He looked up at the clock that hung up on the living room wall, seeing that it read the same time as his laptop. Quarter past nine, meaning he'd been working away at these courses for the past two or so hours. Something like that, he hadn't really kept track. Allister sighed and placed his laptop onto the coffee table in front of the couch. "I think it's time for a break. Hey, a friend at work gave me a bottle of wine for the holidays. It's cheap, but why don't we have some?"

Despite it being mid-December already, Allister had to admit the house didn't give that impression. It was snowing heavily outside, sure. But inside were only a few small holly wreaths that he'd bought at a discount from the pharmacy on a whim. He hadn't actually thought to buy anything for the holiday season otherwise.

"Wine?" Wolfram seemed to think that over for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose I'll try some."

"Oh. You haven't had wine before?" Wine and other drinks certainly seemed like a staple of fantasy worlds with magic and the like. But then again, Allister wondered if he should stop making assumptions about Wolfram's home based on YA novels.

"Not in particular, no. During my time studying, my peers occasionally invited me to join them for an evening of drinks during our own holidays or when there was something to celebrate. I preferred to stay to my studies, though."

Allister stood up from the couch, heading towards the kitchen. "So magic college had the kids who wanted to party and the ones who panicked for good exam scores. Sounds like normal boring college."

Wolfram followed, leaning against the kitchen counter with a playful smirk directed at Allister. "Who said I panicked over my exams?"

"Well, if you're such a genius," Allister said, reaching up into one of the cupboards for the wine bottle and a pair of glasses, "I may just have you do my math for me. I bet you'll love dilutions." He had to admit, he felt fancy pulling out the wine glasses. It wasn't every day Allister had an excuse for that.

Pouring some of the red wine into each of the glasses, Allister handed one off to Wolfram.

"Dilutions..." Wolfram stared into the wine as he muttered the word. "Mathematics regarding multiple liquids? I do believe we covered something of the sort in alchemical basics." He paused and took a tentative sip of the wine, then stared at it more as if studying it.

"What do you think?"

"I'm not certain how I feel about the taste."

"Well, that's fair. I doubt cheap gift wine is the best introduction to the stuff."

"I suppose it's fine eno - hic - ohh..." Wolfram grimaced with the sudden case of hiccups beginning.

"Oh geez, that didn't take much, huh?" Allister offered a sympathetic smile.

Wolfram stared at the glass of wine, eyes narrowing at it. "Appare - hic - apparently so... I'm not sold on the - hic - idea of alcohol thus far, Alli - hic - Allister."

Allister gently patted his poor, hiccuping boyfriend on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Fram. It's not everyone's thing anyway." He shrugged.

"Mm-hm... Is it - hic - really all that enj - hic - enjoyable to be intoxicated?"

"Hm... I mean, I guess?" Given that Allister hardly drank much at once, that wasn't the easiest question for him to answer, but he liked it well enough in the right context. Seeing that Wolfram was still studying the wine with something of a skeptical look, Allister offered, "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it, it's fine. Like I said, it's cheap stuff too."

It was Wolfram's turn to answer with a shrug as he said, "It's f - hic - fine. I'm not completely aga - hic - against the taste, so I'll see what I think of it."

"Oh." Allister was, admittedly, surprised. Wolfram wasn't completely disdainful of something that had so easily given him hiccups? That was unusual. "Well, how about we find something to watch for a bit before I get back to work?"

---

A glass of wine and some television later, Allister realized that getting back to work was... difficult. For one thing, he hadn't finished that math from earlier and was now facing down the dreaded dilutions. The alcohol may not have been helping with that. Then there was also the matter of Wolfram.

"Alli - hic - ster." Wolfram whined, draping his arms over Allister's shoulders. "Is the math - hic - done yet?" He leaned forward, resting his head against the back of Allister's neck.

"Still struggling with that part," Allister said. His attention drifted to the empty wine glass that Wolfram had left on the table. Was it a coincidence that Allister's sweetheart, now slightly red-faced in the cheeks, was acting clingier than usual? No, certainly not.

"Well, hurry up," Wolfram mumbled into the collar of Allister's shirt. "Finish up s - hic - so you can cuddle me."

Allister smiled, reaching a hand up to gently squeeze Wolfram's own. "I'd love to, Fram, but it's a bit difficult with you hanging onto me like that."

Wolfram pointed at the laptop. "Then gi - hic - ive it to me. I'll do it, let me - hic - see it."

"You know, I wasn't serious about having you do the dilutions, Fram."

"Allister, I'm - hic - smart, remember? Numbers are numbers even in a different world, I can - hic - do it." Without bothering to wait for an answer, Wolfram sat up and promptly stretched out to lay on his side across Allister's lap, reaching over to the laptop on the table.

"Fram, what are you -"

"It's fine, Allister, it's fi - hic - ine. I can do math," Wolfram muttered indignantly.

Allister sighed and relented, waiting as Wolfram stared at the text on the screen. Eventually, Wolfram rolled onto his back to look up at Allister. "How do I use this?"

"You know, Fram," Allister said, brushing a stray hair out of Wolfram's face, "I have to do a course on pharmacy law after this one too. I don't think you'll be able to help with that one so you're still going to be waiting a bit."

Wolfram pouted and crossed his arms. "Allister."

"What is it?"

"N - hic - o," Wolfram said, the single-syllable word mangled by his hiccups.

"You want to try that again?"

"I'm telling you no, Allister. You're do - hic - ing what you tell me not to do. You're going to ove - hic - overwork yourself, and I refuse to let you."

"I get it," Allister said, "but I have to do this stuff for work, Fra -"

Wolfram put a hand up over Allister's mouth. "Shush. You have ple - hic - nty of time to do this work, right? So I'll make you do more tomo - hic - tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, huh?" Allister mumbled, pushing Wolfram's hand aside with a hand of his own, fingers intertwining. Tomorrow sounded like a better time for the dilutions. "So that means cuddling now?"

Wolfram nodded. "I dema - hic - demand cuddles, Alli." Still lying on his back, he held out his arms up towards Allister expectantly.

Allister broke into a smile at that sight. "You're playful when you're tipsy, huh?"

"I never said I was - hic - tipsy. Oh, wait." Apparently having a sudden idea, Wolfram abruptly sat up. He brought his hands closer together and began to recite a spell - though, with his hiccups interrupting him, it took three or four times before he was able to successfully do so. Once he managed the spell without interruption, one of the small animal-like spirits formed in his hands and Wolfram smiled at Allister. "More warmth to sit with us."

"If we doze off, it's going to run off eventually and start causing trouble, won't it?"

Wolfram thought, looking back down at the currently rabbit-esque spirit. He shrugged and said in a dismissive tone, "It's fine, it's fi - hic - fine."

"Well, if it starts knocking stuff over later, you're the one who has to clean it up. Get over here, then," Allister said before leaning towards Wolfram and pulling him down to lie down on the couch.

[365days365movies]

May 6, 2021: The Martian (2015) (Recap: Part One)

We’re leaving lo-fi sci-fi, people. Kind of.

I mentioned before that films like Her are what I define as “lo-fi sci-fi”, which is a category that I’ve kind of made up. Basically, it’s the science fiction version of low fantasy, meaning it contains science fiction themes contained within an otherwise contemporary setting. In the case of Her, Joaquin Phoenix’s character, along with many others, live in a world and setting basically like ours, but with technology advanced enough to generate AIs (like Siri) that are intelligent enough to actually ascend our reality. Because we live in a society.

You give me Joaquin Phoenix, I’m gonna make a Joker reference; it’s in the contract of my existence. Anyway, that is admittedly kind of broad, right? I mean, that has the capability of crossing over with a BUNCH of sci-fi genres and themes. And, considering that we’ve already seen magic, speculative technology, time travel, monsters, and artificial intelligence, we’ve already touched on quite a bit.

And with science fiction, the sky’s the limit. Literally. So, I think it behooves us to re-examine lo-fi sci-fi a little bit. Specifically, we should note that it can also be defined as an extension of currently existing technologies and possibilities. Writers would call this “speculative sci-fi”, assuming in this case that it’s set within the present or a near and attainable future. Her definitely fits in this category, as does Westworld. But, let’s crossover to another genre by speculating upon another possibility. And it begins with this man. Probably.

Hey, Elon, what’s up? Now, Mr. Musk here is a...controversial figure, for COMPLETELY understandable reasons. Instead of touch upon the man himself, I feel like touching upon one of his recent focuses: space travel. With SpaceX and the various upcoming space trips and journeys that they’re planning, Musk has made it clear that he plans to shoot to the Moon. Again, literally.

In fact, this full plan is to go even further than that, and to fuel potential commercial space flights in the future, which is admittedly very cool. And of course, if you’re going to shoot for the Moon...

Guys...guys, that’s Mars. THAT’S FUCKING MARS

Is that not amazing? We have sound and pictures from FUCKING MARS! THAT’S A DIFFERENT PLANET, GODDAMN IT! It’s cooler than I have the ability to properly express, but it IS goddamn cool. And this means that, easily within my lifetime, we could (and likely will) land on Mars. Which is amazing. God, I really want to see that happen.

And so, landing on Mars is BARELY science fiction, but since we haven’t yet done so...yeah, it’s fictional at the moment. And so, any film about landing on Mars falls within this category. Well...to an extent.

2000′s Mission to Mars, for example, was a Disney-funded film (to my IMMENSE surprise; and it’s based off of an old Disney World ride, WHAT), and a movie that I saw a LOT when I was a kid. I also barely remember it, to be honest. But that film is straight-up science fiction because of, well...aliens. The idea of Martians is, as far as we know it, fictional. And most fiction involving Mars includes these aliens somehow. Whether it’s DC Comics’ entire civilization of Martians, as seen in Justice League, Supergirl, or Young Justice...

...Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s heavily mythologized civilization, as seen in the Barsoom series of novels (and another Disney film)...

...Or one of the best Looney Tunes characters.

Mmm. Yes. Isn’t that lovely?

But, yeah, Mars and aliens go hand-in-hand in our media. So, to properly look at lo-fi science and speculative science fiction in relation to the Red Planet, we’ll need a movie that goes to the planet, and doesn’t touch upon the concept of aliens AT ALL.

Enter...Ridley Scott?

Yeah, the director of Legend, Alien, Thelma and Louise, Blade Runner, Gladiator. Also the director of Kingdom of Heaven, Prometheus, Exodus: Gods and Kings, and...ugh, 1492: Conquest of Paradise. I’ve talked about his mixed record before, in my Recap of Legend right here.

In 2014, he was brought on to adapt a book by Andy Weir called The Martian, which is a great book! I’ve listened to the audio book, and I whole-heartedly recommend doing that. And because of that, I am VERY MUCH looking forward to watching this film, especially seeing as it’s often called one of the best science fiction films made during that year, and was critically acclaimed then and now. It got seven Oscar nominations (although it won none of them), amongst other awards. So, enough navel-gazing, huh? The Martian!

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

On Acidalia Plantitia, at the landing site of the Ares III mission, a group of scientists are gathering samples. These scientists are commander and geologist Melissa Lewis (Jessica Chastain), pilot Rick Martinez (Michael Pena), systems operator Beth Johanssen (Kate Mara), surgeon Chris Beck (Sebastian Stan), German chemist Alex Vogel (Aksel Hennie), and overly talkative botanist Mark Watney (Matt Damon). 

The group seems to have a good dynamic, but that dynamic is interrupted by a massive dust storm, which is large enough to cause the entire crew to evacuate. However, in the chaos of the dust storm, Mark is hit by debris and lost in the shuffle. Although Lewis goes back to find him, she can’t get to him before they need to leave, and Mark is believed dead. This is reported (pretty callously) by NASA Director Teddy Sanders (Jeff Daniels) to the press soon afterwards.

But of course, that wouldn’t be much of a movie, now would it? Mark’s alive! And Mark’s alone. With his suit damaged, and low on oxygen, he trudges back to headquarters, which is intact and still contains breathable oxygen. He gets inside, and realizes that he’s been stabbed in the abdomen by some debris. He removes it, and stitches up his own wound. Which is...god, it’s fucking BRUTAL just to think about, nevertheless watch.

Once he’s finished, he records a log for the future, if he doesn’t make it. It’s day 19 of the 31-day mission at this point, and Mark’s basically screwed. He needs lasting oxygen, water, and food, and he might need that for 4 years, when the next manned mission can come to the red planet. Additionally, he has absolutely no way to contact NASA, leaving him completely stranded. Another dust storm rolls in that night, and Mark looks over the belongings of his colleagues, packing them up for their eventual return. It’s somber, to say the least. However, Mark affirms that he’s determined not to die on the planet.

After doing the math, Mark should have enough food to last him for about 300 days, especially if he rations it. Until then, he’ll need to figure out how to grow his own food, on a planet where nothing grows. Which is, of course, going to be a difficult feat to accomplish. But Mark Watney’s a botanist with botany powers, and he’s gonna do it.

It’s day 31, and Mark’s brought in dirt from the outside, and uses the bio-waste from the crew’s stay there for a form of compost. After 5 days, mostly full of him watching Happy Days on TV and trying to farm, he realizes that he needs water, both for himself and for the soil. To do that, he goes chemical and decides to use hydrogen-laden rocket fuel, wood from Martinez’s belongings, and good old-fashioned fire to make water! And since hydrogen + oxygen = water, it should work. With a minor side-effect.

So, yeah, he blew himself up. As as he records a video log, the sound mixing makes itself impressively known by subtly and realistically generating a tinnitus sound. It’s VERY well-done, holy shit. Anyway, he makes a stable fire, and the place is soon covered in condensation, moistening the room and the soil successfully.

We get to day 54, and Mark’s planted leftover potatoes from the crew in order to grow them. And while he’s being mourned at a funeral on Earth, and in NASA, he’s seeing the fruits (or shoots) of his efforts.

Back on Earth, Mars Mission Director Vincent Kapoor (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is trying to convince Director Teddy to let him lobby for another Ares mission, despite the risk of bad press for the callousness of the proximity to Watney’s death. Meanwhile, satellite technician Mindy Park (Mackenzie Davis) looks down at the Ares III site, and realizes that the site has changed visually, meaning that Mark may actually be alive.

Shocked by this, she tells Kapoor, Teddy, and media director Annie Montrose (Kristen Wiig) about this, and they realize the absolute clusterfuck that this whole thing is. They can’t tell the other members of the Ares III crew about it, because it’d devastate them for the 10 months they have to get back to Earth, at the VERY least. They can’t tell the WORLD about this, because they just had a funeral for the guy, and they’d reveal that they left him stranded on Mars accidentally, destroying faith in the Mars Missions Program. And they can’t save Mark, who they’re sure will starve eventually. It’s a mess. And Kapoor also wonders what’s happening to Mark psychologically through all of this.

And yet, they reveal this to the world regardless, causing the clusterfuck reaction that they think it’s going to cause. But Mark’s busy on Mars, figuring out how to get to the site of the next Ares IV mission in 4 years, at the Schiaparelli crater about 50 days travel away. This is a struggle, as his Rover has only so much power and fuel, and he can only get more power by cutting out the heater is risking death by freezing. So, problems. However, he figures out a potential solution: radioactive isotopes! In a move that is, let’s face it, COMPLETELY INSANE, he digs up a radioactive generator from the ship in order to heat the ship.

On Earth, they try to figure out Mark’s moves, as well as how to resupply Ares IV sooner for Mark’s benefit. This is with the director of JPL, Bruce Ng (Benedict Wong), and the flight director of the ship Hermes, Mitch Henderson (Sean Bean), who insists that they tell the Ares II crew. They continue to monitor Mark, and note that he’s been travelling for 17 days in his Rover towards something. Kapoor figures it out, and flies to California.

See, Mark needs a way to contact NASA, and he believes that the way to do so is through Pathfinder, the first probe ever sent to Mars in 1997, lasting for 9 months since landing until they lost contact. Mark digs it up, and the people at JPL in California start their own efforts for contact. And despite communication being extremely rudimentary, initially limited to yes/no questions that use a still-frame camera, it fucking WORKS! WHOO!

To boost this communication hurdle, the two camps figure out a hexadecimal system for communication, allowing them to communicate using a circular table of numbers that represent an alphabet. That allows them to teach Mark to hack into the Rover, allowing it to piggyback off of its broadcast signal and send them messages via keyboard. Nice! Now that communication is reasonably possible, Mark’s able to ask how the crew is handling his death. But upon learning that they haven’t told him. He’s understandably a little goddamn enraged. And so, they FINALLY tell the Ares III crew about this.

The news breaks the crew, even though Mark continues to stress that he’s all right, and that it wasn’t their fault. Meanwhile, Mark’s able to survive for 912 days with his potato plants, and things improve with the help of technicians on Earth. They plan to launch a supply rocket to him in the next year, and things are looking fine! Unless, of course...something goes horribly HORRIBLY wrong.

Well...fuck. Good place to pause for Part Two, then?

[galleryfake]

answering every question from muse things - !

❄ — all striked answers are things that do not apply to him, and even if they do, he has no opinion/doesn’t find it relevant. three of the sections have been omitted entirely due to their lack of relevance to his thought process.

SELF + HEALTH

how do they see themselves? — as a part of the spider, nothing more or less. without it, he’d be just another person living uselessly until death.

how do they want to be seen by others? — he hopes he can be useful & that he can bring even the most fleeting, temporary meaning to his loved ones’ existences. he also, secretly, wishes to be loved, and to have it expressed to him in any of its forms.

what is their life motto?

would they rather lead or follow? —follow.

what motivates them? — working as part of a group, & discovering hidden or sealed away knowledge.

are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? — his tongue, as he dislikes physical fighting as anything other than a means to an end. he only fights to kill and doesn’t like to spar. 

do they have any pet peeves? — acts of pure emotion that have no thought or planning put behind them, that end up deconstructing something that could’ve been handled more sensibly. so basically... most things done by enhancers, in general. looking at you, phinks & uvo.

what do they most regret? —not many things, in general. when things get screwed up despite him having thought he had made the best judgement at the time, it will keep him up for a few nights, but he’ll eventually forgive himself and move past it. paku’s death, for example.

what achievement are they most proud of? — being the troupe’s only #12, yet to have been killed and replaced. 

what would they like to improve on? —nen is a very versatile pool of energy to work with, he will always be tweaking with his abilities one way or the other. see: his ice transmutation.

do they have any scars? —several very tiny blips on the expanse of his skin that tell of countless IV insertions and things strapped to him when he was younger. a fair amount of battle scars, mostly centered around his hands and arms. #justconjurerthings 

do they have a disability? — anxiety disorder & ptsd, both which he quietly shoves down and rarely ever discusses their symptoms - as both are essentially a given, considering their line of work.

do they have any allergies or food intolerances? —mildly allergic to pollen, VERY allergic to latex. the latter is the reason he doesn’t ever wear disposable gloves even though he prefers to keep his hands clean.

do they have any long-term illnesses or injuries? —being a clearly very premature infant having inhaled the toxins of meteor city’s trash, he spent his infanthood all the way up to his early double digits extremely ill and practically on the verge of death. his body went into sepsis several times due to a weak immune system, and complications with his blood vessels left him with acrocyanosis well into adulthood after being on and off a (cheap) ventilator for years at a time. nowadays he’s mostly fine, though, just very small and very purple in the hands. 

PERSONALITY

describe their personality in one word. — cryptic. 

their predominant emotion? —contemplative. 

someone wrongs them. do they respond with revenge or forgiveness? — calculative neutrality, then, depending on which conclusion he draws, either forgiveness or cautious distrust, but never revenge. 

do they make snap judgments or take time to consider? — almost always takes time to consider, except in rare cases where his emotions run high and cloud his reason. 

are they a glass half-full or a glass half-empty kind of person? — depends on the situation, he will assess it accordingly.

do they express themselves through words or deeds? — a combination of both, most likely a deed followed by a bit of helpful explanation.

how often do they lie? — not often, unless it’s to conceal his own weakness or to deceive someone on orders from chrollo. 

do they listen to their head or their heart while making a decision? — his head, but sometimes his head and his heart war with eachother, and his heart wins in tense split-second decisions. 

HABITS

how organized/disorganized are they? — quite organized. organizing is a small hobby of his, and he’ll often do it without even thinking as he busies himself in thought. 

do they have any routines? — his life is a bit too hectic for that, but he does have a specific way of washing + caring for his hair out of a shower and right before bed, to avoid tangles. 

talk about their mannerisms. — gesturing with his hands. making small noises to himself. flicking his head to either side to adjust his hair-to-vision ratio.

is there an item they take with them wherever they go? — his cellphone, for obvious reasons, and often a small weapon he can clone for traceless murders, such as a knife or a handgun.

good habits and bad habits. — good habits: cleanliness and organization. bad habits: repressing his feelings and keeping himself up at night with anxious scenarios and telling no one. 

THOUGHTS

their views on formal education vs self-education?

what are their thoughts on animals? — sees them as no different than humans, selfish survivalists staying alive by whims and instinct. this is not a good thing. he kills them as effortlessly as he kills humans, if needed. 

how much do they care what people think about them? — when it comes to the troupe: he cares a lot more than he lets on. anyone else? strictly 0. 

do they enjoy being the center of attention? why or why not? — he typically doesn’t, he gives himself performance anxiety by holding himself to a high standard, even though he typically accomplishes whatever he sets out to do with a high success rate. 

how do they feel about learning? — one of his favorite hobbies, and the easiest way to bond with him. 

which do they value more: creativity or practicality? — they go hand-in-hand, he’d say. they are both tools to be utilized at their proper times. 

thoughts on material possessions? — he doesn’t keep many himself, but somewhat understands the need to have them and assign them value. under no circumstances should anyone be deluded into thinking anything can be owned, though. even objects. 

would they rather win an argument or avoid conflict? — avoid conflict, though purely intellectual arguments thrill him and he actively seeks them out on occasion.

views on people in general? — food for the spider’s web. 

what qualities do they admire in other people? — confidence in one’s actions, clear sets of boundaries that they follow, and the sense that someone knows what they’re doing beyond a shadow of a doubt.

how do they feel about fun?

what do they want written on their tombstone? — nothing. he’d much prefer to have no trace of himself left behind.

what would an ideal day, in their mind, be like? — discovering something new to revel in for a while, and then ending his day in the warm presence of someone he loves. 

thoughts on privacy? (are they private or are they “tmi”?) — most people assume him to be very secretive and locked away, but he’s actually rather honest about things when asked directly - he just doesn’t divulge them on a whim. like with most things, he never speaks first, but this doesn’t mean he never speaks at all. 

thoughts on superstitions or the occult? (do they believe, not believe, etc.) 

what are their religious views? — none. as far as he’s concerned, everything is put into motion by someone’s individual will. if some god doesn’t exist, he’s not particularly concerned about it.

THE PAST

where did they grow up? — meteor city. 

how would they describe their family? — the spider. 

what was their childhood like? —plagued by illness. 

what did they want to be when they grew up? — alive to see it. 

as a child, what were they most likely to be found doing? — struggling to breathe in a medical cot somewhere in meteor city.

the worst thing that has ever happened to them. — first running away from the city by himself and experiencing withdrawal from being taken out of intensive care for his weak body.

the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to them. — whenever he’s called out for his emotional weakness for the troupe. he just loves them, okay. 

the best thing that has ever happened to them. — a little bit after being recruited, the first time he felt truly acclimated with them. like he had a family for the first time. 

which memory stands out most clearly? — meeting chrollo, and getting close to shal and fei. those memories still visit his pleasant dreams once in a while. 

TOUGH STUFF

do they have any phobias? — medical rooms or establishments such as hospitals. they make him instantly claustrophobic and if he absolutely HAS to be inside of one, he will make an effort to complete his task there as quickly as possible while still doing exactly what he needs to do.

do they get nightmares? — sometimes, but they’re never violent, mainly just sad and vaguely hollow and empty. from these, he wakes up feeling like he didn’t even sleep at all. 

what kind of person are they? — one you would likely be much worse off for meeting, if you’re not a spider. 

would they let someone take the blame for something they did? — sure. it was their choice to do so, after all. 

what are they insecure about? — his own emotional weaknesses. they’re a nuisance to his thoughts and strategies and no one should be bothered with them. 

what is one way to earn their trust? — simply make plans and follow through with them. display confidence and the skill with which to back it up. 

what is one way to lose their trust? — be an enhancer. *COUGH* i mean, be primarily emotionally driven and cause destruction as a result. such a bringer of chaos would no doubt be a headache to have around regularly. 

one thing they would hate anyone to know about them. — that he’s very soft and with simple desires. he’ll verbally deny being slightly clingy and affection-starved, but his actions will say otherwise. 

they have to pick one: to be loved, to be feared, or to be admired. — to be loved. no question.

have they ever been bullied or teased? — due to his size, typically, but he doesn’t really care. there’s no impact to his life if people think he looks weird due to his appearance, or his voice or his powers. they’ll simply have to live with it. 

FUN STUFF

what is their character archetype? — the quiet but deadly one. 

what are they confident about? — he is confident in his efficiency and ability to carry out tasks and speak truthfully. 

talk about their moral alignment.  — true neutral. pretty self-explanatory. 

describe them in three words. — helpful. devoted. curious. 

describe their aesthetic. — ancient libraries covered in dust. a snowstorm in the night. an iced-over lake reflecting an overcast sky. 

what will make them laugh? — seeing his loved ones happily goofing off and being relaxed, as well as any number of empathetic reactions shared by the happiness of ones close to him.

what makes them feel safe? — simply being near the others, or being somewhere very far-off and secluded from largely populated areas.

favorite color and the reason for it. — blue, simply because his hair and eyes all fall in line with its palettes and it looks good on him. 

favorite book genre? — informational textbooks of a certain field of expertise, or, in the case of fiction, mystery &/or crime solving. 

favorite movie genre? — psychological thriller. also may or may not have a thing for hallmark movies with cheesy happy endings. 

favorite type of muse?

if they could have a superpower, what would they choose?

do they have a role model? — definitely chrollo, and also, to a certain extent, feitan. 

what is their personal kryptonite? — choosing things/planning for things that involve the life or death of someone in the spider. in that moment, his emotions cloud his judgement and he can only find himself reaching the conclusion most likely to keep them alive. he can hardly bear to lose any of them. 

how do they entertain themselves? — organizing things, studying a particular topic, or playing a boardgame/doing puzzles.

[emybain]

Rainy Day

i tried posting this earlier but tumblr was a butt and deleted it so here’s a second go. there’s angst but at least there’s some nodrian. this is also part of the au where nova’s family lives:) im posting from my phone and ive never done that before so if something weird happens let me know. just some background (as i forget to explain my hcs for this au 95% of the time): the anarchists want nova to join them bc they know she’s powerful. they contact her and confront her on the streets and stuff. no one knows but nova, and since this started, she’s sickened and scared bc she sometimes agrees with some of their points against the renegades. she’s terrified bc they (*cough* Ingrid) vaguely threaten her and her loved ones. she’s also scared of what could happen if it gets out. we LOVE living in the spotlight bc we have an infamous uncle! hope y’all enjoy:D

_________

It was pouring outside, much to Nova’s luck. She only prayed that she wouldn’t crash her car in this weather; she wasn’t even sure if she had grabbed her wallet in her hurry to leave her house.

She couldn’t go back after this. Her parents were done. Disappointed. Ashamed. Angry. She had betrayed their trust once again, but this time, it went too far. This was a secret she never should have kept from them, and now they were going to kick her out onto the streets.

Thankfully, Adrian only lived a few blocks away, so she didn’t have to leave the neighborhood. Stepping out of her car, she could barely even register the fat raindrops that began to drench her entire body.

He answered on the fifth knock, looking as if he had just woken up from a nap. Nova didn’t even let herself take in his ruffled state. He blinked at her, frowning at her red eyes and wet clothes.

“Nova? What’s wr-”

“Are your parents home?”

Opening the door a bit more, he shook his head slowly, obviously confused. “No? They’re at headquarters righ-umph!”

Nova launched herself at him, burying her head into his sweatshirt. His armed immediately wrapped around her, although his body stiffened in alarm.

“Nova, hey, Nova.” He relaxed quickly. A hand made circles on her back. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m here, yeah?” He held her as she sobbed, muttering incoherent gibberish into his chest. She was probably getting tears and snot all over him, but that was the least of her worries.

Struggling for air, she gasped, “I can’t go home, Adrian. They’ll kill me. They’re go-going to kill me. I...I-I-I can’t go home. I’m never going to see Evie or-or Thomas ever again because I’m a fu-fucking idiot.” She felt a hand on her head, running through her hair.

He made small shushing sounds. “Is this about another piercing? Or did you finally get a tattoo?”

Nova heard the door shut behind her and the lock. She shook her head into the sweatshirt. “Much...much worse.”

As if to remind her of her situation, a loud Bang! Bang! Bang! resonated in her skull. Suddenly she felt as if she were falling and gripped Adrian. Her entire body shook, despite the fact that she was burning up.

“Breathe in and out, Nova.” She felt him gently guide her to the floor, something he always did for her when she was having an attack. “I’m here. You’re in my house, okay? Everything’s alright. I’m not going to leave you.” He backed up a little to give her space, but she made a whimpering noise in the back of her throat and reached out for him. He pulled her head into his lap, one hand going back to tracing circles on her skin and the other holding her hand.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally felt her breathing slow down. Exhaustion rolled through her body, and she fell limp against Adrian’s knee. Somewhere far away, he asked her a few questions, to which she nodded to, only partly paying attention.

Somehow, she ended up on his bed with a glass of water in her hands and his soft comforter over her legs. He sat beside her on the edge, the lines on his forehead showing just how worried he was. Only when she silently gestured did he move to sit closer to her on the bed.

She was quiet for a long time, but Adrian was patient. He always was. She had had many breakdowns in his presence, and he knew how to help her get through them every time. Even though they had drifted apart in their earlier teen years, they were now both making the effort to spend more time together. It had been about a year since they made this commitment, and while it was hard and her teammates and friends teased her about it, it was the best decision she had made in a long time.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she mumbled, setting the still-full water glass on his nightstand. She curled her legs up to her chest, kicking back the bedspread.

“Take your time.” He reached for her hand, and she gladly accepted his.

Nova sniffled. “For a while now, the Anarchists have been contacting me.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “They’ve been feeding me lies about the Renegades, taunting me for betraying my own blood.”

Adrian inhaled sharply. “Nova...what? I-”

“There’s more,” she snapped, but her voice shrank again. “They...they want me to join them, saying that the Renegades are liars and that they wanted my family to die that night.” She swallowed, feeling disgust wash over her. “And now, I’m afraid of what they’re going to do to me or my family.” She glanced at him, hand tightening around his. “To you. They know how close we are.”

Adrian searched her face. “You should’ve said something sooner, Nova. This is serious. How long has this been going on?”

She shrugged, looking down at the sheets. “A year and a half?” Adrian cursed under his breath. Another tear dripped down her cheek. “Adrian, you can’t tell anyone, okay? You know the shit I get every day just for being an Artino. I’ve had to prove myself since I was six, had to...had to play the part of a media darling just to stay on most people’s good side. All that could vanish if this got out. It won’t matter that I’ve ignored them. You know how the tabloids are.”

Adrian shushed her as her voice started to rise and shake again. “I can’t just do nothing, Nova. You know that.” Something flashed in his eyes. “You matter more than anything else in the world to me. I can’t stand to see you like this.” Nova blushed, only then becoming aware of how close they were sitting on his bed, how weirdly handsome he looked in his grey sweatpants and sweatshirt. Her eyes drifted to the necklace peeking out from his sweatshirt, stomach dropping at the thought of it hanging over her.

She shook her head, partly in response and partly to get her mind away from such imaginations. “My parents found out today and confronted me when I came home from headquarters.” She inhaled shakily. “I was a dumbass and left a letter out on my desk.”

Adrian’s face softened in understanding. “They were angry you didn’t tell them?”

“Furious,” she breathed. “They...they told me I wasn’t their daughter if…” her face crumpled, and he wrapped his arms around her again, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “If I was actually thinking about joining them.”

“But you’re not,” he reassured her, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. That only made more tears fall.

Nova leaned back, wanting to tell him more. How she had actually considered what they said. Not about joining them, but what they mentioned about the system being corrupt and unfair. Sometimes, when she really thought about it, she could see where they were right. It made her feel dirty inside and out for betraying everything she ever knew.

“You’re a good person, Nova.” He attempted to smile. “We’ll talk about what to do about them contacting you later. Everything’s going to be alright. You’re one of the best people I know. No, don’t shake your head,” he laughed, which caused the corner of her lip to lift up just slightly. She loved his laugh. “You are. They’re just upset right now. Any parent would be. Give them some time to think through things. You know my dads never mind how long you stay.” After a slight pause, he added, a bit awkwardly, “Okay?”

Nova glanced down at his lips, pinched in worry, then back up at his eyes, and she may have responded, or she may not have. But the next thing she knew, her lips were pressed firmly against his. He made a noise in surprise; Nova felt his body go stiff beside her. She pulled back, an apology already forming in her mouth. He blinked at her, the hand that had been rubbing circles on her arm now still. Then he did something that sent Nova over the edge: He kissed her back.

She gasped, allowing him to deepen the kiss and pull her closer. Nova’s entire body shook as she climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. One hand splayed at the small of her back, the other reaching up to dig into her hair. A soft moan escaped her lips at the way her skin tingled from the contact; she would’ve been mortified if Adrian didn’t act like the sound was the best thing he had ever heard.

He broke the kiss, only to murmur her name and words of affection as his lips, great skies his lips, traced a path from her jaw down to the hollow part of her neck. Nova’s head was pounding, her heart racing, her body feeling about a thousand new emotions all at once.

Nova had kissed people before, had even kissed Adrian once when they were fourteen as part of a dare and came close about a year ago. But none of those kisses were like this one. No, she had never, ever, ever been kissed like this before. As if she were the most precious thing in the world; as if she mattered and was cared for.

His lips returned to her face, kissing away the tear stains on her cheeks before returning to her mouth. An explosion of stars lit up behind Nova’s eyelids, and she welcomed his caresses fervently, pressing her body so close to his until she felt as if she might suffocate. But at that moment, she didn’t care.

For so long, she had dreamed and thought of and imagined what it might be like to kiss Adrian Everhart. Partly in shame, for he was her best friend. They had known one another for ten years; they weren’t supposed to feel this way about one another. Every time she had ever thought of a life where they were something other than friends, she chastised herself. She couldn’t ruin their friendship and reveal her true feelings for him if he didn’t feel the same. When she was younger, she had seen Adrian as something akin to a brother. That had all changed after they had first kissed as awkward, naïve fourteen year olds. But if he had been like family for her before then, surely Adrian only thought about her as a sister. Right? Now she wasn’t so sure.

Adrian’s fingers ran over the length of her thigh, then his hand came to rest in the crevice under her knee. Nova shook in his hold, her breath beginning to grow shallow. A sick, heavy brick dropped in her stomach, the exact opposite of the feeling of pleasure she had felt just minutes before. What if this wasn’t all she had wanted? What if they were just caught up in the moment, and Adrian was only kissing her because she had initiated it? He could break the embrace at any moment and push her away in disgust when realization would hit, and just like that, the best ten years of her life would go down the drain.

She needed air, but also didn’t want to let go just yet. A new wave of tears threatened to spill behind her closed eyelids. She was such an idiot. Adrian could never, would never, love her the way she loved him.

Not knowing what else to do, Nova allowed her power to roll through her, gently so as not to hurt him like she would with criminals. It had been years since she had been kind with her power; she hadn’t used it that way since Thomas was a screaming toddler. The effects were the same, though. Adrian broke the kiss as his head lolled back against the headboard. Fat tears streamed down Nova’s face. Adrian had offered her a place to stay, but after what had just happened, how could she?

Legs shaky, Nova pushed herself off of him and scooted toward the end of the bed. She wanted nothing more than to just curl up beside him and fall asleep in his arms. After all, he was one of the few people that made her feel safe enough to fall asleep. But no. She had to go. Where, she wasn’t quite sure yet. Anywhere but here. Maybe she would call up Danna or Ramona and explain the situation. Both were familiar with her home life and the occasional desire to just disappear for a while from the chaos that was the Artino household.

Thank the sky above that Hugh and Simon weren’t home, or else she would have some explaining to do. Due to her current state, just making it out of the large house was a miracle. It was pouring harder now than it was when Nova came over. She closed the front door and, finding the spare key hidden under a small statue, locked it and hid the key again.

Between the pouring rain and her blurry eyesight, seeing was very difficult for Nova while getting out of Adrian’s neighborhood. She could barely think, barely breathe, even as she called Danna through her car’s Bluetooth system because she was at the top of her contact list. In the corner of her mind, she heard her Papà’s voice telling her she needed to slow down because of the slick roads, like he always tells her to drive slowly in the rain. She can hardly process even that warning.

“Don’t be an emotional driver,” Papà would say whenever she got upset back when she was learning to drive. “Pull over somewhere safe if you’re upset or angry, va bene?” And Nova would nod her head and take deep breaths to calm down.

Images of Adrian flitted through her head, only succeeding in making her more upset than she was. How was she going to explain herself when he woke up and inevitably called her?

“Nova? Nova, are you there?” Nova fixed her eyes on the little screen in her car where it showed a call was in process. Blinking she tried to read who it was, not quite sure she remembered who she had called. It was Danna. Right.

Nova looked back up at the road just as she ran a red light, being t-boned by an incoming car.

[scumerage]

Tornado and Child Emperor are the True Protagonists of the Monster Association Raid:

#I. Garou is not the Protagonist of the Raid:

Why those two and not Garou? Simple. Garou is the protagonist of the Monster Association Saga, not the raid. He is barely present during the raid...

The fight against Darkshine (Pri Pri isn't much of a fight) =

Arriving at the surface and claiming Disaster Level God

Proceeding to defeat GS and every hero on the surface

His fight with Saitama and the aftermath

Now, the last two are two of the largest events in the series.... but those only happen at the end, during the beginning and middle of the raid, Garou does absolutely nothing other than beat down Pri Pri and Darkshine, then climb to the surface. Garou isn't very much relevant for the beginning and middle of the raid.

But what do Child Emperor and Tornado do that is so, so much more important? Why can they lay claim to being the protagonists of this raid in the manga (Edit 2) and not Garou (or even Saitama)? Quite simple: Child Emperor is the sole leader of the S-Class heroes, and Tornado is champion of the heroes, expected to defeat the Monster Association alone when all hope is lost (Edit 1).

#II. Child Emperor - The Leader of the Heroes:

What does Child Emperor accomplish?

The planning of the entire raid (Tracking down the monsters HQ in City Z/ mapping out the entire area/providing communicators and strategy)

The battle against Phoenix Man, which causes him to doubt the entire Hero Association and his fellow S-Class

The rescue of Waganma, the #1 reason the raid happened in the first place

Coordinating with the other S-Class on the surface to fight ENW, BS, and Garou

Is that as much as Garou? No. But it is throughout the entire raid, not simply the end. Therefore Child Emperor plays a much larger and more central role than Garou ever did.

And think of how much more the manga may add to increase his leadership role? Child Emperor may not be the only adult in the room room, but he's certainly the only parent actually looking out for the S-Class as a whole (unlike Tornado or Sweet Mask who view them as second rate.

Child Emperor is the only truly competent Hero leader we've seen so far in the series. A genius scientist, strategist, AND respected leader even by the largely egotistical, lone wolf S-Class. As far at the aliens, he was running through options for attacking the ship since 4 S-Class were handing Melzagard. After that, what..

Tanktop with his bros... nothing more than a gang of jocks?

Blizzard with her B-Class maphia, all suit and no sting? (or her "New Blizzard Bunch" pipedream?)

Death Gatling and his merry band... who he viewed as expendable for his own glory?

Sekingar... tried. A noble effort... but leadership doesn't give an A for effort.

That's why Child Emperor is the protagonist of the Monster Association Raid. He is the only one holding the S-Class together... as a team... as one unit to face the unified might of the monsters. He knows it, all too well (allowing Phoenix Man to use this heavy burden of leadership against him). He sees the big picture of the raid as a whole. >!Thus... it will be his failure with their defeat by Garou. Not because Child Emperor's leadership mattered then... but it should never have gotten that bad. The Monster Association should have been defeated long before that, and Garou dealt with quickly and prematurely. No wonder he leaves the rotting HA and joins the Neo-Heroes.

#III. The Tornado of Terror - The Champion of the Heroes:

"In the Hero Association, there is also someone among the officers who expected very strong monsters that could make the S-Class struggle. Still then reason he was so confident... was...."

"HER.... The S-Class Rank 2 Hero, Tornado of Terror, was participating."

"She is a being nothing in the world could hope to defeat in a frontal attack. Rather than S-Class Rank 1 Blast who does not carelessly stand on the centre stage, she is treated as the Association's final weapon."

What does the Tornado of Terror accomplish?

The "defeat" of Gyoro Gyoro AND Psykos, the mastermind behind the Monster Association

Lifting the monsters base out of the ground in order to force the remaining monsters to fight on the open surface rather than hide/ambush/corner the heroes underground/

The battle against Pykos and Orochi, as the only S-Class hero in the raid capable of facing them alone (Edit 3)

The "defeat" of Black Sperm and ENW, two monsters none of the other heroes could defeat

Facing Garou alone, if briefly, as the only S-Class hero present capable of doing so (Edit 3)

But.... there is a problem with all those actions: it's just Tornado being powerful, isn't it? Does that add any value to her character? No... and yes. No, because we already knew she was the strongest S-Class hero by feats. Yes... because her power puts the entire raid, and even the S-Class in general... in perspective.

Whenever the Hero Association acts, sending in an S-Class hero to eliminate a Demon, worrying about the rise in monster attacks, considering whether or not the unreliable S-Class will actually show up when called... Tornado is there. She alone is the only hero who has made it her duty to save the world, day in and day out.

Blast is completely absent, neither an alien invasion nor a continental explosion threaten humanity enough for him take action.

Metal Knight has given up saving millions from monsters in order to save billions from the Organization.

King refuses to fight publicly, time and time again walking away from monsters and forcing other heroes to pick up his slack.

While the rest of the S-Class are too weak/limited to even consider the idea of trying to save the world on their own.

Of course, it's quite easy to say Garou is a far more developed and world changing character than her. That is correct... but that doesn't make him relevant during most of the Monster Association Raid itself. She was there in the beginning, middle, and end.... because no one else could fulfill her role as the champion upon which all other heroes could follow to victory.

#IV. The Longterm Consequences of Tornado and Child Emperor's roles:

The Monster Association Raid >!was a disaster and an utter humiliation for the Hero Association and the S-Class (despite the fact they achieved both key objectives of rescue and victory)!<. Still, those two hold together both heroes and the Hero Association through her power and his leadership. Something even Amai Mask, for all social power, could never do.

>!But after the raid? Tornado is outcast as a potential disaster by the Hero Association. Child Emperor is disgusted by the corruption and incompetence and leaves of his own accord. Again, even with Amai Mask, the unity of the heroes was doomed to crumble without them, losing Amai was just the ripping the bandage off rotting wound in the Hero Association that was already there.!<

- Without Tornado, the champion of the heroes, her quote >!from Blast!< couldn't be any truer for the Hero Association...

"Don't go expecting someone to come and save you.”

- Without Child Emperor, the leader of the heroes, Phoenix Man's quote about the heroes unity would inevitably come to pass:

"Their unity was broken... it was fragile... it's because their interests and ideals are not one and the same."

#V. Final Notes:

Edit 1: King is too unreliable and unpredictable in spite of his power, unlike Tornado, who fights publicly and directly.

Edit 2: In the webcomic, yes, it is fair to argue Child Emperor and Tornado were not protagonists, as Child Emperor was just one hero among many, and Tornado >!ended up just getting knocked out 3x in a row!<. However, in the manga, their roles are greatly expanded.

Edit 3: Just as with the alien ship, King is too far away from the battle to provide aid. Just because he's the world's strongest man doesn't mean he surpasses Tornado in range and mobility.