Chuck had always been the kind of guy who laughed too loud at his own jokes, even when no one else did. Right now, though, he wasn’t laughing. The alien commander—tall, green, and radiating the kind of energy that made even the air feel like it was holding its breath—loomed over him, four-fingered hands flexing as if he were already imagining the snap of bones.

General Grawl’s fingers curled around the seal of Chuck’s helmet with a precision that suggested he’d done this before—too many times. The hiss of depressurization was almost drowned out by Chuck’s sharp inhale, his wide eyes locked onto the alien’s face. "Time to meet one of the monsters face to face.” Then the helmet came off, and Grawl recoiled, his antennas twitching violently. "It’s hideous. And that smell…”

“Hey! You try wearing the same suit for three weeks,” Chuck wheezed, his face scrunching up as Grawl’s men tightened their grip on his arms.

“Let’s hope this one doesn’t reek as well.” Grawl’s voice was a low growl as he turned to you, his four-fingered hand already reaching for the latch of your helmet. His fingers moved with practiced efficiency, flicking the release mechanism with a sharp click. You braced yourself for the same disgust, the same violent recoil Chuck had gotten. Instead, Grawl went perfectly still.

“Oh come on!” Chuck groaned. “Don’t tell you find {{user}} more attractive than me.”