#animal flow benefits

[ancientroyalblood]

Animal Flow Training: A Breakdown of Exercises to Improve Mobility, Strength, and Coordination

Animal Flow is a dynamic and engaging form of bodyweight training that draws inspiration from animal movements, focusing on mobility, strength, and coordination. This unique style of training blends elements of yoga, calisthenics, and martial arts to create a full-body workout that enhances functional fitness. Whether you’re an athlete looking to improve performance or a fitness enthusiast aiming…

[green-hill-haven]

Hear me out. Sally x Amy. Sally seems like she needs someone loyal and committed, and Amy MORE than delivers that. They both share this kind of can-do sensibility as well. And I feel like Sally can help keep Amy's temper in check with her reasonable attitude.

[llycaons]

again I love this friend but when I go over all she wants to do is watch tv together and I know that's important to her for bonding reasons and she likes being cozy and in bed but I tend to feel like crap after a day or two of that and she gets really into showing me stuff she likes but it's usually not stuff I particularly like but I don't want to be rude. she still is trying to get me to read carry on by RAINBOW ROWELL. love her but I think a friendship with so much tied up in similar media experiences is difficult when we just have different enough tastes like this

she showed me dr. stone last time and I wanted to die or kill someone preferably one of the characters. this time was better bc I asserted my tastes more and we went through the list together and I did enjoy mostly everything we saw but I would not have chosen a kamen rider show to watch 😭 I mean I gave it my best shot but that style of show just doesn't hit for me like it does for others....which is a shame bc so many people on here and irl are super into KR and there's so much of it so I really wanted to like it. alas

anyway she also does puzzles so we did a little one that was really fun. maybe we could do more next time...

[no1ryomafan]

My beloved bf gifted me mario wonder for my bday and while this isn’t my first mario game bc I had the one on the ds-just sucked at it lol-im having a blast going through it since I always like playing other plaformers then my usual even if I’m always comfy with Mega Man. However, playing this along with other platformers made me realize mega man misses a common aspect in most platformers: collectibles tied to progression/general items to pick up in stages that aren’t upgrades.

Mega Man does have its fair share of items to pick up but almost always it’s a health or power upgrade. The general structure of Mega Man is less of jumping on enemies like others and more so being strong enough you can take down your enemies with your weapons, the usual challenge comes from fighting bosses without their weakness or tight platforming segments. Not to mention, the entire appeal of Mega Man’s structure is you can do bosses in any order, so having stuff like collecting a object for progression just to access the next stage or area would ruin that freedom. (Also in terms of if mega man would collect coins or rings or gems I’m not sure if that would fit either given he’s a robot… What would a robot collect unless it’s like stated it’s apart of his energy source or something? Or maybe screws? Even though that’s the currency in classic for just buying stuff)

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing since it gives mega man it’s own unique appeal and some people may not like other platformers compared to it-even if I say the challenge universally sticks so others are worth checking out, especially when in other games it’s waaaay easier to die despite how brutal mega man is with lives and Insta kill stuff-but it’s something I noticed when playing Mario and other platformers so I’m definitely gonna be rotating this for awhile.

[nasa]

All-Star Moments in Space Communications and Navigation

How do we get information from missions exploring the cosmos back to humans on Earth? Our space communications and navigation networks – the Near Space Network and the Deep Space Network – bring back science and exploration data daily.

Here are a few of our favorite moments from 2024.

1. Hip-Hop to Deep Space

The stars above and on Earth aligned as lyrics from the song “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly)” by hip-hop artist Missy Elliott were beamed to Venus via NASA’s Deep Space Network. Using a 34-meter (112-foot) wide Deep Space Station 13 (DSS-13) radio dish antenna, located at the network’s Goldstone Deep Space Communications Complex in California, the song was sent at 10:05 a.m. PDT on Friday, July 12 and traveled about 158 million miles from Earth to Venus — the artist’s favorite planet. Coincidentally, the DSS-13 that sent the transmission is also nicknamed Venus!

NASA's PACE mission transmitting data to Earth through NASA's Near Space Network.

2. Lemme Upgrade You

Our Near Space Network, which supports communications for space-based missions within 1.2 million miles of Earth, is constantly enhancing its capabilities to support science and exploration missions. Last year, the network implemented DTN (Delay/Disruption Tolerant Networking), which provides robust protection of data traveling from extreme distances. NASA’s PACE (Plankton, Aerosol, Cloud, ocean Ecosystem) mission is the first operational science mission to leverage the network’s DTN capabilities. Since PACE’s launch, over 17 million bundles of data have been transmitted by the satellite and received by the network’s ground station.

A collage of the pet photos sent over laser links from Earth to LCRD and finally to ILLUMA-T (Integrated LCRD Low Earth Orbit User Modem and Amplifier Terminal) on the International Space Station. Animals submitted include cats, dogs, birds, chickens, cows, snakes, and pigs.

3. Who Doesn’t Love Pets?

Last year, we transmitted hundreds of pet photos and videos to the International Space Station, showcasing how laser communications can send more data at once than traditional methods. Imagery of cherished pets gathered from NASA astronauts and agency employees flowed from the mission ops center to the optical ground stations and then to the in-space Laser Communications Relay Demonstration (LCRD), which relayed the signal to a payload on the space station. This activity demonstrated how laser communications and high-rate DTN can benefit human spaceflight missions.

4K video footage was routed from the PC-12 aircraft to an optical ground station in Cleveland. From there, it was sent over an Earth-based network to NASA’s White Sands Test Facility in Las Cruces, New Mexico. The signals were then sent to NASA’s Laser Communications Relay Demonstration spacecraft and relayed to the ILLUMA-T payload on the International Space Station.

4. Now Streaming

A team of engineers transmitted 4K video footage from an aircraft to the International Space Station and back using laser communication signals. Historically, we have relied on radio waves to send information to and from space. Laser communications use infrared light to transmit 10 to 100 times more data than radio frequency systems. The flight tests were part of an agency initiative to stream high-bandwidth video and other data from deep space, enabling future human missions beyond low-Earth orbit.

The Near Space Network provides missions within 1.2 million miles of Earth with communications and navigation services.

5. New Year, New Relationships

At the very end of 2024, the Near Space Network announced multiple contract awards to enhance the network’s services portfolio. The network, which uses a blend of government and commercial assets to get data to and from spacecraft, will be able to support more missions observing our Earth and exploring the cosmos. These commercial assets, alongside the existing network, will also play a critical role in our Artemis campaign, which calls for long-term exploration of the Moon.

On Monday, Oct. 14, 2024, at 12:06 p.m. EDT, a SpaceX Falcon Heavy rocket carrying NASA’s Europa Clipper spacecraft lifts off from Launch Complex 39A at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida.

6. 3, 2, 1, Blast Off!

Together, the Near Space Network and the Deep Space Network supported the launch of Europa Clipper. The Near Space Network provided communications and navigation services to SpaceX’s Falcon Heavy rocket, which launched this Jupiter-bound mission into space! After vehicle separation, the Deep Space Network acquired Europa Clipper’s signal and began full mission support. This is another example of how these networks work together seamlessly to ensure critical mission success.

Engineer Adam Gannon works on the development of Cognitive Engine-1 in the Cognitive Communications Lab at NASA’s Glenn Research Center.

7. Make Way for Next-Gen Tech

Our Technology Education Satellite program organizes collaborative missions that pair university students with researchers to evaluate how new technologies work on small satellites, also known as CubeSats. In 2024, cognitive communications technology, designed to enable autonomous space communications systems, was successfully tested in space on the Technology Educational Satellite 11 mission. Autonomous systems use technology reactive to their environment to implement updates during a spaceflight mission without needing human interaction post-launch.

A first: All six radio frequency antennas at the Madrid Deep Space Communication Complex, part of NASA’s Deep Space Network (DSN), carried out a test to receive data from the agency’s Voyager 1 spacecraft at the same time.

8. Six Are Better Than One

On April 20, 2024, all six radio frequency antennas at the Madrid Deep Space Communication Complex, part of our Deep Space Network, carried out a test to receive data from the agency’s Voyager 1 spacecraft at the same time. Combining the antennas’ receiving power, or arraying, lets the network collect the very faint signals from faraway spacecraft.

Here’s to another year connecting Earth and space.  

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[reasonsforhope]

"Many people know about the Yellowstone wolf miracle. After wolves were reintroduced to the national park in the mid-1990s, streamside bushes that had been grazed to stubble by out-of-control elk populations started bouncing back. Streambank erosion decreased. Creatures such as songbirds that favor greenery along creeks returned. Nearby aspens flourished.

While there is debate about how much of this stemmed from the wolves shrinking the elk population and how much was a subtle shift in elk behavior, the overall change was dramatic. People were captivated by the idea that a single charismatic predator’s return could ripple through an entire ecosystem. The result was trumpeted in publications such as National Geographic.

But have you heard about the sea otters and the salt marshes? Probably not.

It turns out these sleek coastal mammals, hunted nearly to extinction for their plush pelts, can play a wolf-like role in rapidly disappearing salt marshes, according to new research. The findings highlight the transformative power of a top predator, and the potential ecosystem benefits from their return.

“It begs the question: In how many other ecosystems worldwide could the reintroduction of a former top predator yield similar benefits?” said Brian Silliman, a Duke University ecologist involved in the research.

The work focused on Elk Slough, a tidal estuary at the edge of California’s Monterey Bay. The salt marsh lining the slough’s banks has been shrinking for decades. Between 1956 and 2003, the area lost 50% of its salt marshes.

Such tidal marshes are critical to keeping shorelines from eroding into the sea, and they are in decline around the world. The damage is often blamed on a combination of human’s altering coastal water flows, rising seas and nutrient pollution that weakens the roots of marsh plants.

But in Elk Slough, a return of sea otters hinted that their earlier disappearance might have been a factor as well. As many as 300,000 sea otters once swam in the coastal waters of western North America, from Baja California north to the Aleutian Islands. But a fur trade begun by Europeans in the 1700s nearly wiped out the animals, reducing their numbers to just a few thousand by the early 1900s. Southern sea otters, which lived on the California coast, were thought to be extinct until a handful were found in the early 1900s.

In the late 1900s, conservation organizations and government agencies embarked on an effort to revive the southern sea otters, which remain protected under the Endangered Species Act. In Monterey Bay, the Monterey Bay Aquarium selected Elk Slough as a prime place to release orphaned young sea otters taken in by the aquarium.

As the otter numbers grew, the dynamics within the salt marsh changed. Between 2008 and 2018, erosion of tidal creeks in the estuary fell by around 70% as otter numbers recovered from just 11 animals to nearly 120 following a population crash tied to an intense El Niño climate cycle.

While suggestive, those results are hardly bulletproof evidence of a link between otters and erosion. Nor does it explain how that might work.

To get a more detailed picture, the researchers visited 5 small tidal creeks feeding into the main slough. At each one, they enclosed some of the marsh with fencing to keep out otters, while other spots were left open. Over three years, they monitored the diverging fates of the different patches.

The results showed that otter presence made a dramatic difference in the condition of the marsh. They also helped illuminate why this was happening. It comes down to the otters’ appetite for small burrowing crabs that live in the marsh.

Adult otters need to eat around 25% of their body weight every day to endure the cold Pacific Ocean waters, the equivalent of 20 to 25 pounds. And crabs are one of their favorite meals. After three years, crab densities were 68% higher in fenced areas beyond the reach of otters. The number of crab burrows was also higher. At the same time, marsh grasses inside the fences fared worse, with 48% less mass of leaves and stems and 15% less root mass, a critical feature for capturing sediment that could otherwise wash away, the scientists reported in late January in Nature.

The results point to the crabs as a culprit in the decline of the marshes, as they excavate their holes and feed on the plant roots. It also shows the returning otters’ potential as a marsh savior, even in the face of rising sea levels and continued pollution. In tidal creeks with high numbers of otters, creek erosion was just 5 centimeters per year, 69% lower than in creeks with fewer otters and a far cry from earlier erosion of as much as 30 centimeters per year.  

“The return of the sea otters didn’t reverse the losses, but it did slow them to a point that these systems could restabilize despite all the other pressures they are subject to,” said Brent Hughes, a biology professor at Sonoma State University and former postdoctoral researcher in Silliman’s Duke lab.

The findings raise the question of whether other coastal ecosystems might benefit from a return of top predators. The scientists note that a number of these places were once filled with such toothy creatures as bears, crocodiles, sharks, wolves, lions and dolphins. Sea otters are still largely absent along much of the West Coast.

As people wrestle to hold back the seas and revive their ailing coasts, a predator revival could offer relatively cheap and effective assistance. “It would cost millions of dollars for humans to rebuild these creek banks and restore these marshes,” Silliman said of Elk Slough. “The sea otters are stabilizing them for free in exchange for an all-you-can-eat crab feast.”"

-via Anthropocene Magazine, February 7, 2024

[queers-gambit]

Commander

prompt: ( requested ) being on opposite sides of the Rings eventually sends your husband back into your arms, and between your legs. haha, nice.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.6k+

note: it is NOT said (that i've heard) that Elrond wears his father's cloak - that's just author being sentimental.

warnings: not edited, some obvious angst, mostly hurt and comfort, romance, established relationship, small relationship angst, smut, is this a Commander kink? i'm not sure. small spoilers, sibling reader.

bonus

The trees of Lindon glimmered gold and winked in the sunlight as vibrant veins of restored Light flowed through them all. It was a gorgeous sight; one you were happy to bask in after nearly losing it to the dark depths of evil corrupting Middle-earth. The only reason you had this glorious sight of twinkling beauty was because you had alined yourself with Galadriel and Celebrimbor about the distribution and use of the Elven Rings of Power - though you did not wish to claim one.

You merely desired the salvation of your people on this Middle-earth the Valar gifted The Children of Ilúvatar.

In order to support the Rings, you had to oppose the only person you had ever loved unconditionally, and nothing hurt like that. Despite the pain, disruption, turmoil, the angst it put you and Elrond through, you did not waver in your opinion - but he did not relent in his stance, either.

That was usually a quality you adored in your husband; how stubborn, strong, enduring, passionate, educated, and unrelenting he was. Yet for this, you were beyond frustrated.

You remembered the look of utter betrayal in his eyes when he stormed away the day the Rings were all claimed by Círdan, Gil-Galad, and Galadriel. He couldn't look at you, on those stairs, opposing him and defending the Rings. So, he fled the scene - unable to hide how displeased, unhappy, and horrified he felt.

After that, the two of you began to bicker over simple, common, mundane, marital situations; he instigated fights, prolonged arguments, even lit purposeful fires to force you into verbal altercations. You argued endlessly, needlessly, heatedly about things that voices didn't need raised for. Tension followed you everywhere, filled every room, and after just a few nights... Elrond decided he couldn't sleep in your shared chambers any longer.

You had returned from duty to find him sending several cases of his personal belongings away, freezing when he realized you had caught him. He looked akin to a startled animal. "I did not mean for you to see this," he offered stiffly as if embarrassed, "I-I thought you were on patrol."

"I was switched to the nightshift," you explained meekly, watching servants stream from the room with their arms full of his desired effects. "W-What's going on? What're you doing?"

Elrond sighed, unable to meet your eyes for several long minutes. Then, he licked his lips, nodded, and told you, "I just figured, considering the state of affairs, we'd benefit - "

"Our marriage isn't an 'affair', Elrond!" You snapped, tears filling your eyes. "We're just in a strange state, couples are allowed to disagree, there's a lot unknown - "

"I can't stay here anymore, love, and watch how much I'm hurting you," his head shook. "You think you're silent, but I hear your weeping. I know you avoid coming to bed because I'm there first. You used to pin my robes in the morning, and now, I'm lucky if I even catch a glimpse of your skirt as you rush out the door as I wake. We're not happy anymore, Y/N..."

You froze, lungs shriveling into nothing, shock pumping into your system. "Yo-You're not happy?" You stuttered, stumbling back a couple steps as if he had brandished a sword.

Elrond just stared at you, asking, "Are you? Truly?"

"Generally, yes! I am certainly not so unhappy that I want us apart! This is just a difficult position we're in, but we will get past it, Elrond, we always do!"

"This isn't just a difficult position," he snapped, shocking you back another single step. "We're at odds, starshine, and I hate to admit it. But this is bigger than us, than our love - this is fundamental - "

"And about more than us! Yes! That's what I'm thinking of, Elrond, our people!"

"And what of Sauron? What of his influence upon the Rings!?"

"What of the good they've done? What of the connection?"

"What do you mean - "

"Galadriel!" You snapped. "The obvious connection the Ring amplifies within her! There is a grave new sense she and the other Ringer Bearers have. She can use this Ring to-to-to sense evil, perhaps even see ahead of the enemy! It might be his influence, but aren't we stronger? Stronger than him, together?"

"Those who wear the Rings - "

"You speak of your former mentor, the Elven High King, and your greatest friend. Which of them will you predict to fall?"

"After Galadriel’s already fallen prey - "

"But she is the wiser, the stronger for it! She is thrice as determined before! Why must these Rings divide us, Elrond? Why can we not simply say we leave all politics at the door when we are together?"

Sadly, slowly, he shuffled closer and reached out to caress your cheek. "I love you, my star," he reminded, "but in knowing your stance, I cannot allow us to continue being so destructive to each other. Support the Rings, my love," he lowered his forehead to yours, "but I cannot stand at your side while you do so... Not when I know of Sauron's influence..."

You pulled back, sniffling down the tears that surfaced to nod with a sarcastic smile. "I thought when we took our vows of matrimony, we'd hold true... But I can see, you do not intend to see us through this bog."

"That's where you're wrong," he snarled, stepping closer to hold both of your upper arms and jostle you slightly, "don't you see? Don't you understand? We need the space or we'll keep hurting one another, and I don't know if there's a way for us to heal after that. As of now, we stand a chance, but only if we curate distance - so we need to proceed individually as we need best."

His reasoning was logical, but you were beyond hurt by his departure. Perhaps it was for the best; especially when the High King decided to send a scouting party after Sauron, anointing Elrond as Commander, and upon the news, you panicked. Like, fully broke down in worried tears, alone. Yet you did not go to him, you did not speak out, you just accepted the High King's command and gathered in the courtyard with any other loved ones wishing the company safe travels.

Yet Elrond just looked at you sadly and lifted his hand in parting before turning to lead his comrades out of Lindon.

You shed a single tear as High King Gil-galad was felt at your flank, slowly entering your peripheral. "They have passed out of my sight," you informed him, voice trembling.

"I know of the strife between you and Commander Elrond..." the King trailed off, "But I would like to commend you for remaining a pillar in your belief. These Rings," he showed his, "are a power and force we do not yet understand in full."

"Perhaps, in time," you agreed, sniffling. "If you would excuse me, my King."

He agreed, letting you go; and all you could do was return to your chambers and throw yourself into your pillows for a good cry. After a single day or moping, you got up and got back to work; working with the other trusted advisors to devise battle strategies, evacuation plans, and whatever else you could do preemptively. You didn't know how long Elrond was gone for because after leaving your chambers, you scarcely saw him - something you suspect was on purpose. All you knew was that he was gone and you missed him.

"Sister!"

You looked up when Tinnriel, or Tinnie, rushed into the council room. "What's wrong?" You asked in alarm, straightening up to take her in arms.

"I-I saw - I saw Elrond - he's on his way here - "

"Slow down," you pleaded.

"Something's wrong!" She sneered at you, pushing your arms down. "I've been telling you for weeks! But you do not listen! To myself or your husband!"

"Oh, not this again, Tinnie, I've told you - "

"That it is paranoia, yes, I've heard you, but you and Elrond are at odds! That's not my paranoia! You two never feud, he's been gone days and now returns, looking worse for wear!"

"High King, I apologize for my sister's interruption - "

"She's not wrong," Gil-galad muttered, making you pause.

"My King?"

"You are not wrong, Tinnie," He addressed your sister, finding her eyes and holding her hostage by a single look, "for I have felt the darkness, too. There is something amiss, I will agree, but..."

"It is the Rings!" She insisted.

"Oh, not this again!" You snarled, seizing her upper arm. "Out! Now! You will still your tongue before the King!"

"High King!" You heard Elrond calling, rushing down the hall you were surging up. He spoke your name, "Where are you going?"

"To have a word - "

"This is much more important. Trust me, please! With me, now!" He breezed past you, but caught your free arm in his hold - pulling you after him and forcing you to release Tinnie. "High King," Elrond addressed as he lead you back into the room, your younger sister lingering in the doorway to listen, "the Orcs are not in Mordor."

"Elrond, our reports - "

"We've encountered them!" Elrond cut you off, making you silence yourself out of sheer curiosity; not accustomed to seeing him so disheveled and manic... So authoritative. "A legion of them are headed for Eregion." He pulled out Nenya, showing the King, "My wife and Galadriel were right! They were right! You must send the army to Eregion this moment."

Your head bowed in disappointment, wishing beyond wishful thought that you had been gifted with foresight - then you could've seen this, withheld the Elven Armies from marching to Mordor, been better prepared. Elrond noted your silence first, ready to question you, when the High King stiffly informed, "That will not be possible. I have reason to believe that Sauron is the architect of all this."

Choosing his words carefully, Elrond argued slightly, "High King, Eregion is the very jewel of Elvendom. If it were to fall, it would be a mortal blow for all in Middle-earth. You must send aid!"

"Our armies cannot defeat both Adar and Sauron. Not alone."

Something clicked in your mind, straightening up and taking hold of Elrond's arm. You bowed your head in agreement, "Of course, High King, we understand. Allow me the day to catch my husband up on recent events, we might reconvene later - "

"I shall send for you when a decision has been made," Gil-galad waved off, you all but shoving Elrond from the room; almost tripping over Tinnie.

"Go, go, go, just go," you muttered to the two in Sindarin, releasing Elrond's arm - surprise coloring your features when he snatched your hand into his. Yet you did not comment. At the end of the hall, you halted them both, being aware of the stationed guards, keeping your voice low, "Tinnie, go attend to the rest of Commander Elrond's company. I imagine they'll need food, rest, perhaps aid?"

"Camnir was shot with an arrow..." Elrond muttered, "But Galadriel healed him."

"How?" Tinnie squeaked.

"Nenya... I saw it myself..."

You sighed, "Tinnie, please?"

She nodded, "Shall I speak to them?"

"They will want to give their account, please take record for the King," you instructed, Elrond's hand tightening in yours almost unconsciously.

"What're you going to do?"

"Speak with my husband," you sighed.

"No, I mean... If you and Galadriel were right, if the Orcs are marching on Eregion... What're you going to do?"

"We have much to discuss before a decision can be made," Elrond told her, tone hardened, "now, please, Tinnie, go."

Tinnie noticed the darker, deeper baritone to his voice and instantly nodded and scurried away towards the front gates. "How far back did you leave your company?" You asked softly, watching the last of Tinnie's skirts sweep around the corner.

"Far enough. Come," he directed, turning to start down the pathway; leading you towards the quarters you once shared. Yet before you could enter, you reared back; yanking his hand, his concerned expression turning down in gentle aggravation. "What's the matter?" He asked.

"You don't live here anymore."

Elrond heaved a great sigh, turning to you, "Truly? You wish to do this now?"

"For weeks, you've picked arguments. You've been combative, irritable, spiteful. You... You chose a ring over me - "

"That's not true - "

"How would you phrase it then!?"

"I chose ethics! Morality! You chose a Ring of Power, not just a ring!" He barked at you, both cracking under the pressure the Ring had subjected your marriage to.

"And look where it lead! You come storming in, declaring Galadriel and I are right to the High King, and now... Now it sounds as if you still defend your decision!"

"I do."

You shook off his grip, "Then perhaps we might find somewhere more neutral to discuss matters?"

Elrond heaved a sigh, "What's wrong with our rooms - your rooms? What's wrong with your rooms?"

"Exactly that, they're mine. Not ours. It seems, no matter where I look, I am reminded that my husband didn't love me enough - "

"Don't you ever say that again!" Elrond snarled, leering over you; back to a bannister, bending you back slightly as you refused to back down - keeping him in front of you. He was heaving for breath, body trembling; proximity allowing you to count the pores clogged by dirt, blood, and grime. "You may hold all the anger you wish, but never accuse me of something so heinous, impossible, untrue. So unfathomable."

"Then prove me wrong!" You fired back, shoving at his abdomen to force him back a step so you could righten yourself off the bannister. "You proved to me your anger, now prove your love! Your remorse! Show me an apology, do not just say it! You looked at me with such hate, Elrond, and you left our rooms, you left me - over a matter of opinion! Do you know what that felt like? What pain that caused? You swore to me - "

"I know what our vows were!" He snapped, tears tinging his eyes red; the air hot between your mouths as you both seethed in anger. "I know what we promised, but never did I think Sauron would return, let alone offer such threat!"

"I am beginning to think you are angry about something else! Is it Galadriel - "

"It's me!"

You were startled into silence, his voice echoing down the hall as his facial expression turned angry. Elrond turned from you to pace himself in a semi-circle, and for whatever reason, you softly questioned, "Where's your cloak?"

"What?" Elrond scoffed, having created distance that you closed to lay your hand on his bicep.

"Your father's cloak, Elrond, where is it?"

"I do not know - I don't..." His head shook, looking annoyed with himself. So, you sighed and nodded, dropped your hand to his and laced your fingers together before leading him into your quarters. "Don't - "

"Just come in," you nudged his shoulder, encouraging him into the room as you shut the doors and drew all curtains to keep your conversation private. You locked the main doors.

"You rearranged?" He noted, stalking around the room; slotting himself between furniture as he silently judged it all.

"Just trying something new, I can't sleep most nights and need something to occupy my mind," you explained, shutting the balcony doors, too. With a sigh, you spun on the spot and implored, "What did you mean, Elrond, when I questioned what you were angry about and said it's you? Please, talk to me. We did not talk about Nenya, and now..." You sighed deeply.

Elrond seemingly remembered he still had the Ring, looking at it in his flat palm with what you could only describe as terror. His eyes lifted to yours, asking, "Do you have a chain?"

With a nod, you ventured to your personal jewelry box and located a glittering braided chain; approaching him to gently drop it in a coiled pile beside Nenya. His hand shook, hating the feeling of the Ring... So, you gently took his hand to steady it and asked, "Tell me what you meant."

Elrond watched you thread the Ring onto the chain. "You're right, thinking my anger is sourced elsewhere... It's not Galadriel, per se - though, I am angry, for varying reasons. But it's me - I'm angry at myself."

"Why?"

"I did not see..."

You lifted the two ends of the chain slowly to his chest, but when he flinched, you reminded, "Galadriel entrusted it to you, nobody else should keep it." He nodded in acceptance, so, you lifted the necklace again, asking, "What didn't you see, Elrond?"

"Halbrand... While in Eregion, making the Rings, he helped Lord Celebrimbor and I, it was... He was there the whole time... So very present, innocent - feigning a King of Men - "

"Halbrand is Sauron."

"He is," Elrond confirmed, "and I did not see it."

"You are angry Sauron the Deceiver deceived you!?" You gaped, hooking the chain and retracting your arms. "Elrond, do you hear yourself? You are victim, none of you knew!"

"But the Rings - they work! You were right!"

"Elrond - "

"It's why I'm angry," he admitted, "because the Rings work, I've seen it, but also because I did not see Sauron for who he was."

"None of us did," you whispered, seeing the struggle behind his eyes.

"I couldn't protect them, either."

"Who?"

"Well, now, none of us - but Lord Celebrimbor and Galadriel specifically; they were with us, with Sauron. I..." He sighed deeply, "I did not see, now we all suffer - "

"We do not suffer, we are fighting back," you cut him off now, his sad eyes finding yours. "And you, our Commander, because you alone feel responsible for our entire salvation. You will lead us, Elrond," his head shook in refusal, making you insist, "no, listen - hear my words. You will lead our people, command legions of Elves, because you have proven strong and determined enough. Since you realized the truth of Sauron, you have fought tooth and nail for the rest of us - even me, you fought me - to see the truth. We have all been blinded, deceived, and now, we all must fight, but trust that the Rings... With the darkness they bring, they must also bring light - it is not just Sauron alone in them, but you all. Which means, in the grandest scheme, all your good overpowers Sauron's bad - proven by the Light of the Valar returning. By Camnir's rescue."

"I fought..." He whispered, reaching for your face - neither of you moving away, wanting the comfort, "At a time my words were needed most. And now, it's too late."

"It's never too late, Elrond, or have you not been paying attention?" You chortled lightly, sighing as you pet over his tunic; manicured nails gently fiddling with Nenya in admiration as it glimmered in the candlelight. "I... Had an idea I want your opinion on. Born of the High King's decision to send he army to Morodor..."

He nodded, stepping closer so his hand fully caressed your cheek and slid to hold the back of your neck. "Speak it," he whispered, "tell your Commander."

You could not repress the shiver of attraction even if you tried. He leered over you, holding you tenderly, close, pressing you closer as his eyes dared you to lose your train of thought. "We seek help... From the Dwarves, from Prince Durin," you whispered, "for they hold Sauron's Rings, they will need our aid in time - we just need theirs first."

"You would have me go above our King?"

"I would have you lead us, Commander."

Elrond smirked slightly, free arm coiling around your waist to hoist you into his embrace. "Something sounds as if you... Like this new position of mine?"

"It suits you - authority, I mean."

"Oh?"

"Being decisive," you listed as Elrond moved forward, walking you backward, "assertive, argumentative... It's a good look."

"Then are you ready to listen to your Commander?"

"At once, sir."

He paused you, lips hovering over yours; demanding of your ears only, "Strip."

"My Lord - "

"Aht," he tutted, pulling back; leaving you cemented in place.

"Commander," you amended, watching him nod subtly. Slowly, your hands lifted to start unlacing your corset; his eyes dark and concentrated, watching each movement you made. Elrond stood with his shoulders squared, hands clasped in front of him, feet spread apart; ensuring you were operating to his level of completion.

"All of it," he told you when down to your small clothes; pausing your venture onto the bed behind you.

So, you stripped those off, too. He nodded in approval, watching you teasingly turn to crawl onto the bed and settle in the middle of the mattress - facing him. Elrond's eyes locked with yours, only straying when your legs slowly spread to reveal your sweetest point for his viewing pleasure. His shoulders heaved upward as he drew in breath, lifting his chin, eyes darting around to note the speckling of honey collecting between your legs.

"Touch yourself," Elrond demanded, reaching for his weapons belt and unhooking it.

"Where, Commander?"

He smirked and simply repeated, "Touch. Yourself. If you can't take direction..."

You didn't question him again, watching him slowly unlatch the belts and hooks of his uniform; deft fingers rubbing through your wetness as others came up to pinch your nipple and roll the bud. Elrond shed his boots, discarding them to the side; tunics yanked from his bare torso, leaving the glittering jewelry around his neck. A moan escaped as you dipped your fingers within your cunt as Elrond ripped his trousers open - then paused. He admired the sight of you splayed out, both hands at work, watching him undress.

In Sindarin, Elrond questioned, "Are we still at odds, my starlight?"

You whined, replying, "If you're not inside me in the next minute, Commander, we will be."

Elrond chuckled and shucked his trousers from his hips, down his thighs, then stepping out of them. "Do you forgive me, my star?"

"Nothing to forgive."

"Don't feed me that," he reprimanded, stepping up to mount the bed; his own hand beginning to fondle his reddening cock, stroking himself to straining life. "I have wronged you and your Commander intends to show he is remorseful. Tell him how."

"Move back in," you pleaded, reaching for him as he allowed himself to hover over you, "and do not leave me - not again."

His breath exhaled against your lips, settling to lay against you while a single leg bent to secure his hips on yours. "Never," Elrond agreed, "but I'll need to hear you say it."

"Is that a command?"

Elrond smirked and lined himself up to notch his cockhead at your cunt's mouth; sinking in as he answered, "Of course, it is." You gasped and slapped a hand up to hold his flushing neck, mouth wide at the familiar sting; public hair grinding together as his balls pinned between you, cock fully sheathed. "You've been given a command, my star," he grunted in your ear, "don't disappoint your Commander now."

Like all Elves, your ears had increased sensitivity; creating a legion of goose flesh to shoot across your flesh. Without breath, you affirmed in his ear, "I-I forgive you - fuck - I forgive you, my love. Don't leave me," you whimpered, "and I forgive you."

"What side do you remain?"

You whined, "Yours, yours, my husband, I remain on your side, Commander."

"And will you obey your Commander?"

"Until the end," you nodded, his lips finally findings yours. A sharp whimper ripped from your lungs as Elrond retracted his hips, thrusting into you at his own set, even pace; lips messily sliding against each other from tongues and spit. "You were gone too long," you managed to whisper.

"We won't be apart that long again," he grit, grunting as he held your thigh in a bruising-grip, "I swear it - "

"You can't - "

"I swear it," he gnashed your bottom lip between his teeth, making you gasp in pain and shock before moaning when he suckled at the mark. Softly, he released your lips, whispering, "I promise, we won't be. We go together from now on."

Nenya dangled between you, tracing around your chest from his aggressive thrusting; you agreeing with a nod, "Together."

"Now," Elrond grunted, "'M not gonna last, pet, gonna need you t'cum with me - together."

"Yes, Commander," you moaned, seeing the way his eyes fluttered; cheeks, neck, and ears blushing bright as his orgasm mounted, trying in vain to hold back. Seeing the almost involuntary reaction your words caused, your hand found Elrond's cheek and directed his eyes to yours, encouraging, "I'm so close, Commander, you make me feel so good, so full, it's been so long - too long! I'm right there, my love, my Commander, please - "

"Ah," Elrond hissed through his teeth, "yes, love, I'm there, too; right there, right there - "

"Cum in me... That's a command, Commander," you demanded in his ear, and it was all that was wrote. Elrond bucked wildly his last few thrusts, pinning you to the mattress; your own orgasm triggered by the flooding of warmth filling your too-empty womb.

"O-Oh," he stuttered, humping into you in languid thrusts before slowing to a shivering halt. You watched Elrond try to regulate his breathing, wrapping your arms around him in an instant to bring him in close; resting him on your chest while your one arm wrapped around him, the other threading into his curls. "I love you," he whispered into your flesh.

"I love you, too," you affirmed. Then, while toying with the sweat-curled ringlets of his hair, you mused softly, "You need a cut."

"You told me for years to grow it out, now you want me to cut it?"

"No, I don't want you to; I just know, you prefer a cleaner crop."

"I've... Grown fond of the look."

You smirked, "That is relieving to hear."

Elrond sighed and slowly lifted off you; only enough to help maneuver you so he didn't have to pullout of your cunt but could still hold you as the big spoon. "So... Prince Durin, is it?" He asked in your ear.

You smirked, "Why not? He is a friend, his father wields a Ring of Power... He would more incentive to help than others. And the Dwarves are formidable in battle, it could help turn the tides, by uniting the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. Elf, Dwarf, Man..."

"What alliance of Men would - "

"We do not speak of Men, we speak of Prince Durin," you reminded him; his face nuzzling into your neck. "I think you should go in person. To plead the severity of our situation, how dire the need for aid is. To convey our desperation."

"The High King - "

"Leave him to me," you insisted, holding his arms around you. "I know we just agreed to not part ways, but you need to parlay with Prince Durin and I will keep Gil-galad at bay. When Durin agrees to march to our aid in Eregion, we march our remaining forces against Adar and meet the Dwarves on the field."

"It sounds good..."

"But?"

"Is it possible?"

"We will have to work in tandem, but I would assume the King would not argue asking for aid. I'll inform him of your departure and intention after you've left."

His arms tightened, "We can speak of it more later. I just want to feel you in my arms - it's been too long."

"You will hear no such complaints from me."

After a moment, where you both spent it resettling and nuzzling into the peaceful silence, Elrond asked, "Do you... Do you think one of the company managed to find and grab my cloak?"

In amusement, you replied, "Oh, I'm sure."

"And that Tinnie would have it?"

"Knowing her, by now, surely," you mused, reaching up to pet his cheek; requesting, "now, I have gone too long without the feeling of you beside me and wish to rest."

"As you command, my love."

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[ronearoundblindly]

Codename: Agent Alpine

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Summary: You finally get an outfit that can transform with you between cat and human whenever you wish.

Warnings for mentions of nudity but nothing overtly sexual. Steve's got the hots for ya 😉 that's about the size of things... WC ~600

“It looks…like leather,” Steve marvels, seeing the collar turned over and over in Bucky’s hands, a blue strip with red stars.

“It looks a little obvious,” Bucky balks.

“What’d’ya want?” Tony snatches it back and starts attaching it gently—but securely—around your neck. “Plain Jane black? Nah. She deserves something special.”

“Something gaudy and on-brand,” Natasha offers helpfully. 

“Exactly…” Tony steps away from you so you have space to shift.

“Pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment,” Steve mutters before turning to you. “Would you like us to turn around? Just in case it doesn’t work quite right?”

The idea is simple: like Tony Stark’s nano suit, a coverall dress of sorts will spring from the collar when activated by your transformation. When your neck expands, so does the collar and the garment. When your neck shrinks, the clothing retracts.

At least you had the forethought to request your ‘uniform’ not be skin-tight and shiny because that may flatter Nat but would be more embarrassing than nudity for you. It’s taken so long to get good at shifting that this group has seen you naked on what might be categorized as ‘many’ occasions: Bucky the most, because you live together; Steve the least, because he’s kind enough to shut or cover his eyes; Tony and Nat…equal, because they’ve been taking the measurements, readings, and scans to build the functioning collar.

You? You try not to think about that and focus on doing a Big-Girl-Task.

The gist is that if you feel that being a human benefits you, your body turns, and if you feel being a cat benefits you, your body turns. Fear is just easier to handle in a smaller body that can go unnoticed, hide, and run away more easily, and since you were never sure that being human around Bucky wouldn’t land you out on the street or worse, you weren’t convinced it would benefit you until you needed more weight, size, and strength to take down Duplicate. Controlling those base emotions has proved difficult. You’re ready now, though, totally ready.

Steve nods in acknowledgment when you shake you head, whiskers flat against your face in determination.

This is it, the moment of truth.

So you step up onto your back paws, think about how you could reach between these two workbenchs with your human armspan, and shift.

The nano tech doesn’t feel like microscopic metal robots—it’s like real gauzy panels that drape from your neck to your ankles, a flowing dress with breezy bell sleeves, all in snow white, sheer in some places, opaque in all the right ones. In all fairness, Tony Stark does know a thing or two about fashion. You should never have doubted him.

“Hot damn, pretty lady,” Bucky cheers. “Looking good!”

Tony cocks his head to the side. “Do we think it needs a belt?”

Nat slaps his hip.

Steve, however…oh poor Steve, he’s dumbstruck with a goofy smile. The affectionate awe makes you preen, giving a quick spin in your new ensemble, the skirts wafting like you’re Marilyn Monroe except you’re not hit by a gust of wind from below. Steve seems to be.

He huffs out all the air in his lungs and forgets to inhale again. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and covers his mouth briefly, collecting his thoughts before locking eyes with you through blond lashes. Those eyes, they are dark and adoring.

“How about it, Cap?” You ask with perfect innocence.

Steve chuckles, clearing his throat and licking his lips.

“That’ll do, babygirl. That will definitely do.”

[Next Part: Lineage]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence @creat0r-cat @navs-bhat

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare @deandreamernp

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[purplereina11]

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 7

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

The arena was alive with noise—the roar of the crowd echoing off the walls, sneakers squeaking across the court, and the rhythmic beat of the ball hitting the hardwood.  

And there you were—on the bench, not in uniform but in your team tracksuit, ankle wrapped beneath your tapered joggers, arms crossed tightly over your chest.  

The second of three games stood between your team and another historic title. The pressure was massive. The energy? Relentless. And you were living every second of it from the sidelines.

The plan was clear: rest you. Keep you safe for the long haul. You weren’t coming on in the first half—maybe not at all, depending on how the game played out. The physios, coaches, everyone was united in protecting you, making sure your longevity didn’t get sacrificed for a single night.

But watching from the bench?

Torture.

You were anything but passive. Standing half the time, leaning forward, pointing out screens before they happened, calling out mismatches, reading the flow of the game like you were already on the floor.

“Liv! Hand-off! Watch the double!”

“Maya—drop to help, she’s cutting baseline!”

Every instinct in you was screaming to be out there. But you knew better. You couldn’t be reckless now—not with everything on the line.

The cameras caught you a few times, gesturing wildly with the clipboard, animated as hell, eyes glued to the court like a coach-in-training. The commentators picked up on it too.

“Look at [Your Name] on the sideline—still leading, even from the bench. That’s what captains do.”

You didn’t hear it, of course. You paced during free throws. Fist-pumped every big shot. Barked instructions, encouragement, praise—anything to keep the momentum flowing.

The girls looked to you constantly. Liv glanced at you after every possession. Maya nodded each time she stepped off the court, waiting for your read. You weren’t playing—but you were still in the game. Still running the rhythm from the edge.

And up in the stands Alexia was watching.

Eyes on you every time the camera cut away from the court. Watching the way your teammates listened. The way you led. The way your entire body moved with every possession, like you were mentally sprinting the court even if your ankle wouldn’t let you physically do it.

From the bench, you were still the pulse of the team. Still the one they followed. And soon, depending on how the second half played out— You might be stepping onto the court after all.

The second half buzzer sounded like a war drum.   And when your number was called, the roof nearly came off.

The crowd surged with energy—fans leaping to their feet, chanting your name, thunderous applause crashing like a wave through the arena. It was deafening, electric, a moment that felt like something more than just a substitution.

You were checking in. Your team was down, the scoreboard a harsh reminder of the fight still ahead. The opposing side had come out swinging in the first half—tight defense, ruthless transition, punishing every missed shot. It wasn’t lost. Not yet.

But it was close. And now, the one person they all trusted to flip the script was you.

As you jogged toward the scorer’s table, the cameras zoomed in. Eyes from every seat, every corner, every screen around the world locked onto you.

Everyone wanted to see if the ankle held. If you'd limp. If you’d hesitate. But you didn’t. Not even for a second.

You jogged onto the court with your chin high, jaw set, laser-focused. You slapped palms with Maya and Liv as they gave you the court and instantly fell into formation. The energy shifted. Tangibly. Visibly.

They believed. Not just in the comeback. In you.

The first possession came quickly—ball inbounds, pace controlled, your defender sticking close like they’d been warned not to give you an inch.

You ran off the screen anyway, shook her off with a jab step, flared to the wing, caught the pass, and didn’t blink.

One fluid motion.

Step.  

Rise.  

Release.

Splash. The three-pointer snapped through the net clean, no rim, all confidence.  

The crowd erupted.

You didn’t celebrate. Not really.

You turned toward the sideline, raised both arms, and made a circling gesture with your finger—“Let’s go. Get up. We’re not done."

The fans rose with you. Your teammates clapped you on the back as you fell into defensive position, adrenaline pumping, the arena roaring like a storm behind you.

There was work to do. Points to make up. A trophy to chase.

But with that shot, that first touch, you didn’t just put points on the board you reminded everyone who the hell you were.

The comeback wasn't just dramatic—it was dominant.

After your opening three, the tide turned with force. Like someone had flipped a switch and reminded your entire squad who they were. The defense locked in. The passes got sharper. The pace faster. Every possession became a statement.

You ran the floor like you hadn’t missed a minute.

Steals. Fast breaks. Assists. Another three. Then another.

Maya hit a mid-range jumper off your screen. Liv got an and-one and screamed so loud you could feel it in your chest. Every bucket, every stop, every rotation—it added to the momentum until the other team started breaking under it.

They were stunned.

Because you weren’t just clawing your way back.

You were taking over. The scoreboard flipped and kept climbing. What had once been a 14-point deficit turned into a 12-point lead.

And when the final whistle blew, the scoreboard told the story loud and proud:

Barcelona 84 – 69 [Opponents] Another trophy. Another piece of history.

The crowd exploded.

You didn’t even think—just threw your arms up, face to the ceiling, eyes wide with disbelief and adrenaline and absolute joy.

Then came the chaos. Teammates sprinting toward you. Maya launching herself into your side. Liv wrapping you in a one-armed hug while jumping up and down.

The rest of the bench poured onto the court. The arena was alive, noise vibrating in your chest. People screaming. Flags waving. Cameras flashing. Phones recording your name as it echoed in chants from all corners of the stands.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it in—hands in your hair, overwhelmed in the best way. The second of four titles this season—won. On a night you weren’t even supposed to play.

And yet, you did.

And you delivered. You pointed to the crowd, pounding your chest once, mouthing, “This is for you.”

Fans leaned over the railings just to touch the moment, to be close to something they knew they were witnessing—something real. Something legendary.

And as you jogged to the huddle of your teammates at center court for the trophy presentation, your eyes swept over the stands—

And found her. Alexia. Standing. Cheering. Smiling. A little pride. A little awe. Maybe even something else. But for now—this moment was for you. For your team. For history.

And you owned every second of it.

And the biggest high of your life.

The final was clinical—domination from start to finish. You scored 22, picked up MVP, and practically danced off the court. The kind of win that made your legs shake and your heart sprint. But it wasn’t just the wins. It was the crowd.

Because somewhere in the sea of noise, right behind the bench in VIP seats, were Alexia and half the Barça women’s squad, decked out in your jerseys and scarves like they were ultras, not athletes who had just trained hours earlier. Alexia’s voice had been the loudest when you hit the go-ahead three. You’d know it anywhere.

After the final buzzer and the trophy lift, the party started immediately. Locker room? Chaos. Champagne flying, music blaring, Liv doing some half-committed dance on a table while Maya poured sparkling wine into plastic cups like she was in charge of hydration. You? Somewhere in the middle of it all, still in uniform, medal around your neck, hair a mess, cheeks flushed from both the win and the champagne you'd definitely drunk too fast.

And then came the press conference. Which you shouldn’t have been allowed into in that state.

The media room was packed, the club staff trying to maintain some level of professionalism while you and two of your teammates—still giggling—took your seats behind the mics.

“Congratulations,” the moderator said, trying to be composed. “How does it feel to of won two trophies now this season?”

Liv leaned into her mic, deadly serious. “We’re gonna be insufferable for the rest of the season. I just think everyone should prepare.”

You snorted, half-laughing, half-hiding behind your hand. “She’s not wrong.”

One reporter raised a hand. “You’ve had back-to-back MVP performances. What’s been the difference for you this season?”

You blinked, leaned toward the mic, and slurred only slightly, “Hydration. Discipline. And, uh…” You glanced to your left where Maya was wiggling her eyebrows dramatically. “Support systems.” Liv choked.

“Can you elaborate?” the reporter asked, clearly amused.

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Having someone yell ‘DO IT FOR THE SEXY CAPTAIN’ from the bench really kept me grounded.”

The room lost it. Even the moderator laughed.

Later, the clip made it to Twitter.

It was captioned:

“Drunk [Your Name] confirming Alexia Putellas is their muse was not on my 2025 bingo card but I’ll take it.”

The moderator tried to steer things with a half-exasperated, “Let’s keep questions focused on the match, please,” but no one listened.

First came the expected ones.

“[Your Name], back-to-back MVPs in finals, did you expect to carry this kind of form into both finals?”

You took a sip of champagne and gave your best serious nod. “Well, I actually woke up this morning and said, ‘I feel like doing something iconic.’ So. Here we are.”

The room laughed, and Maya gave you a dramatic golf clap. Another reporter chimed in, grinning. “Is it true you played the second half of the game with a busted ankle when you weren’t originally planned?”

“Listen,” you said, leaning forward like you were telling a secret. “The plan was always for me to just play two quarters. A trophy was on the line and I was feeling unhinged.”

More laughter. Another sip. You were riding the high, loose and warm in a way that only came from winning and bubbles.

Then it came.

A different voice. Friendly, but calculated. “You’ve had a lot of visible support from the Barça Femení squad lately—particularly from one Alexia Putellas. She’s been courtside, wearing your jersey, and caught on video celebrating your final points. Any comment on that?”

You felt it immediately—the shift. Maya turned her head slowly toward you, lips twitching. Liv sank back into her chair with the smuggest expression known to mankind. You tried—really tried—to stay cool.

“I… have a lot of support,” you started, flashing a practiced smile. “The whole club’s been amazing this season.”

“Sure,” the reporter pressed, “but it’s not every day the captain of the women’s team shows up with your number on her back and gets caught whispering something to you in the tunnel after a game.”

You paused. Shrugged. “She’s… a friend.”

“Just a friend?” You glanced at Liv, who was absolutely vibrating with the effort not to laugh.

You took a deep breath. “Okay. Look. Am I saying I don’t find Alexia attractive? No, I am not. The girl has a face card that needs to be hung in the Louvre. But she is my friend.”

The room erupted. Liv full-on dropped her head to the table. Maya whispered, “Put that on a t-shirt.”

You held up your hands, mock-serious. “She is—genuinely—my friend. Do we support each other? Yes. Do we wear each other’s merch? Maybe. Are you all reading way too much into it because we’re both incredibly good-looking and charming? Also yes.”

A reporter near the back shouted, “So that’s a no-comment with bonus compliments?”

You grinned. “That’s a no-comment with flavor.”

By the time the press conference ended, the clip was already online, memes being made in real-time. One side of Twitter had declared you soulmates. The other? Convinced it was all a PR stunt (that somehow felt too real).

And in your pocket, your phone buzzed.

Alexia: Face card in the Louvre??.

You: Tis my truth Putellas!

No more dodging. Not tonight. The alcohol gave you a don’t give a fuck confidence for sure. 

Later that night, the celebrations had cooled—but not completely. Your medal still hung loosely around your neck, the strap twisted from wear. Your hoodie was only half-zipped, and your cheeks were flushed from the champagne and the high of victory. You’d made it through the party, the interviews, the endless congratulations.

But now you just wanted her. Alexia’s apartment lights were warm through the windows when you were buzzed in, and she opened the door before you could knock twice.

She was in sweats and a tank top, hair tied back, glasses on, clearly not expecting you, and definitely not like this.

You were leaning against the doorframe, one hand braced like it was holding you up—eyes glassy, smirk crooked. “Hi,” you said, voice low, sweet, and a little slurred. “You alone or your girlfriend here”

She blinked. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” you said. “Just… celebratory.”

Alexia raised a brow, arms crossing loosely. “Celebrating all the way to my doorstep?”

You looked her up and down—slowly, obviously. “I’d like to sit on your face… please.”

She stared at you for a beat, expression unreadable.Then— She laughed. A full, head-tilted-back laugh, the kind that made you grin stupidly and lean a little heavier on the doorframe. “Please tell me you didn’t drive here,” she said, half-scolding, half-grinning as she reached for your arm and pulled you gently inside.

“I took a cab,” you said proudly, nearly tripping over your own feet. “See? Responsible. But still—my request stands.”

Alexia rolled her eyes as she guided you inside, shutting the door behind you. “You’re impossible.”

“You like me impossible.”

She smirked, pressing a hand to your chest to stop your very uncoordinated attempt at leaning in. “You’re also tipsy, mildly annoying, but a little bit adorable.”

You blinked. “You said adorable.”

“I regret it already.”

You flopped dramatically onto her couch, legs spread, hoodie half hanging off your shoulder. “So… is that a no?”

Alexia crossed her arms again, trying not to laugh as she leaned against the wall, watching you with something warm in her eyes. “Drink some water. Eat something. Then we’ll talk.”

You gave her a lazy grin. “So… not a no.”

She shook her head, already walking toward the kitchen. “Definitely not a yes, either.”

You let your head fall back against the cushions, smiling to yourself, feeling full—of joy, of champagne, of her—for the first time in a long time.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been draped across her couch like some kind of smug, post-victory royalty, but when Alexia walked back in from the kitchen, she was holding a plate with a sandwich and a raised eyebrow like she was rethinking all her life choices.

She stood over you, unimpressed but slightly amused, holding the plate just out of your reach. “You are such a handful.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” you said, smirking, “so are my tits, and I don’t hear you complaining about that.”

Alexia blinked, clearly trying not to laugh. “Are you for real right now?”

You reached up lazily, still not moving from your reclined position, fingers brushing the edge of the plate. “I’m just saying. If I’m a handful, I’m at least a fun handful.”

She shook her head, biting back a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are. Feeding me. Hydrating me. Thinking about my tits.”

Alexia set the plate on your stomach with a dramatic thud, sandwich and all. “There. Eat. Rehydrate. And stop being so full of yourself.”

You grinned, grabbing the sandwich immediately. “You love it.”

She didn’t answer, just turned to walk away with a little shake of her head—but you caught the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before she disappeared into the kitchen again.

“That’s what I thought!” you called after her, mouth full of sandwich.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she yelled back.

“Too late,” you mumbled around a bite. “You’ve been regretting it since I walked in hot and victorious.”

But the truth was there wasn’t an ounce of regret between either of you. Not tonight.

You were mid-sandwich, shoes kicked off, hoodie half off one shoulder, talking absolute nonsense about how you should start a post-career podcast called “Buckets and Brat” when Alexia returned to the living room, arms folded and eyes full of you’re a mess, but you’re my mess.

“Come on,” she said, standing in front of you, hands extended.

You blinked up at her, confused but willing. “We dancing now? 'Cause I can’t promise I won’t fall in love with you if we slow dance.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t drop her hands. “You need a bath.”

“I smell like champagne and achievement,” you said, proudly.

“You smell like a locker room and bad decisions.” She wiggled her fingers until you gave in, placing your hands in hers. She pulled you gently to your feet, and you swayed slightly, leaning into her chest with a dramatic sigh.

“You’re bossy when I’m drunk,” you mumbled against her shoulder.

“You’re clingy when you’re drunk.”

“Lies,” you said, gripping her hips. “You’re just magnetic.”

She laughed under her breath, guiding you down the hallway toward the bathroom. “You ramble so much when you’re tipsy.”

“I’m a layered character.” When she reached for the hem of your hoodie, you squinted at her. “Okay, calm down, ma’am, we’ve barely shared a sandwich.”

Alexia smirked, undeterred. “I’m not undressing you to jump you. Although you've clearly forgotten that was the original reason you cam here.. I ran you a bath. Try not to drown.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. You peeked past her into the bathroom. Steam curled from the tub, the soft scent of eucalyptus drifting in the air. The lights were dimmed, the faucet still trickling, and a fluffy towel was already folded by the sink.

You blinked. “You’re—wait. You’re really running me a bath?”

“I work with women who treat muscle care like religion,” she said. “You just played two finals back to back, you stink, and your spine is shaped like a question mark right now.”

You blinked again. “You’re perfect.”

“Get in the tub.”

She helped peel the hoodie off, then your shirt, warm hands careful and patient. You kept making faces at her, muttering things like “Where’s the seductive music?” and “This feels very bridal” until she gave you a light shove toward the water.

Once you were settled in—neck deep, body melting—you let out a long sigh. “You’re sitting there to make sure I don’t drown, aren’t you?”

Alexia sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor, chin resting on her palm, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “Absolutely.”

You floated in silence for a minute, warm and safe, cheeks pink from the heat and champagne. “You’re really not gonna kiss me right now?” you asked, eyes half-closed.

“Not while you’re this drunk,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I’m good, but I’m not reckless.”

You smiled at her through the steam. “You’re kind of everything.”

She didn’t say anything. Just kept sitting there, eyes soft, keeping watch like she always did—even when you didn’t ask her to. And you let yourself be looked after. For once.

You’d sunk deeper into the bath now, arms draped over the sides, head tipped back against the edge as the warmth settled into your muscles and loosened your thoughts—which, at this stage, were entirely unfiltered.

Alexia still sat nearby, legs tucked to her chest, occasionally sipping from a glass of water she'd brought you and definitely rethinking her life choices.

“I just… I just think it’s weird,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering open. “Like, how do we know we all see the same colors the same way?”

Alexia blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Like your purple… might not be my purple,” you said with complete sincerity, hand lifting out of the water to gesture vaguely. “We all learn the name of the color, sure, but what if how you see purple looks like how I see green? We’d never know.”

She stared at you for a long second. “Did you just bring an existential philosophy spiral into my bathroom?”

“I’m serious, Alexia. What if you think of red and your brain’s like, ‘yeah, red,’ but it’s secretly a totally different color to what I see as red, and we’ve just been living this color-coded lie our whole lives?”

Alexia exhaled slowly, like she was regretting not locking you in the guest room with a Gatorade.

“Also,” you continued, undeterred, “what if animals do talk but only when we’re not around, like in that one movie with the toys?”

She leaned back against the wall, rubbing her temple. “Are you just listing childhood thoughts you never got closure on?”

“Closure’s a myth,” you said dramatically, eyes closed now, steam curling around your face. “Like matching socks or quiet group chats.”

She actually laughed at that—low and involuntary, and you caught it, grinning even as your eyes stayed shut.

“And another thing,” you added, lifting your hand out of the water, finger pointing toward the ceiling like you were delivering a TED Talk. “How do we know pigeons aren’t government spies? Like—”

Alexia stood up abruptly, grabbing the glass and walking it over to you. “Alright. Drink this before you start debating gravity or convincing me birds are robots.”

You took the water with a sheepish grin. “That’s not a no, though.”

“It’s a please shut up and hydrate,” she replied.

You sipped, sighing contentedly, cheeks still flushed, and watched her settle back down beside the tub like she hadn’t just endured a full podcast episode of Drunken Bath Thoughts.

“You’re really staying there the whole time?” you asked, quieter now.

She glanced over at you. “Would you get out safely if I left?”

You thought about that for a moment. “...Probably not.”

“Exactly.”

You smiled again, eyes softer now. “You’re good at this.”

Alexia didn’t answer. Just reached over and flicked a few bubbles at your forehead. But stayed right there.

--

The bathwater was starting to cool, but you didn’t care. Your limbs were heavy and relaxed, your mind floating somewhere between champagne tipsy and sleep-deprived philosophical. Alexia was still sitting on the bathroom floor, leaned back against the wall, scrolling quietly through her phone. She hadn’t said much in the last few minutes—not because she wasn’t present, but because she didn’t need to say anything.

You shifted slightly, letting your fingers skim the water.

“Alexia.”

She didn’t look up. “Yes.”

You blinked at her tone, mock-offended. “Okay—no need to get snippy.”

Still, she didn’t look at you, just tapped at her phone. “Ask your question.”

You pushed up a little in the tub, water sloshing against the sides. “If you could be any kitchen appliance, what would you be and why?”

Nothing.

Not even a glance. Just the soft tap-tap-tap of her scrolling. You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna answer?”

Still no reply. You narrowed your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips.

“You’re really gonna ghost me in the middle of a deeply introspective and emotionally vulnerable moment like this?”

She exhaled a small laugh—barely audible—but her eyes stayed locked on her phone.

You leaned back dramatically against the edge of the tub. “Fine. I’ll just sit here and cry in lukewarm water thinking about how my girlfriend doesn’t want to be a kitchen appliance with me.”

“Not your girlfriend,” she muttered, still not looking at you.

“No you already have one of those” You smirked when you caught her eye roll. “Not denying that or that you’re an appliance, though.”

Alexia finally looked up at you, deadpan. “You are unbearable when tipsy.”

You grinned, triumphant. “That sounds like blender energy, actually.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to her phone, but you caught the small smile tugging at her lips. Victory. Sort of.

Alexia hadn’t moved from her spot on the bathroom floor, her back still pressed to the wall, phone in hand, thumb lazily scrolling like she was purposely ignoring you—or worse, unfazed by you.

Which… was unacceptable. You tilted your head toward her, eyes narrowing.

“Alexia.”

Nothing.

“Alexxxiiaaa…”

Still scrolling.

You pouted, lounging further into the water. “You’re so boring when you go into ‘scroll mode.’ You’re missing premium content.”

No reaction.

You stared at her for a moment longer. Then your expression shifted—mischief replacing mock-annoyance. If she wanted to act unbothered, you could fix that.

You slid one leg up through the surface of the water, slowly and deliberately, trailing your fingers over your shin in a way that was anything but casual. You dipped your hand into the water again, picked up the sponge, and began gently running it over your collarbone, up the curve of your neck, eyes fluttering closed just for effect.

“God, I’m so tense,” you sighed dramatically, arching your back ever so slightly. “I really wish someone was paying attention.” The sponge glided over your now visible breasts.

Still no reaction.

She had to be watching now.

You let the sponge glide over your shoulder, deliberately letting the water drip down your arm with a soft hiss. “Bet I’d be so much more relaxed if someone helped wash my back…”

You cracked one eye open to peek at her.

Alexia was… still looking at her phone.

But.

The corner of her mouth was twitching. Caught.

You dropped the seduction act and sat up with a splash, water sloshing over the sides. “You’re so fake! You’re laughing!”

Alexia didn’t even look up. “I wasn’t laughing.”

“You were!” you pointed accusingly. “I saw your lip do the thing!”

She finally glanced at you—smirking. “That was the most aggressively obvious bath seduction I’ve ever witnessed. You used a sponge like it owed you money.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And yet you’re still here.”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t drown,” she said, unfazed. “Not to witness your Oscar-worthy softcore solo performance.”

You groaned, flopping back into the water dramatically. “You’re so no fun.”

Alexia stood, stretching slightly as she walked over to the sink to grab a towel. “If I was no fun, I wouldn’t be sitting through your bath monologue about color theory and seductive sponge work.”

You watched her, then let out a soft sigh. “You do like me a little.”

She draped the towel over the radiator, not turning around.

“I’m still not answering the kitchen appliance question,” she said calmly.

You grinned. Victory pending.

You watched her move around the bathroom with that same impossible calm, the towel now warming on the radiator, her back to you, hair slightly messy from lounging, sleeves pushed up.

You were still naked in the tub, surrounded by bubbles that had long since started to die out, and she was somehow completely unbothered by your attempts to rattle her.

That only made it worse.

You crossed your arms on the edge of the tub, resting your chin there as you stared her down. “You know,” you said, voice deceptively casual, “most people would crack by now.”

Alexia glanced over her shoulder, unimpressed. “You think this is the weirdest thing I’ve experienced? i’m in women’s football! Please.”

“Come on,” you whined. “Just a hint of what appliance you’d be. Blender? Toaster? Air fryer?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on this?”

“I’m committed to the bit.”

She leaned back against the counter now, arms folded, finally giving you a sliver of attention. “You’re in lukewarm bathwater, half-drunk, and asking me what kitchen appliance I spiritually identify with. This is the person I chose to spend my night with.”

You grinned. “And yet… you didn’t choose me.”

She paused. Just for a second. Then, “I’d be a dishwasher.”

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

Alexia nodded once, cool as ever. “Efficient. Quiet. Cleans up after other people’s messes.”

You let out a soft laugh. “That’s the most you answer you could’ve given.”

“And what are you again?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Blender.”

“Right.” She smirked. “Noisy. A little dangerous if left unattended.”

You raised a wet finger. “But useful in the right hands.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. You watched her for a moment, softer now. “Thanks for taking care of me tonight. You didn’t have to.”

Alexia stepped closer, kneeling briefly beside the tub. “I didn’t,” she said, eyes on yours. “But I wanted to.”

You didn’t speak—you just nodded, lips curving into a quiet smile. She reached for the sponge you’d been using in your earlier performance and gently flicked water at you.

“And now I’m kicking you out of the tub before you wrinkle into a raisin.”

You laughed, catching her wrist lightly. “Fine. But only because you answered the question.”

“And because I warmed your towel,” she said, smug.

“That too,” you muttered. “God, you’re annoying.”

She stood and grabbed the towel. “And yet…”

And yet, you were already reaching for her hand as she helped you out of the bath, towel wrapping around your body like it belonged there—like you belonged here. Even in all your chaos, she stayed.

You might’ve been a blender, but somehow, she always knew how to handle the mess.

Alexia had just wrapped the towel securely around your body, all calm efficiency and soft eye-rolls as she dried your shoulders with the kind of care she probably wouldn't admit to.

“Stay here,” she said, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “I’m getting you something to wear.”

You gave a dramatic salute. “Yes, capitana.”

She turned to leave the bathroom, muttering something about oversized shirts and how you better not be a chaos goblin while she was gone.

But the moment she was out of sight, your stomach gave a very inconvenient, very loud growl.

You blinked. “Oh my god… my sandwich.” It hit you like a spiritual revelation. You hadn’t finished it. You’d had, like, two bites before she started making you hydrate and bathe and reflect on your questionable life choices. And now? Now it was calling you.

Without hesitation—and with zero regard for the fact that you were completely naked—you abandoned your towel on the bathroom hook and wandered out into the apartment in search of your half-eaten, slightly squished post-championship sandwich.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Alexia was digging through her drawer, already holding a t-shirt in one hand and a pair of soft shorts in the other when she called out, “I hope you like Barça kits, because that’s all I own in your size—”

Silence. She frowned.

“…Hello?”

She turned around. The bathroom door was open. Steam still curling out. Towel hanging up neatly.

But you were gone.

Her brow furrowed. “No… no, no, no—” She moved quickly down the hall. “You did not wander off naked in my apartment—”

But of course you had. Because there you were, standing in front of her open fridge like you owned the place, back fully bare, posture relaxed, holding the last triangle of your sandwich in one hand and taking the slowest, most satisfied bite imaginable.

Alexia stopped dead in the doorway.

She blinked. “What the actual hell.”

You turned your head, mid-chew. “What? I got hungry.”

“You’re naked.”

You looked down at yourself, then back at her, unfazed. “Yeah, but, like... casually.”

She closed her eyes, sighed through her nose, and muttered, “I am too sober for this.”

You held up the sandwich like a peace offering. “Want a bite?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I want you dressed. And not dropping mayo on my kitchen floor.”

You looked down at the small smudge on the tile near your foot. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Alexia turned on her heel. “I’m getting the shirt. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Don’t start philosophising with the toaster.”

You grinned, watching her disappear again, still completely nude, still chewing. “You love it,” you called after her, mouth full.

“I am re-evaluating that by the minute,” she called back.

But she wasn’t. She really, really wasn’t.

When Alexia returned from the bedroom—oversized Barça shirt in one hand, shorts in the other—she was expecting to find you exactly where she left you: standing in the kitchen, still dripping water on the tiles, still annoyingly proud of your post-bath sandwich detour.

Instead, she stepped into an empty kitchen. No naked sandwich gremlin in sight. She stared at the abandoned plate on the counter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Alexia turned slowly, eyes scanning her small apartment. “Not again.” She started down the hallway, calling out, “If you’ve gone back in the tub, I swear to God—”

But then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a TV turning on. Followed by… you giggling? She rounded the corner and found you sprawled across her couch, still completely naked, a blanket tossed lazily over your lap, attempting to keep your modesty in a laughable attempt. Legs sticking out, remote in hand, and her Netflix account pulled up like you lived there.

“Oh hey,” you said casually, not even looking at her. “They added a new season of that dating show where everyone lies about being in love. I thought we could watch one episode.”

Alexia stared at you, arms still holding the clothes you should be wearing, trying to decide whether to scold you or grab her phone and take a photo for blackmail purposes.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You glanced at her, grinning. “Right? And yet, still more stable than half the people on this show.”

She walked over slowly, set the shirt and shorts on the armrest beside you, and gave you a look. “You are naked on my couch.”

You pulled the blanket up slightly “Technically not anymore and besides wouldn’t be the first time.”

She gave you the most unamused expression she could manage. “This is a personal attack.”

You patted the cushion beside you. “Come on, Alexia. Take a break. Join me in my cozy little kingdom of poor reality television and post-bath wisdom.”

Alexia hesitated for one second too long, then sighed, finally sitting down—though noticeably keeping her distance. “Put the damn clothes on first.”

You gave her a mischievous look. “I don’t know… I’m really vibing with this setup.”

“I’m going to smother you with that blanket.”

You slipped the shirt on with dramatic flair, then turned the volume up a notch. “Fine. But you have to admit this is kind of peak domestic.”

Alexia didn’t respond right away, just leaned back into the couch, stealing the remote from your hand. Then quietly, almost too quiet to catch, “…It kind of is.”

You were fully sprawled now, her oversized Barça shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder, blanket still draped lazily over your lap, legs stretched across the couch like you owned it. The TV cast soft flickers of light across the room as the reality show’s chaotic intro music played in the background.

Alexia sat at the opposite end of the couch, arms crossed, pretending to be deeply focused on the screen—but her eyes kept flicking toward you. Probably trying to decide if she was annoyed or entertained. Maybe both.

You caught the glance, of course. Smirked.

“You don’t usually complain when I’m naked,” you said, casual as anything.

Alexia didn’t blink. “That’s because normally, you’re not naked while disrespecting my furniture and eating my last slice of bread.”

You gasped, dramatic. “So it’s about the bread?”

“It’s mostly about the bread.”

You shifted slightly under the blanket, nudging her leg with your foot. “You didn’t complain last week when I was naked in my bed with you.”

She shot you a side-eye, lips twitching despite herself. “That was different.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

She gave you a measured look, leaning in just a little. “You weren’t drunk and stealing the TV for trash dating shows.”

You leaned right back, grinning. “So you admit there’s a naked exception clause in place?”

“I admit,” she said dryly, “that I need better boundaries.”

You kicked her lightly with your foot. “You love it.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t move away. “You’re a menace.”

You beamed. “And yet here you are. Letting the menace pick the show.”

Alexia didn’t respond immediately. She just shifted slightly, reached under the blanket to steal a corner of it for herself, and pulled it across her lap.

And just like that, you were side by side under one blanket, watching messy strangers pretend to fall in love on TV

The second episode of the dating show had just started—some dramatic intro about secret exes showing up, “Familiar” you mutter—when Alexia let out a small sigh and leaned back, letting her head rest on the top of the couch, one arm now loosely stretched along the back behind you.

You scooted closer without thinking, tucking your legs up beneath you, your head naturally finding a place near her shoulder.

Alexia didn’t flinch. Didn’t tease you. She just… settled into it.

The blanket was warm, the glow of the screen soft, and the chaos on the TV was blissfully mindless. You. Her. A shared blanket and bad television.

—

The restaurant was dimly lit, humming with quiet chatter, plates clinking in the background as glasses were refilled and music played low overhead. You sat in a booth tucked into the corner, ankle propped on the bench beside you, a slight wince every time you shifted—but you were getting used to it.

Maya sat across from you, already two drinks in and talking animatedly about a player who tried to dunk on her in practice. You barely listened. Not because you weren’t interested, but because your brain had been off centre all day.

Beside her, Liv sat with that smug ‘I did something’ smile she always wore when she was up to something. You’d asked who her “plus one” was for dinner, and she’d just winked.

So you weren’t surprised when Mariona Caldentey slid into the booth a few minutes later, all sunshine and tattoos and that mischievous sparkle in her eye.

“Wow,” she said, eyeing your foot. “You look severely hung over”

You shrugged. “Still vertical.”

The drinks flowed, plates of tapas shared and picked apart. Maya kept the vibe light, Liv leaned into the gossip, and soon the conversation naturally drifted... to Alexia.

Mariona tried to stay out of it—tried. But it was Liv who cracked it open.

“She hasn’t said anything?” Liv asked, sipping from her glass.

“Not seen her,” you said flatly. A complete and utter lie that fell easily out your mouth.

Maya raised a brow. “Even after the game? The injury? The whole ‘Alexia standing in the stands like a lovesick simp’ moment?”

You rolled your eyes.

Mariona chuckled. “She’s dramatic. But subtle like a brick.”

That made you smirk despite yourself. “That’s true.”

Mariona leaned forward, casual as ever poking her fork into a dish. “I mean, she only kept Vicky hanging around to make you jealous.”

The words hit the table like glass shattering. You blinked. “What?”

The others froze. Mariona paused, her wine halfway to her lips.

Liv gave her a slow turn of the head. “Mariona.”

Mariona’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

“What?” you snapped, voice sharper now.

She winced. “No—I mean—she didn’t say it out loud. Not to me. But I did hear her talking to Irene and Mapi about it. She was trying to get a reaction. You know the whole you want something if you can't have it kind of thing.”

You sat back slowly, arms crossing over your chest. “What a joke,” you muttered. Your jaw clenched. “Two can play that game,” you said, voice cool.

Maya sat forward. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“I won’t,” you said, already pulling your phone from your pocket.

Mariona winced again. “You’re already doing something stupid , aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Because if Alexia wanted to play with feelings, with tension, with silence and suggestion—fine.

You’d play, too. And this time? You’d make sure she saw it.

You went to Alba’s Instagram, she had just posted a new story and a photo—you noticed it immediately.

A high-contrast, sun-soaked bikini shot, lounging poolside somewhere that looked expensive, with a caption that simply said:

“Sun hits different lately ☀️”

You paused. Smirked. Tilted your head, thinking just long enough to make the decision dangerous. Then you hit Follow. And after that, you did something.

You commented.

“Guess it does. Damn.” 🤤🔥

Not subtle. Not at all. And you didn’t need it to be. Because you knew Alexia would see it. Alba was private. You’d never followed her before. The follow alone would’ve sent a ripple. But the comment? That was the splash. You tossed your phone onto the table, already bracing for the fallout. Because yeah, maybe it was petty. Maybe it was calculated. But so was dragging your ex around to make a point. And if Alexia wanted to play games, you’d just made your next move.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: Christmas tree worm

Merry Christmas from the ocean! For this festive occasion, I’ve chosen to cover an animal that certainly has the spirit of the season. The Christmas tree worm is the person who keeps their Christmas lights up all year of the sea and today we’re going to see what makes them tick.

(Image: the crown of a Christmas tree worm. It appears as two stalks emerging from amongst coral polyps. Small feathery, appendages emerge from the stalks in a spiral formation going up them. They are yellow, with brown tips. A smaller, round structure is near the base of the trees. End ID)

The Christmas tree worm (Spirobranchus giganteus) is a polychaete worm of the tube-building fan worm clade Sabellida. While they are called giganteus, that’s only relative to other fan worms as they max out at about 3.8 cm (1.5 in) long. Being tube worms, they build a tube of calcium carbonate that they live in. This tube provides protection for the worm, who can retreat into it if threatened by predators. Polychaetes are defined by the paired bristle-like chaetes on each body segment, which are often used for locomotion. Tube worms like the Christmas tree worm lack these kind of locomotive appendages as they spend their entire lives in their tubes.

I couldn't find a full-body picture of a Christmas tree worm outside of its tube, so this is the best you get. (Image: Serpula vermicularis, a member of the same family of tube worms as the Christmas tree worm, removed from its tube. It is a short, segmented worm with a plug on a stalk and a crown consisting of long, feathery tentacles arranged differently than those of a Christmas tree worm. End ID)

The feature that gives these worms their common name is a pair of feathery, spiraling structures that emerge from the head and look quite a bit like tiny, colorful fir trees. These structures, called crowns, are heavily modified version of mouth appendages called prostomial palps. The feathery bits are tentacles called radioles. The crown is usually the only part of the worm visible, with the rest of its body safely in the tube. The crown is used both for feeding and respiration, as it can perform gas exchange with the water like gills. Christmas tree worms, like other fan worms, are filter feeders. They expose their crows to the water and wait for edible plankton and bits or organic detritus to get caught by the radioles. Cilia then transports the food down to the mouth. Christmas tree worms have a modified radiole called an operculum that acts like a lid to the front of the tube, closing it off when the worm retreats. The crown also has light-sensing structures, allowing it to detect light and shadow. The visual capabilities of these eye spots is poorly studied. The crown makes up about a third of the body length and can come in a wide variety of colors. It can regenerate if damaged.

(Image: a blue-crowned Christmas tree worm emerging from yellow coral. End ID)

Christmas tree worms are found across most of the world, from the Caribbean to the Indo-Pacific, in tropical waters. They are coral reef dwellers who live in burrows built into had corals. Brain coral species are their preferred hosts, but they can live on other corals and have been reported living in sponges and on giant clams. Christmas tree worms certainly have a symbiotic relationship with the corals, it's debatable whether that relationship is parasitic, commensal, or mutualistic. They may damage nearby polyps and could spread harmful algae (that seems to be an open question), but I found sources suggesting they improve water flow around the coral, which could benefit it. When they sense a threat, the worms will rapidly retract into their tubes. Some time later (which can be seconds to minutes), they will cautiously emerge again. Worms living on crowded corals seem to be more timid, taking longer to emerge again. Christmas tree worms are broadcast spawners who release their gametes into the water. Fertilized eggs hatch quickly into larvae who must find their way to a coral and start their burrow. Christmas tree worms can live up to 30 years.

(GIF: a bright yellow Christmas tree worm retracting into its tube. The full retraction takes less than a second and leaves only a hole covered by the operculum. End ID)

Christmas tree worms are considered to have a stable population, but as they are dependent on corals, threats to reefs are threats to them. Thus, global climate change is a major threat to their survival. Predators of the worms include fish, starfish, and other worms. They are not of commercial interest to humans, but are popular among divers and have entered the aquarium trade.

(Image: multiple Christmas tree worms of various colors emerging from a coral. End ID)

[sukioyakio]

“Use me then”- R. 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

PART TWO IS OUT

Sukuna hadn’t been the best person in your life,he was a dumb fuck and he knew that.He knew he shouldn’t have left you alone when you needed him the most.

When you were pregnant with his baby girl.He knew he fucked up.Moreover his whole life has been fucked up,finding his parents died in a young age and how he knew that violence was the thing that bring him a long way.

Foster home wasn’t just hell but a free for all,only those who are willing to make a name out of themselves will get to see a future themselves.He would have to learn that having feeling is just a useless thing.

After being heartbroken by someone he thought he could love,after being someone punching bag for entertainment and being beaten almost to death.Scars all over him with each of them being a reminder of how bad it was for him.

He didn’t get to live a normal life when he was younger constantly fighting for himself.He became more cruel and more cold,no longer giving a fuck about anyone else.

He knew that nothing he could make up for his own mistakes for treating like you did anything to deserve it.

You both knew each other from college but that not when you guys started dating,you started to date after a one and a half year later.

You fell for him despite of his frigid behavior.You wanted to prove that you would be the best girlfriend.You were just a hopeless romantic and you didn’t care about his cold behavior.

And he just accepted it to only used you for his benefits.

But no matter what you did he’ll just blocked you out and constantly being used.And when you guys did it,he forgot to put the condom on and so a week later you had called him when he was flirting with some other girl at a bar.

he just told you that he’ll come later.

While he was cheating with you with someone else,you were excited about it,to tell him about the future you had thought about.And how you couldn’t wait to be a mother.

But when you had open the front doors to your apartment,something in your gut told you that you weren’t going to like this talk but you were love sick idiot for him and completely ignored that feeling.

When you were talking about how your day went,being animated and all.He nonchalantly told you just to get to the point.

You had such a big smile on when you announced it. “I’m pregnant! Sukuna I’m having your baby,we’ll be parents”

You looked at him with warm smile to only see his eyebrows furrowed down in an utter disbelief.You said it again guessing that he didn’t hear you correctly but his face made a unreadable expression as he started to walk towards the door.

All in that moment you could almost hear the tearing sound of your heart being broken into pieces and it hurt.

“Sukuna?”

“Sukuna?”

“Sukuna!?”

“SUKUNA?!?”

You yelled at him while running after him grabbing his wrists pleading with him,cause you didnt know if you’ll be okay with just yourself supporting a baby.Your lips were trembling and your every breath was like it was venom had token your lungs.

Tears were flowing down your cheeks.And he just stood there with complete silence.You began to beg for him to talk,for you guys to talk about it together.

“Please don’t l-leave me , p-please” you choke on your tears.Red optics eye bore into her widened,watering eyes.Finally saying something to you.

“I think it just better to break up” He says that and nothing more and then snatched off his hand now walking away leaving you alone with hot painful tears flowing down your cheeks.

The only thing you heard was the sounds of his Shoes slowly getting quieter until it was just silence.Your heart right there summer in the depths of your chest broken by your vision of love.

It was a vast expanse of emptiness,where even the smallest sound wouldn’t dare not tread the silence. [*]

A few years later Sukuna was now more stable than before,Having a big success with his company.

Making collaboration with other big brands and marketers.Having multiple modeling teams to make sure of his presence is well known and that only made a fan base of him.He was making multiple big deals that people would only dream off.

He was particularly smart at making sure that his company wouldn’t go down anything time soon.Even after all this success in Japan he would still have much more work to accomplish in others countries but he doesn’t have to worry about that right now.

He now had everything that he never had when he was young and everything he’ll need.Every decision he made was to make it all work in the end.

Right?

But some wounds weren’t meant to heal and some will eventually hurt you more than others.

When he left you he thought that he would be the best for him and for you too.He didn’t want any of unavoidable feeling of love,it wouldn’t do anything but drag him. He already knew at some point he was going to break up with you sometime soon.

But your voice of pain still rings throughout his head after all these years.Sometimes even coming back as nightmares or some sorts.

He thought that maybe if he just have nights stands he would get over it.It irritated him for some reason.He didn’t need some extra feelings of you.

But nothing worked,and now he’s sit in his office at random point of time thinking about what was the gender of his baby.

But now he knows that he is the worst father ever to have.And he didn’t have to hear those words from anyone else to tell him that.The better thing to do is just to move forward and forget about it.

It was just a normal day walking around the city without the need of being followed or being bothered by the paparazzi or whatever the case would be.

The sun light shining the city with a bright golden glow making the city warm.And with the sun shining it’s companion with the wind breeze keeping citizens of Tokyo from dying from the heat.In perfect sense it was a great day to go out and enjoy the day off.

Multiple citizens walked through the streets of Tokyo the streets were filled with lifeness sparkling with color all around and people walking with a smile or with a sense of urgent need to get to a certain place.While Sukuna didn’t have any place to go to so he just walked throughout the city even the high crime rates part of Tokyo.

The only reason he wasn’t getting bothered was because he had a black washable dye and it work wonders and having his tattoos covered by makeup. No one recognize him.

Now he made his way towards a park,to get away from the crowd of people.His body walking down the entrance of it.Completely in his head space enjoying the scenery.Not minding the children running around with their sequels.

Until he heard a voice in the group of parents with their children who were playing or watching their children play.

A distant Laughter came through the group there;A laugh he knew too well.His legs taking him towards that voice without even noticing his actions. His large figure making it way to move around,his eyes looking around in such an intense manner.

His body froze,his mind going silent.As his almost blood like eyes widened.His heart slowly beating against his chest.

He spotted a child with striking pink long hair with such a radiant laughter,a young girl that is made his heart began to filled with warmth.

Something that he thought was meaningless.

Sukuna’s heart raced with uncertainty as he faced the unknowingly future.

He just stood there watching the girl with an urge to ask the girl question.Whether if the girl dyed the hair pink or did she ever get to see her dad or-And then you showed In his view.

“There you are,you little troll” you spoke with a playful voice,grabbing your daughter and swinging her around in the air.You were smiling so care carefullyfree,with the little spawn of joy giggling wildly.

“PffhaHahhaha!!Stop it mom!Your gonna get me dizzy if uou continue” The young girl says as her laughter danced through the air like a soft melody.

The world blurs itself out as he watches you.when he sees you he immediately knows that you were something that shouldn’t have been token so dryly;all the nights were you were there for him,all the love you spent on him and what did he gave you in return.

Nothing,nothing not even a small amount of time of love to you.You have every right to hate him for that.

There a lot of ‘what if’s’ in his mind but one thing is certain that he would’ve had a family.

He probably didnt know that he was looking at you guys to long.That was until your eyes meet his making eye contact.

Their stares remained interlocked, neither of them making a move to look away.It you could tell who is his even with all the disguise.Your eyes widened with disbelief as Your face turned into an icy expression.You turned your head now forcing yourself to walk forward paying attention to your daughter that was in your arms.

Sukuna soul felt burdened with the echoes of her sorrows.

“It doesn’t matter now,at least that their better without me” Sukuna spoke in his mind,but he’s heart felt heavy like it knew that if he thinks by walking away from all this is going to make it better then he wrong.

Blinded by his own heart he walks after you,keeping his composure straight and stern.As he reaches his hand to lay his hand on your shoulder,getting your attention and your daughter as well.

Your head turned around to see his body but you stare up to see his ironic red eyes the same one you have nightmares about,the same one that broke your heart a thousand times.

The same blood like eyes that you fall in love with.

Your heart stingwith dreadful pain just from looking at him,you knew it was him even if he hide his most dominant features.

Your daughter looks at you with concern that you don’t want her to mistake it for sadness.

You place her down on the ground and whipser her something softly in her ear for her to not have herpretty face worry about it.

You told her simply to wait and sit in the grass until she come back then they will get ice cream after and which she does.

Now paying mind to him as you changed your expression to the same icy expression.

“What do you want” You said straight to the point as you won’t allow yourself to break down again infront of him.

Nothing come out,because he didn’t know what to say to you,Nothing came out of his mouth.He usually always had something to say.

You couldn’t take it,you hated the man that stand in front of you.

”I doubt you’ll forgive me for all of this-

you instantly interrupted him.

“it too late for apologize Sukuna,you already showed me that I’ll have to be guarded when it comes to giving people my heart.”

You said heartlessly,almost with coming out hurt.But you didn't stop there,all the suspense emotions were coming out.

“God I hate you! I hate you for leaving me!!A simple Fucking sorry ISNT going to make up for the things you made me go through! You-tears falling down your cheeks rapidly-… I fucking hate you.I hate that I fell for you,g-Gave you my heart for what?”

You wipe off your tears.Your voice rising in pitch as your eyes brow knitting together in frustration and hands clenching tightly in a ball into fist.

“B-but I’ll n-never . . Hate you for her,for g-giving me a beautiful girl”

you said with a sad smile that quickly removed from your face.Your chest rising up and down.As you could hear the voices of the kids giggling in the background.

The tension between you and him was unpalatable,the air was so thick that it felt like he was going to suffocate.

A pair of warm hands warp around you pulling you into a warm embrace.

“I-I -a heavy sigh came out of his mouth- . . . Sorry,I don’t -no I know that you won’t forgive me.You have every reason to yell at me, . . tell me that I’m shit for everything.” His voice swiftly He felt your hands were pushing him away but he continued on his embrace.He could fell your tears dampen his clothes.

“L-let go of me . . . I Don’t h-have time for you-u,i don’t need you anymore in my life,Sukuna.So it better if we just don’t talk.”

His throat felt so dry like as if he didn’t drink any water.He fucked up so badly.A wound that would never heal.You politely removed your body from his embrace and wipe your face with your hands wiping off the tears.Now walking away from him and towards where your daughter was.

The wind blows gently through your body gently giving a cold breeze to your warm hot stain cheeks.

As you see your daughter playing around with a boy with black hair;smiling with joy, making you form a small smile.

You felt a hand on your shoulder immediately knowing it was Sukuna,you brushed off his hand off your shoulder.Before you could even get anything out your mouth.

“Use me then”

A shiver ran down her spine as his voice took on an eerie, otherworldly quality of vulnerability.That made her question if it was the wind that was playing with her mind or it just herself thinking that she heard him in such a state.

”what” You said with disbelief lancing your voice,Your uncertainty was reflected in your hesitant movements and furrowed brow.

You tilted your head in confusion,your eyes trying to discern the almost-too-serious expression on Sukuna face.Just for Sukuna repeat his words.

“Use me then” He said in a serious manner,His red eyes looking straight at you.He knew what he was saying was stupid and wouldn’t cure anything but it worth trying.

Your eyes widens lanced with disbelief.you let out a huff out laugh as you ran your finger though your hair.

“What . . No Sukuna,I-a deep shaky sigh gets out of your lungs- I told you I want nothing to deal with you” You said with a bit of raspiness to your voice from the crying and yelling.

Your eyes finally looking at Sukuna’s eyes.His eyes usually showed a stern cold expression but right now it soften filled with regretfulness in his glazes upon his blood like eyes.

“Use me then, Use me for money,for paying your bills,driving you and her placing,Use me for anything,it doesn’t matter” He spoke as you just notice how close he got to you.You could hear it now,it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you;you could hear that vulnerability in his voice so much clearer.

You didn’t know what to say or respond to him,your mouth was shut and like it sealed up.That until you felt a strong hit towards your knee,to only see your daughter squealing.

“MOMM!! Hahah-HELp me!!Before Cole Comes and get me!!” Your daughter says with A loud giggle as She let go of your legs and runs a distance away from you and Sukuna to get playfully tackled by a boy with black hair and purple eyes.

You hadn’t completely forgotten his offer,You take a deep breath before looking at your phone to see how much time as pass.

His eyes were dead set on you but You can see that he’s eyes had a bit of amusement in them as he stare at what you already knew his child.To you you could recognize him even if he wear a black hair or hide his tattoos on his face and body,you could still tell it him from his red ironic eyes.His body cast a shadow over you.

“I-ill think about this later” You said,now completely walking towards your daughter.With head now full of thoughts now.As you smiling see your daughter ‘Nova ryomen’ Tackling the boy down with a playful smirk on her soft cheek.

You walked up to her and told her that it time to go home and to say goodbye to the boy,which she kinda refused to do having a big sad pout on her cute little face.But she eventually did,as you hold her hand in and then taking her to a ice cream shop for her.

You order the ice cream in the ice cream truck with a genuine smile on your lips as you watched her eat her ice cream while you guys were walking towards the house.

“use me then”

his words were repeated in your head like a curse.You don’t need him anyway right?

You just gotta keep moving forward even if life isn’t the best for you but it could be and will be better for nova.That night you had received a text from a unknown person but you ignore it went to sleep.

Credits to my lovely editor(my bestie) who I made her read this 🫶.

tag list: @10yo-anonnie @scoobysnakz @lynxslokley @kenntolog

+anyone want to be tagged in part2

@mononijikayu

Made by @sukioyakio

reblogs, likes and shares are always welcome and appreciated

If anyone has any comments of suggestion of part two then be my guest

PART TWO IS OUT NOW!!

[wachinyeya]

Ghost fishing gear – meaning abandoned, lost or discarded nets, pots or lines – is particularly problematic because it continues to catch marine life. Crabs, rays, fish and even birds or larger mammals such as seals and dolphins get trapped in the gear, where they inevitably die and become bait for more marine life. And so the cycle continues.

According to a 2016 United Nations report, each fishing vessel is likely to lose 1% of its fishing gear per year. More staggering still is the stat that for in every square kilometre of fishing ground there are likely to be 4.4km of ghost nets.

Ghost Fishing UK was set up in 2015 by Dr Richard Walker, a scientist and technical dive instructor. Walker was inspired by his time joining Dutch divers from the now defunct Ghost Fishing Foundation, to clean up ghost nets in the North Sea, in Croatia and from first world war wrecks in Scapa Flow, Orkney.

--

It currently has more volunteers than vacancies. [Ghost Fishing UK] estimates there are 300 on the waiting list, drawn to the charity through word of mouth among the dive community. The selection process is rigorous, with technical dive skills prioritised. Divers tend to self-fund their trips, though the organisation also receives support from private donations and from conservation organisations including the Sussex Wildlife Trust, World Animal Protection and the Sea LifeTrust. People can help by donating to support the charity’s work, and by reporting ghost gear via a form on its website.

--

Tom Collinson is senior advocacy manager at Blue Ventures, a charity that seeks to restore the world’s oceans and improve the livelihoods of fishing communities. He is enthusiastically supportive of the work done by Ghost Fishing UK and other likeminded organisations, such as the Scottish Creel Fishermen’s Federation and the Global Ghost Gear Initiative. “Ghost fishing gear presents a unique and complex challenge and if it weren’t for these dedicated groups, our reefs and wrecks would be festering under blankets of nylon and dead marine life,” he says.

But he also cautions that benefits these groups bring are tiny relative to “industrial destructive fishing practices and particularly bottom trawling”. Critics liken the latter to using a bulldozer and then a vacuum cleaner on the ocean floor.

[wirewitchviolet]

Let's talk about how Ranma is trans in the 2024 anime, part 1

Way the hell back in 2018, after a random exchange with a friend, I sat down and wrote a series of four blog posts where I looked at the manga Ranma ½, which ran from 1988 to 1996, explicitly through a lens where I assumed the protagonist is in fact a trans girl. A major component of the series being that Ranma and several other characters fell into various pools in a cursed set of natural springs causing them to magically change into whatever tragically drowned in one when hit with cold water, then back to their original body with hot, and Ranma fell in the girl one, so it was bound to be a series that would crack a lot of eggs regardless, but my memory of reading it years before transitioning was that it worked on a mundane level too, particularly later. I did somehow forget a bit towards the end where Ranma honestly just kinda straight up comes out of the closet, but I'm not going to link to that panel yet again for the sake of preview links not blending together. Anyway, those posts were already the most popular things I ever put on this blog and have never stopped circulating, despite it being a pretty old and largely forgotten series at the time.

I had always had the idea that I really should go back and also watch the anime adaptation(s) of Ranma, which deviates a good bit from the manga, but that is 161 episodes, 3 movies, and 11 OAVs which are terribly terribly paced, and I don't actually get paid for this. But then lo and behold, here's a brand new anime adaptation coming out decades later, looking really nice, and surely that will deviate even more from the source material, so here I am diving in to find all new bits of gender stuff to talk about, under the fold here and-

Oh. Turns out the new anime series is actually an EXTREMELY faithful adaptation of the original manga and the only deviations I've actually noticed are that there's a little bit less nudity and the one scene with Ranma's breasts fully on display goes the route of not drawing nipples. And really that's only significant because the original anime adaptation somehow got away with that one. Speaking of the original anime run, this adaptation brings back the entire surviving voice cast, and continues the tradition of coloring Ranma's hair red in cold-water form as an extra tell for the audience. And speaking of color, one thing this adaptation does now and then that I really appreciate is punctuating certain scenes with the sort of cool pastel palettes (see above) that were used for the cover illustrations of the original manga.

Another thing the 2024 anime does is throw in a quick little vignette before the opening credits of each episode to restate that Ranma and Akane are engaged, and the feminizing water thing, which mostly feels like it's there as just a little extra emphasis that regardless of all the other shenanigans going on, those two are the one actual couple and making it clear that the rest of the tangled web of crushes and obsessions don't really matter. Something I feel like this adapatation is keen to emphasize in general. In fact, being as nearly 1 to 1 an adaptation as it is, the title of every episode is directly lifted from the chapter names of the manga, so we can just slap together a little infographic and see what's getting compressed a bit and what's getting the time it needs to breathe!

We're chewing through the extended fight scenes pretty quick and slowing down any time Akane's having an emotional moment or some time in the spotlight basically. Which makes sense since the action scenes in the manga are like all full page splash images with a word of text and need to be flowing quickly, and because we have the benefit of hindsight knowing that the Kunos become irrelevant real quick. We're also squeezing out a little early identity crisis stuff for Ranma in the process (there's an early dream sequence after first meeting Kuno, coming to grips with the whole "since I'm a girl, dudes want to sleep with me" realization that barely makes it in and a few early moments of internalized misogyny that get dropped), and we really give Shampoo's debut some space (not QUITE as much as the above suggests, most of episode 10 is wrapping up a three parter on the ice skating with her just punching through the wall as a cliffhanger at the end).

The whole thing is also paced out to nicely cover the first four volumes of the manga, out of 38. They might up the compression rate a little, but as it stands, it's going to take another 8 or 9 seasons to get through everything at this rate. In comparison, my first blog post got through three times this much of it, but the original anime covered only the first half of this in the same episode count (and then for some reason introduced Shampoo and Mousse early and didn't get through the ice skating until episode 27).

Anyway, like I said, this doesn't really change things up enough to have a lot to say about how clearly Ranma is trans. Jumping back to the start though yet again, it really cannot be emphasized enough though just how clearly, even from the very first episode, she is SO much more comfortable presenting as a girl, not at all nervous meeting Akane's family like that, then suddenly super tense and awkward and closed off when interacting with... really anyone while boy-moding. So I guess it's time to bust out some of these other lenses to look at this...

Let's talk about how Akane is gay, part 1

I mean, we've established she's into Ranma, with extra emphasis in this adaptation, and we've established that Ranma is in fact a girl, but that's just the one data point. What else do we have? Well, she's quite explicitly not a fan of guys, particularly guys who are attracted to her, and we're keeping plenty of a focus on that while not wasting time trying to pretend Kuno matters at all in the grand scheme of things. The closest she ever comes to showing interest in a guy is Dr. Kuno, and the anime here is strongly emphasizing how that's less of a real crush and more just emulating her oldest sister (Nabiki of course is also some flavor of queer, and I don't think anyone has ever questioned that) since that's kinda what you do, right? She also gets intensely jealous of the idea of Shampoo kissing Ranma while assuming Ranma is a girl, talks about how hot she is, and hell, at the start of things when everyone's assuming they've somehow gotten into a situation where one of the three sisters has to marry a cis girl, Nabiki points out how that works out perfectly for her. Because she is extremely gay.

Let's talk about how Ryoga is trans, part 1

OK so this isn't the same absolute slam dunk as Ranma turned out to be, but there is a surprisingly strong case to argue that Ryoga is also a trans girl. What do we know about Ryoga after all? Real real socially awkward. Only has one sorta-friend from childhood, who turned out to be trans later. Can we call Ryoga a furry? I'm not even talking about the pig curse, but there's this whole feral wolf vibe before that's even established. In a series where basically every guy who is ever introduced is a horny creep obsessed with rigid gender roles, Ryoga does not bat an eye at seeing women naked (which comes up oddly often), spends a lot of these early arcs hanging out with the gal pals to help practice gymnastics and skating, deals well enough with the pink heart collar and being called Charlotte, and like so many of us, Ryoga is introduced to the series indignantly sputtering about how Ranma's situation shouldn't really be called a curse and is a situation we'd be happy to be in. You could argue that Ryoga's saying this just relative to the pig curse, I guess, but I do at least get the vibe that Ryoga wouldn't be too super worried about finding hot water with that one.

Speaking of the pig curse, I feel like every time I revisit Ranma I have a different perspective on the whole "P-Chan" situation. With this adaptation, it does feel significantly closer to "it's really just this super awkward situation where I've been looking for a good moment to explain and at this point it's been so long she'll probably kill me" than "I am a loathsome sex offender using a disguise to snuggle up with this girl who thinks I am a small animal" and Ranma is doing an appropriate amount of "I'm not going to blurt it out, but you should seriously come clean already" so, glad to know we're downplaying that.

Also, the emphasis on Ranma and Akane as The Couple in this adaptation really makes it clear that Ryoga isn't so much into Akane as just kinda... incapable of conceiving of any sort of existence that doesn't involve being Ranma's rival/friend/polycule member.

Anyway, I guess that's where I have to leave this until the second season drops? Have a patreon link?

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 9 - All I've Learned

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Chapters getting longer. I'm in danger.

Chapter Title from Lay All Your Love On Me by ABBA

Word Count: 13.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Bucky have a rare, good day.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 8 - Chapter 10

Read on A03!

This had gotten out of control. 

It was building. The heat over his skin whenever She was near him was turning into a burn. The electric and clean feeling up his spine was making him stand tall whenever She looked at him. Bucky’s inability to look away from Her was becoming a hazard to his critical thinking, and the sound of Her voice was becoming an addiction.

He was past physical attraction. Bucky had felt a lot of physical attraction since the whole Blip thing, but he’d been able to push it down for their sake, or his own. He’d been able to keep it on a leash, at the very most indulging in a slightly dance or conversation, and—once or twice on weaker nights—more. But Bucky would always remember that he was himself, and no one could deserve or tolerate that. There was still blood on his hands, and nobody deserved to be tainted with it a level deeper than their skin.

That reminder wasn’t being nearly as effective as it was supposed to be. Bucky was supposed to look at the pretty girl, tell himself they didn’t deserve all the pain and weight that came with him, and then walk away. Then the heat was supposed to die. Flicker out because it had only been a little candle, and Bucky didn’t know how to keep things alive anyway.

But She never liked to make things fucking easy for him. She’d let Bucky get pissed at her again, only to turn around reshape the whole fucking world in his head. He’d been trying to genuinely explain that he didn’t want Her getting the wrong idea about what kind of man he was, and then She’d pushed back—the Moon in Her eyes feeling as if it was flowing into his body—and Bucky had gotten annoyed because he’d been trying. He’d really been trying to make things better, because he’d wanted to. He was less angry around Her and that felt good, but part of keeping Her safe was from him as well.

So he’d snapped that She didn’t understand, and it had felt like a clever blow at the time. Most people didn’t understand. Could never understand what he’d done, and how he hated himself for it, and how not your fault didn’t fucking help, because it made him feel like a vessel. Not a person, just a channel that Hydra had overtaken. 

But god fucking damnit, She had gotten it. In a roundabout and twisted way, She got it. Bucky didn’t like it—and if Sam really had known about it, Bucky was going to ask why the hell he hadn’t stopped it, or found a better way for Her to get money that didn’t involve that—but he understood it. Their bodies weren’t what had been broken and bended, it was their heads. Control that had slipped because there was no other way out, and even out had been an unimaginable luxury that Bucky would kill to keep. 

He’d kill for Her to keep it. To never have to go back to that. Nobody should have to do that in the first place, but Bucky could feel that burning, electric fury through his blood at the idea of Her doing it. 

They wouldn’t have let Her talk. And they certainly wouldn’t have wanted to hear Her thoughts. 

Those were the best parts of Her. Smothering them felt like a fucking crime, just one level below making Her look like a caged animal when She should be fighting and biting and wandering as She pleased. 

Bucky would kill to let Her keep Herself.

And no matter how it had spun his stupid feelings around and out of control, Bucky could pin three benefits of the conversation on the roof.

One, a lot of things in his log suddenly made a lot more sense. Why She never said anything when the suits gave Her blatant once-overs and smirks. Why She raised Her chin so high all the time and never bended or dropped the Queen mask in Her office. 

Why She hated Bucky calling Her doll.

If he could help it, he’d never say that word again. 

Two, they were friends. Nothing more, but nothing less, either. Bucky didn’t have to keep trying to pretend he still hated Her. He could laugh at Her jokes, and maybe sit at Her desk instead of on the couch when they ate lunch, and car rides didn’t have to be filled with a suffocating, forced silence that made his skin prickle. 

He could keep making his way through all Her media recommendations, and if Sam got on his ass about it, it could because She was his friend.

Sam was going to counter that they were friends too, and Bucky never did anything for him. But Bucky could just snap that Sam had worse taste than She did, and that could be the end of the conversation, because they were friends.

Finally, She really didn’t pity him. She just refused to let him wallow.

Which wasn’t helping with the heat. 

Nothing was helping with the heat.

This was a pre-Hydra heat. These were the kind of feelings that had been for when he thought he’d be shipping back after the war, and he wanted to find someone to build a life with. The kind of feelings Steve used to tease him about, because he’d get dopey-faced about a girl and all the Sargent Barnes swagger would vanish. 

It was a small mercy that Bucky had lost that swagger a long time ago. It gave him a little extra cover around Her and—more importantly—Sam. He didn’t need either of them noting how he was staring at Her more and more. How he wasn’t just opening doors because it was polite, but because She’d give him a small smile at it would swell comfortably in his chest. He listened to Her all the time because that’s how conversations worked, not because Her voice was like some sort of spell. He stared at Her because that’s what he did. Everyone knew Bucky stared. He’d gotten complaints.

And he was looking at Her because She was impossibly beautiful, and he couldn’t look away.

But that didn’t matter. And Bucky could hide it.

It wasn’t like anything could come of this, anyway. Sam may have been right that She didn’t hate Bucky, but Bucky was really fucking pushing it with just friendship. She was the job. The job had to come first, Her safety had to come first. Bucky was just going to have to use his annoying craving for Her to fuel him. Hydra wouldn’t touch Her, because they ruined things and Bucky wanted to be the only thing to ruin Her- 

She also had a boyfriend. A horrible asshole of a boyfriend, who might be responsible for all little cracks Bucky was starting to see form over Her in the morning, but a boyfriend all the same.

Bucky wasn’t sure if agreeing to be friends had given him the right to ask questions. To try and ask why the hell She was with Miles. White-teeth and sneering voice Miles. Someone who made Her small and nervous and quiet, who didn’t even look at Her, who clearly didn’t care if She got hurt. 

Who didn’t even seem to like Her, let alone deserve Her. 

Not that Bucky would be better.

But he’d never make Her small. Or let Her get hurt. And he’d keep opening doors for the rest of time, and he’d smile at Her because She was worth smiling at, and he’d always look at Her because She was beautiful. And Bucky liked Her. He liked how She never stopped moving, so keeping up with Her was something good to do. He liked how She always did what She said. He liked all Her different faces. How obviously well-made they were, but how Bucky could always see bits of Her, the real Her, creeping through because they were too powerful to be smothered. 

He really liked the real version of Her. The one he got to see when no one else was around, who had never cowered away from Bucky just because he was Bucky.

If anything, She’d fought harder because he was Bucky. Bitten harder because She knew he could take it, instead of treating him like some kind of live-wire set to snap.

And She’d won. Bucky liked Her. 

More than liked Her. 

This wasn’t a candle. This wasn’t going to flicker. 

It was a wildfire, and Bucky was going to have to deal with that himself.

He picked Her up Monday morning, same as always, and forced himself not to noticeably stand taller and puff out his chest when She walked into the garage. 

Bucky could deal with this. Handle this. Control it. He smiled at Her because She smiled first, so it would be weird not to smile. He scanned over Her because it was his job to assess Her safety, not because he wanted to risk a look at how Her skirt draped over her body. His gaze lingered on Her lips and pretty features because he could swear there was more makeup than usual, not because he couldn’t look away. 

And She looked good. She always looked good, like one of those perfectly made museum statues come to life. There was a slight slump to Her shoulders, and Her steps weren’t as graceful as usual, but it was early. She was likely just tired.

It wasn’t any earlier than normal, though. And Her slump vanished the moment She met Bucky’s eyes, replaced by a taut, almost visible weight on Her shoulders as She threw them back and raised Her chin high.

Bucky would keep an eye on that. 

At least She wasn’t small and shaking.

“Morning, Butterfly.” He caught the keys, and Her smile widened. All slightly crooked teeth and full lips, and Bucky wanted to taste Her-

Control. He could keep this under control.

“Morning.” She hummed, Her smile not dropping for a second as Bucky opened Her door. Their arms brushed as She climbed into the car.

This was going to kill him.

“I have a trip today. It’s a yellow.” She said as Bucky settled behind the wheel, and he frowned, trying to think back to her color-coded schedule.

He didn’t remember any yellow. “A trip?”

“Another charity thing.” She mumbled, and Bucky glanced over to see Her fiddling with Her hair. “It’s a children’s hospital we gave like, a lot of money to. They asked me to come tour the new wards, so I have to.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Have to.”

“I’m the face,” She shrugged, and there wasn’t anything nervous or wavering in Her voice, so Bucky let it go. “And this is actually- I love this part. I get to actually move around and talk to people who I don’t hate. Plus, I got a bunch of old Avenger’s stuff from Happy to give out. It’ll be fun.”

A bell rang in the back of  Bucky’s head. Yellow had been the rarest of the colors.

Yellow meant whatever She was doing, it was good.                                

“People you don’t hate.” Bucky repeated, shooting Her a quick look. 

She was smiling at him, Her brows raised, and he had to rip his attention away. He was driving. He could not stare at Her while he was driving.

“It’s the kids, isn’t it.”

“Yep. They’re smarter than anyone else I work with.”

Bucky snorted. “That’s hurtful, sweetheart-“

“Not you. You don’t work for me.”

“I work with you.”

“Yeah, but- Do you want to be smarter than a seven-year-old or not?”

He hummed. “Only a seven-year-old, huh. Can’t I be smarter than an eight-year-old, too?”

“Shut up.”

Bucky shot Her a grin, and there was a little pout on Her lips he wanted to bite off.

Control. The fire was spreading to his lower gut, and he could feel where their arms had brushed, but Bucky still had control.

“You don’t have to come for this, you know.” She said, and Bucky blinked. “That’s where I was going with that.”

Bucky frowned at the road. “I do have to come. We’ve been over this, Butterfly, I go where you go-“

“Not if they already have security.” Her voice was strangely soft. Bucky couldn’t read into that right now. “And I’m not saying you can’t go, I’m saying you don’t have to. If you want. You’re supposed to have Monday’s off anyway-“

“I told you we’re not doing that-“

“And I’m telling you that we are. The only reason I didn’t make you leave this morning was because I forgot to talk to Sam about it-“

“He won’t approve it-“

She snorted. “Yeah, he will.”

Bucky scowled. She was right. Sam would, because She was asking, and it was really damn hard to say no to Her, even if Sam wasn’t deeply intoxicated by Her the way Bucky was. 

“If you want to drop me at the office,” She continued. “I’ll get my own ride to the hospital, and you can take your day. They have their own security, I’ll be fine.”

Bucky shot Her a flat look. “You know, your office and apartment were supposed to have security too.”

“They do-“

“Tell that to your two Hydra letters.”

She paused, Her lips drawing in a thin line, and when she spoke again Her voice was soft. “Do you and Sam have anything on that, yet?”

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was allowed to tell Her. And more importantly, he wasn’t sure what was good to tell Her. What could reassure Her that they had it under control, while not putting Her in danger for knowing things She didn’t need to, and—as a small side benefit—make Her feel more certain that Bucky could protect Her. 

Sam would say to not tell Her anything. The less She knew, the better, and if She got pissed about that then she’d just have to deal. 

But Bucky didn’t want Her in the dark. The dark was dangerous. It led to missteps and fear, and She didn’t need that. Even if Bucky was leading Her and shielding her through it, She should still know what they were moving through.

And Sam wasn’t here right now.

“Bucky-“

“We have some leads.” He muttered, his words slow and careful as he thought them out. He wouldn’t tell Her enough to put Her in danger, but he refused to leave Her stranded in the dark. “A few older Hydra projects that have been resurfaced. No cracks in the code yet, for either letter, but Sam’s made progress.” He paused, then added, just for the fucking sake of it, “You’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

She sighed, and when Bucky glanced over, She was chewing on the inside of Her cheek and rubbing at Her skin. Nervous, a little shrunken into the seat, Her eyes slightly glazed over and breathing a little too shallow. 

Still. 

She was still.

“I’m going with you.” Bucky grunted, turning into the garage. “To the hospital.”

“But-“

“I took Saturday and Sunday off. I don’t get three days off.” And She thought this was good. Bucky wanted to know what She considered good.

Her tongue poked between Her teeth, and the pout was back. “But you’ll take Monday next week.”

“Sure.”

Her eyes narrowed. “James.”

He gave Her a small smirk as the car came to a stop. “I said sure, Butterfly, I don’t know what your problem is.”

“It wasn’t a real sure.” She mumbled. “When you say sure like that, it’s never real.”

She sounded like that actually bothered Her. It was doing something fuzzy to Bucky’s brain. 

He leaned down, staring at Her until she glanced up to meet his gaze, Her eyes widening slightly as they stared at each other.

“That was a real sure.” He drawled Her name, trying not to think about how Her lips were slightly parted, about how the Moon was glowing in Her eyes. “I mean it. I’ll take Monday, but I’m goin’ with you today. No way out of that, sweetheart. Got it?”

She swallowed, not breaking his gaze. “Got it.”

“Good.”

They were still staring at each other. Bucky wasn’t able to be the one who looked away first. And he could see every dimple and divet on Her face, and every color in Her eyes, and all the sharper and softer features of Her face that were almost magnetic.

Control meant not moving closer. Not letting himself lick his lips because that wasn’t professional, and they may be friends, but this wasn’t the friend’s part. This was the job part. He was going to the hospital with Her because it was his job.

Not because he wanted to what it was like for Her to do one of these trips and enjoy it. Not because he was already here, and seeing Her then leaving Her felt like a sin. 

Most of this was a sin. Bucky had never been that religious—and any previous faith had been wiped away by Hydra—but there had to be something in all those books about how wanting to touch and see someone all the time wasn’t exactly moral. Especially not when all they’d ever been was touched and looked at.

But he’d touch and look at Her right. And Bucky wasn’t really a moral person anyway.

When She spoke again, Her voice was still soft. But not shaking soft. Sweet soft. 

Real sweet. Not saccharine and mocking. It suited Her. And the big, doe eyes still somehow made Her look powerful, and Bucky really couldn’t fucking move away.

“We need to go upstairs so I can grab everything. Then it’s a morning visit, across town, so we’ll come right back, but I might need, um-“ She pulled Her lower lip between her teeth, scanning over Bucky carefully. “Help. Carrying things.”

He didn’t bother to fight his smirk. “You want my help?”

She scowled. “That’s what I said.”

“No, you said you needed help. Not my help.” Bucky raised his brows. “Say you want my help.”

“It was implied that I want your help-“

“But you didn’t say please. Manners are important, sweetheart-“

She snorted. “Like you care about manners.“

“Of course I care about manners.” He drawled Her name, holding Her gaze. “I’m not an animal. Say please.”

He was pushing it. He could tell he was pushing it, and if She sneered and spat in Bucky’s face, he’d deserve it. 

But She was just staring at him, so many things flashing over Her face at once that Bucky couldn’t track them, and Her nostrils flared slightly but that didn’t mean anything, and those weren’t doe eyes, but they weren’t sharp, furious predator eyes either. Bucky didn’t know what they were, but they were enchanting, and if She had to spit in his face for him to see them a little more, he’d pay that price-

Something was wrong with him. 

But right now, as Her nose scrunched in an adorable way, Bucky didn’t really care what was wrong with him.

He was winning, and She wasn’t shaking or running from the loss, and he wanted to see that big, glowing look in Her eyes again, a million times.

“You suck.” She muttered, and Bucky laughed. 

“I’ve heard. C’mon, Butterfly, you can do it.”

She narrowed Her eyes at him, letting out a slow, long breath. “Please, James. Help me carry things to the car.”

And Bucky was always going to have helped Her. If She’d rolled her eyes and ignored him, he still would’ve helped Her. 

But Jesus Christ, that had been worth pushing his luck. She’d used his real name, and Her lashes had fluttered slightly, and She wasn’t moving away so Bucky got to see every bit of Her, on fully display, saying please.

He was worth saying please to. She wanted him—or at least his help—enough for Her to say please.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky grinned at Her, She flushed, and he was going to pick up and bring the whole fucking building to the hospital if that was what She wanted.

It wasn’t. 

But he would’ve.

Instead, he ended up carrying a lot of little Hulk and Captain America—Steve, not Sam—plushies, some very fancy looking phones he couldn’t even begin to understand how to work, and a lot of bags filled with stickers and shirts and candy, down to the car and into the trunk. She was bouncing on Her feet and talking to him the whole time, Her smile never leaving her face and her words coming so fast Bucky barely got a chance to interject, but he didn’t really care.

It was good to listen to. Meant She was comfortable. Herself. 

With Bucky.

And that made him feel a lot better than it should. Made his chest feel light and his head feel clean. He was somewhere She was comfortable.

He was doing something right, and it wasn’t a labor. He didn’t know what, didn’t have a name for it, but he was doing it. 

And things felt better.

“Huh.” Bucky frowned at the directions She’d pulled up on the car’s GPS, and She gave him a curious look. 

“Huh?”

“That’s near my apartment.” He started the car with a shrug, and glanced over to find that She’d stopped fiddling with the extra bag in Her lap, and was staring at the GPS. “Are you-“

“How near your apartment?”

“A block.” Bucky said slowly, looking between Her tight features and the map. “Why-“

“That’s really far, Bucky.”

“Believe it or not, I’m aware of that.”

She didn’t waver at his flat tone. If anything, Her frown deepened. “I thought you lived closer,” she muttered, and Bucky paused. 

This felt oddly important, although most things felt important with Her. Like every single word and thought was a matter of life and death, even when it was about nothing at all.

“How do you get to my place every morning?” She looked up to him, and Her attention had to be some sort of drug. Bucky felt a little light-headed.

He didn’t know how not to answer. “I walk.” He shook his head as Her eyes flared. “But I like it, sweetheart, it clears my head.”

“Are you-“

“I’m sure.” Bucky shrugged, forcing himself to focus on the car. If he didn’t rip his focus from Her now, he’d get trapped, and they’d never leave the garage. 

“But you have to get up so early.” She mumbled, fiddling with Her hair, and Bucky snorted.

“That’s rich from you, Butterfly.”

“But I-“

“And I don’t really sleep anyway.” He added before She could start on some sort of that’s not the same or but I’m making you get up even earlier than me rant. “I don’t mind. Swear it.”

She was silent in Her seat—which was incredibly worrying—and when Bucky glanced over, She was staring at him. Into him. And it wasn’t uncomfortable, or make him feel like a specimen. It was just intense. Made the fire start to spread again—lower and hotter and making his breathing feel tight—and he wanted to know if She’d look like that when Bucky dropped to his knees before Her, or if Her eyes with get glazed and soft, only for him-

Bucky wasn’t going to do that. Or anything like that. And imaging it was only torture, because She had a boyfriend. He kept fucking forgetting about that. About how, at the end of the day, She’d go home to someone who did get to touch Her like that.

But didn’t keep Her safe. And made Her small. 

The heat was becoming venomous, and twisting around his heart, and it might be jealousy.

Fuck.

“I don’t sleep either.” She finally mumbled, and Bucky had to stop himself from breaking the wheel. That felt important too, and it was starting to stir his gut with the warning, but he couldn’t work out why. “You like the walks?”

Bucky gave a short nod, forcing his attention to stay on the road, and She hummed.

“Can you promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind?“

“Promise.” Bucky grunted. “But I won’t.”

“Okay. Spider-Man or Captain America?”

“What.”

“For a sticker.” She said, as if it was obvious, and Bucky glanced over to see Her holding two incredibly detailed and large stickers—one of Steve, and the other of the Spider-Kid—and examining them like they were the most crucial things in the world. “Can I put one on your arm, please?”

Bucky must have hit his head this morning or something. Maybe old age had been catching up to him, and it was just hitting all at once. “What.”

She sighed, holding up the stickers. “I want to put one on your arm-“

“Why would you possibly want to do that-“

“Because it would be cute.” She shrugged. “The kids will like it.” She gave him a quick, teasing smile. “Please?”

Bucky had unleashed a monster. He hadn’t won with the boxes, he’d just been lured into a false sense of security where he’d thought he’d won. In reality, She was now going to say please all the time, and he was going to do whatever the hell She asked.

But She said it so pretty. And so Her. With a little lilt in Her voice and a slight pout Bucky could hear, something still teasing below the word, but also genuine at the same time, and Bucky had no one to blame but himself. He’d started a game without knowing, without realized the fucking consequences of Her being beautiful and wanting things from him. What that would do to his head and his body.

“I was going to wear my gloves.” He muttered, already knowing it was hopeless and he was a goner, glancing down to his black, vibranium hand on the wheel. “Don’t want to freak the kids out.”

She laughed. Full and strong and fuck. “They won’t get freaked out, Bucky. And you know what will help with that?”

Bucky didn’t bother to answer. She’d continue regardless.

“Stickers.” She leaned forward, and no amount of glowering at the road and trying to claw up some resilience to Her everything was going to save Bucky now. “Spider-Man or Captain America?”

He sighed, and gave in. “Are those my only options?”

“No. But your third one is Tony. Choose, Buck.”

God fucking Mary and Christ. Buck. She’d called him Buck, and his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He was molten and clean over his every nerve all at once, he was more than a goner, he never should’ve let Sam convince him to go to game night so She could forgive him, never should’ve looked at Her, this had been a terrible idea from the start and She’d called him Buck and said it so easily-

“I could find a fourth option?” Her voice was suddenly soft, and Bucky realized he’d never answered Her question. “I think I saw a little Sam in the back, but it was from his Falcon days-“

“I’m not putting Sam on my arm.” Bucky grumbled, and She giggled. 

There was the electricity. The feeling that made Bucky think he could move a mountain to make Her laugh or smile. 

Control. Even the fake semblance of control was slipping through his hands, and he needed to white-knuckle it back into him because She wasn’t his, and She had a boyfriend, and She was just beautiful and consuming all on Her own. Bucky’s growing need for Her wasn’t Her problem, couldn’t be Her problem, he would not be another man who made Her small or nervous, let alone into just a toy. Control.

“Then you get Spider-Man or Captain America, Sargent. Choose now or you get Tony.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, mostly for the show of it. “Well, Butterfly, the Spider-thing-“

“Spider-Man-“

“I don’t care. He tried to beat me up in an airport.”

She was silent for a second, but it wasn’t a pained silence. And Bucky didn’t need to look over to know She was grinning. “Did he win?”

“No.” Bucky grunted, and She giggled again.

“Holy shit, he totally won-“

“Shut up. I wasn’t expecting him, and he caught my fuckin’ arm. Plus he shits webs or something, and- Sam lost too-“

“Alright, I get it.” She giggled again, bumping Bucky’s shoulder with Her’s, and She really couldn’t have any idea what that did to him. “Touchy.”

“Are you going to put the sticker on my arm or not-“

“Well, do you want the Captain sticker?”

Bucky frowned at Her. “Sounds like it’s my only option, sweetheart.”

“If you won’t wear Spider-Man, yeah, but- I dunno.” She shrugged, frowning at the stickers. “I know he’s like, your friend. And if it’s weird I don’t want to make you. It’s just a sticker, it’s not a big deal.”

Bucky sighed. She was doing it again.

Saying exactly what She needed to get what She wanted, and it wasn’t even on purpose. This wasn’t the same as when She sneered or drawled and sang like a sweet, innocent bird—that you knew could peck your eyes out—to people at work. Or even like how She’d backed Bucky into corners before, with fast words and that wolf-like smile.

She was just talking, and caring about him in Her weird, unmovable way—just like with the oatmeal, and therapy, and walk to Her apartment—and how Bucky didn’t see a world where he didn’t do exactly what She needed.

“I’ll do both.”

She blinked up at him. There were the doe eyes.

He really was a lot fucking more than a goner. 

“Bucky, you don’t have to-“

“The kids will like it.” She’d like it. “They’re just stickers, Butterfly. I’ll take them off after.”

“Are you sure?”

Bucky gave Her a firm as he pulled into the hospital parking garage. “Would I be offering if I wasn’t.” 

She stared at him, carefully toying with Her own hair again, and suddenly Bucky wanted to feel it between his fingers. Wanted to tug on it and see if She’d whine and tip Her head back for him, how it would to have a fist of it while She was on her-

No. He wouldn’t reduce Her to that. 

Fucking control.

Bucky parked the car, and he could still feel Her face as he took a deep breath and shrugged off his jacket, flexing his vibranium hand once before extending it across the console.

“I’ll take Sam, too.” He said, holding Her gaze. “But no Stark.”

A small smile pulled onto Her face, and she let out a soft laugh. “I think these two will be fine.”

Bucky gave a sharp nod, and watched carefully as She scanned over his arm, fidgeting with the Spider-Man in her hands. 

“Can I-“ She swallowed, looking up at him with shockingly careful gaze. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

It was a lot more than okay.

Bucky still had to act incredibly normal about it, and only give a firm nod and very controlled words.

“Go ahead.”

She gave him another truly sweet, almost delicate smile, and trailed Her fingers over his bicep.

It was just for the sticker. Bucky’s teeth were going to snap as he stared very pointedly at the console, but it was just for the sticker. 

But he hadn’t know he could get goosebumps on the vibranium until this. He needed to call Shuri later, and demand to know why the hell she’d thought that was necessary to program into this thing. The princess was a genius, but was no possible way that she could’ve anticipated Her, and what She was doing to every bit of Bucky’s will. Shredding it easily and happily as She touched his arm with a gentle care it really didn’t deserve, that Bucky didn’t deserve, and it was just for the sticker but it was also still making his human hand—hidden at his side, where She couldn’t see—curl into a fist as She splayed her palm near his shoulder. 

No one could anticipate Her, though, so he couldn’t blame Shuri for not knowing what giving his arm this amount of sensory ability could do. 

He was still going to need to figure out how to turn it off. Simply for the sake of his own sanity. It wouldn’t push him to do things he shouldn’t—Bucky might be a little less than a man, but he was still far more than an animal—but it was going to drive him out of his mind. 

The Spider-Man sticker ended up on the side of his bicep, and the little Steve found its way near where She’d been touching his shoulder. 

Where Bucky couldn’t see it. 

And some part of him was grateful for that. He hadn’t even realized he wouldn’t want a small replica of Steve staring up at him whenever he glanced at his arm, but he didn’t. He didn’t need the reminder that the whole world was scattered with reminders of his best friend, and that Bucky was just as close to Steve as everyone else, because Steve had left him-

He isn’t supposed to be mad about that. It wasn’t a useful anger, like the anger at Hydra, or that fuckhat Miles.

Bucky had been less angry lately, overall. He wouldn’t let it come back like this.

Where She could see it, and probably try to deal with it in a way that would be helpful. Annoying, but helpful.

That wasn’t Her problem. 

So Bucky just looked up at Her, and found Her smiling at him. Her fingers still lingering on his forearm, where She’d snuck a third sticker. 

A tiny little Sam, in the full Captain America gear.

Bucky frowned at Her. “You said you only had in him the Falcon suit.”

“I’m only supposed to have him in the Falcon suit. Stark Industries doesn’t have a copyright on Sam’s likeness as Captain America, he could sue me for having these.” She shrugged at Bucky’s raised brows, and he knew his amusement was written all over his face. “I had them made just for me. I gave a few to Sarah, too. Do you-“

“No.”

She laughed, and Bucky’s own grin hurt a little. He couldn’t stop staring at Her, even as Her laughter eased off, and-

“Thank you.” She said, voice still sweet, and he was going to die. “For coming. I- Thank you.”

She was smiling at him. And thanking him. In a real way, on purpose. Smiling at him and fluttering Her lashes and playing with Her hair, and she looked like a siren or angel or something mythical that did more than just drown or save people.

He wasn’t sure what. 

He’d really like to find out.

Bucky had to kick his brain into action. He could say it was his job, but it wasn’t. And they were past just his job. 

“Of course.” He shrugged. “You asked.”

That was the right answer. She flushed again, and Her eyes widened slightly with her smile, and that had been the perfect answer. 

It was a good thing they had to move. Do their jobs. Movement meant Bucky would have to focus on more than Her, and when he did focus on Her, he’d have a good, unquestionable reason to do it. He wouldn’t have to worry about his stupid feelings and desire crossing his face, and freaking Her out. 

He wouldn’t do that to Her. 

Friend and bodyguard. That was his role here. He opened the door for Her because of the other reasons, but She never had to know or think about them. He was walking so close behind Her because it was safer, and talking to Her because friends talk. He was in complete, entire control, and he’d keep it through the rest of the day.

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. The hospital walls were painted with colorful flowers, and the woman who was showing Her around got her coffee order wrong. 

He’d find the machine and correct that later. And tell Her assistant—Grace, Bucky was pretty sure her name was Grace—to get a little extra, because She was drinking this cup with a polite smile, but Bucky could see the strain in how She swallowed. She should have the better coffee, that She liked. And She wasn’t going to complain, but Bucky was still going to fix this, and not focus on how She might look swallowing other things, if She wanted to-

Children’s hospital. Bucky was in a children’s hospital, and he was supposed to be doing his exercise. He needed to get it the hell together.

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. The little Sam on his forearm was judging him for being horny in a hospital, and so far, they’d visited twelve children. He liked how She fit shockingly well here. This version of Her was softer. Gentle, with the same large words as She used, but slower for the kids to keep up with. Her smile was like a doe now, too, but Her eyes were like a bear. Firm and attentive, looking at each child with possible more interest than Bucky had ever seen Her look at a suit. It was another thing to like about Her, and Bucky couldn’t even pretend to be angry about it.

He didn’t like how his arm felt bare. Wrong. Like a void, eating at all the soft lights and pastel colors, with all the kids were staring at it.

But She’d been right. They hadn’t seem freaked out. Just fascinated, and he didn’t… hate that. So his arm felt bare, but it wasn’t bad, and now he needed another thing he didn’t like.

Bucky didn’t like that She’d been right. It made him trust Her judgement more, and spread the warmth all over his spine again. 

He needed to get it together. 

He wanted Her to look at him. And to tell the kid that called Her pretty that She wasn’t just pretty. She was beautiful. The kid should stop and take this in, because Bucky had lived a hundred years, and seen a lot of beautiful things, and was still trying to wrap his head around just how beautiful She actually was.

There was the need again. To get it together, because that was a child, and She hadn’t seemed offended. She’d laughed, smiled, and tucked Her hair behind her ears, before rushing the conversation along like She was trying move past it as soon as possible.

Bucky also wanted to tell Her she was beautiful. To see that reaction again. To have Her smile redirected at him. 

Three wants. 

That wasn’t good. 

“Miss?” One of the kids in a bigger room raised their hand, eyes wide on Her’s. “Have you ever been sick?”

Bucky had long lost track of exactly what they were doing, but he was able to very quickly work out that this was some sort of ask the cool lady questions group, and his job was stand behind Her and be quiet.

And he’d somehow forgotten how children had a remarkable talent to unknowingly ask the most loaded questions possible. Bucky still remember the little Wakandan girl who liked the goats, and had asked him over and over how he’d lost his arm, and why he wasn’t allowed to have the fake one yet, and what does brainwashing mean.

This wasn’t quite like that. It still made Her pause and frown at the air. 

“Yes, I have been. Since I was young, just like you guys.”

“How sick?” Another kid called, and if this wasn’t a hospital, Bucky would be worried about their fascination with sickness.

“Really sick.” She shrugged. “But I have good days too. And I’ve learned to live with it, just like all of you will.”

Bucky wasn’t sure live with it was an accurate description for what he’d seen—where She’d crumbled apart for long, long days until it was tolerable, only for it come back worse and leave Her exhausted—but the kids seemed happy with Her answer. They all nodded at Her with big eyes, and small one in the back raised his hand.

“What’s your favorite color?”

If She was fazed by the pivot, it didn’t show.

And She was really bad at hiding things, and that was a real, gentle smile. Given the way She didn’t even shift in Her seat, she’d been expecting it. 

“I like all the colors. They’re all beautiful. But I do have favorites.” She spoke slowly, sitting so tall you’d think She was on a throne instead of a beanbag chair, the kids leaning forward to listen with wide eyes.

Waiting for more. For whatever She’d offer. Clinging to Her every word like it was the most important thing they’d ever hear.

Bucky understood that.

It was how he’d started to feel all the damn time. 

“I like brown, silver, and pink.” She was playing with the hem of Her skirt as She continue, and Bucky could see a little bit more of Her thigh, and he needed to get a goddamn grip-

“Why?” One of the kids piped up, and Bucky was grateful. That would’ve been a hard thing to naturally ask later and not sound like an insane person.

“When I was little, I realized that silver was always second to gold, so I made it my best color. I also thought people didn’t love brown, so it could be my other favorite color. And pink-“ She cut Herself off, and Bucky heard a slightly stuttered breath. “I just like pink. It’s fun.”

That wasn’t the whole truth. When Bucky looked a little closer, She was rubbing at her skin again, and the line of Her back was rigid. Forced. 

“What’s your favorite animal?” Another kid asked, moving on just as fast as the last, and She still wasn’t fazed.

“I like dragons.” 

All the kids gasped, a pretty and amused smile crossed over Her face, and Bucky didn’t realize that people could be like this. 

Flawless. 

Because every single goddamn thing he found about her just made her better. Dragons were Her favorite animal, and She felt bad for colors, but he’d also heard Her curse outgrown men with a targeted ferocity that made him think She could’ve killed them with words, and She was so loud it really did drown out all the anger and pain in Bucky’s head. 

She might be angrier than him. She certain was more than him, in every possible way, and it was far easier to be drawn into it like a beautiful harmony rather than try to block it out. Allowing it to capture him made everything easier. He didn’t have to fight with Her, and be outsmarted over and over until he crossed a line and broke something. He only had to worry about not breaking Her. About not shattering the carefully crafted natural wonder that had been placed in Bucky’s path, growing over and around him until there was no way out.

He didn’t want a way out. He’d have to slash and carve one, and he didn’t have any right to ruin Her like that. 

Nothing did. 

And there were parts of Her that were already ruined, and She was mean, and loud, and controlling, and She found too many things funny and got on Bucky’s nerves in ways Sam could only dream, but it still made him like Her more. She was mean, but She never crossed a line, and She never really meant it as a blow that could break something. She was loud, but She was distinctive and consuming, so Bucky didn’t really care anymore. She was controlling, but had the wits to back it up. 

Things were funny to Her, but it gave Her a light, and it made Her smile more. And Her smile was the best thing Bucky had ever fucking seen.

She got on Bucky’s nerves, but most things did. At least She was kind and beautiful and strange in a way Bucky wanted to hold. At least She never flinched away from Bucky in fear or disgust. 

All of Her flaws were, somehow, virtues. Cracks in Her mosaic that brought it all together, only She should never be hung on a wall, either. She was art, but living and breathing and moving, all while remaining untouchable.

And Bucky still couldn’t look away.

“Mister?”

Bucky kept staring at Her, but something was tugging at his pants. Maybe the wind. 

Her eyes met Bucky’s, and it looked like She was trying to fight a smile. Bucky didn’t know why She would do that. She was bad at it, and now he didn’t get to see Her smile-

“James.” She said, nodding down to his pants. “Pay attention.”

“I am, there’s just some-“

Bucky cut himself off as his eyes landed on a child, staring up at him, right by his leg.

It hadn’t been the wind.

“What.” 

That had been too harsh. Bucky thought about offering the kid a smile too, but he’d been told when he was forced to smile, he looked like he was being tortured. It likely wouldn’t help the situation.

So he just raised his brows, and the kid cleared their throat. 

“I like your arm.” They mumbled, and before Bucky could ever fully process it, they lifted up their leg and continued. “It’s fancier than mine.”

Bucky looked at the kid’s arm, and it seemed fine. Their shirt was a little ugly, but that wasn’t a helpful thought, and-

“The leg.” She whispered in Bucky’s ear, and Bucky started at Her. He really did need to work out how She was getting past all his defenses. 

“Wha-“

“Look at his leg.”

Oh. 

Wooden leg. The kid had a wooden leg. 

That tracked.

“I, uh-“ Bucky cleared his throat. “I like your leg. It’s cool.”

The kid’s eyes widened. “Thank you. I can’t put stickers on it, though.”

“That’s fine.” Bucky shrugged. “You want to put another on mine?”

He didn’t know why he’d offered that. It had just slipped out, feeling like the right thing to say, and before he could snap never mind, the kid was beaming and nodding, and She was smiling at him. Wide and real and shit, now Bucky had to do this-

“Iron Man or Falcon?” The kid held up their bag’s stickers, and Bucky sighed.

He would not have two Sam’s on his arm. He’d survive with the Stark.

At least Stark had liked Her. That showed some uncharacteristically good judgment.

“Iron Man.” He grunted, moving to his knees so the kid could reach him better. And as the stick found its way near his elbow, Bucky realized he was on his knees. Not before Her, but near Her.

It was bad enough. He wanted to trail his hand up Her calf and feel Her fingers in his hair and-

No.

He needed to get himself a spray bottle or something. This was becoming the best form of torture he’d ever experienced. 

It only got worse when he glanced up, and She was smiling down at him. At Bucky. Bucky alone.

She was looking at him, vulnerable and on the floor, and smiling all pretty. Nobody else was looking.

That smile was real, and just for Bucky.

They were past wildfire. This was volcanic, his unfortunate and unbearable affliction with Her. 

It was going to get him in trouble.

But when he smiled back, Her smile grew.

And nothing in the world was going to be strong enough to make him stop. 

——————

“Why do you like pink?”

You glance up to Bucky, frown at your from over the small cafe table. “What?”

“You told the kids you like pink.” He shrugs, looking down to his Jell-O. “Why.”

“Because it’s fun, James, I said that-“

“You were lying.” He grumbles, and you blink at him. 

“How do you know that.”

Bucky lets out a long sigh, setting down his plastic spoon and holding your gaze. “Look me in the eyes and say you like pink because it’s fun.”

“That’s not an answer to my question-“

“Just do it, Butterfly.”

“But-“

“You were lying.” He says, his voice dropping slightly, and it’s the commanding voice, paired with the commanding glare, and you’re fucked. “I know you were. Why do you like pink.”

You sigh, spinning your plastic fork in your fingers. Of course he knows you were lying. To Bucky, there was probably a big, neon sign on your brow that flashed and said liar every time you spoke. At least half the times you spoke. Most of the Show was lying, so you don’t know why he’s not accusing you of this all the time-

Because the Show’s completely shattered with Bucky. Friends had brought down the last curtains, and now the only hidden bits were the things buried so deep in the dark that you couldn’t see them. The bits about the bond and Miles and why you were wearing a long-sleeve shirt, in early summer, in New York. Bucky would never know about those parts, unless he scraped away your layers by force.

It would be nice if he did. If he turned Hydra’s not going to get you into nothing’s going to get you. Not even the monsters you let into your own home on purpose, because you’re a needy, lonely fucking idiot.

But you’re really not worth that much effort, or labor, or care. 

So you’ll just take this—Bucky calling you out on stupid, frivolous lies—instead. 

“It was a girl color.” You mumble, poking at a sliced banana on your plate. “And when I was a kid, I hated it because everyone told me girl things were bad. Then I got older, and started my… job.” You give Bucky a pointed look, his jaw twitches. “And I decided that liking pink didn’t get to be another thing that the world took from me.” 

“Ah.” Bucky holds your gaze, and gives a short nod. “Good.”

You don’t know what good means. If it’s good that you tried to cling to some semblance of control over your life in the form of a color, or if it’s good you like pink, or if it’s good you didn’t let them take more from you than you had to give them.

It’s probably the last one. The one that he’d relate to the most. 

Bucky hasn’t really mentioned the thing at all since you told him. You don’t know what you’d expected. Questions weren’t really his style, and judgement was, but he didn’t seem to be applying it here. To you. For what you’d been and done to yourself.

Sam had been right. Bucky didn’t care.

Even now, he’s already moved on to glaring at his cup. Poking the gelatin with his spoon, and glaring at it like it ripped off his arm.  

“I told you not to get Jell-O.” You hum, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You don’t like how sweet it is, do you.” 

“I said I know, Butterfly.” Bucky shoots you a glare, but it’s not harsh. It doesn’t bruise over your skin or fester in your head—making you turn over every word to test if it was too far, if you’d crossed a line without knowing and now Bucky would never speak to you again—as you hold his gaze, raising your brows.

It’s amazing, how intensely he can glare while sitting at a table with little rainbows painted over it, slightly hunched into himself because the chair is built for a child, and Bucky is maybe the furthest you can get from that. And his arm is covered in stickers, because after the boy with the prosthetic leg, all the other kids wanted to put stickers on the big, cool man’s arm, and Bucky let them. He’d sighed and knelt down for any kid that asked to add to the collection, and ended up with an entire roster of heroes on the vibranium.

He’d left your Captain America Sam uncovered, in the overlapping mess. You were really trying not to think about that part. Or how he’d grinned at you earlier, or how he’d been looking at you all day—all of you, because you’d made the mistake of showing him how to see the only parts that had remained hidden—or how he was big and grumpy, but still softened ever so slightly whenever the kids would talk to him. 

And he’s still glaring at you. It’s a picture that’s impossible to take seriously, and all that’s on his plate is a single cup of Jell-O, and you had told him. You’d said he wouldn’t like it, and he’d said he’d decide what he likes, Butterfly, and you’d dropped it, but you’d been right. And Bucky looks deeply furious about it, but in a way that’s not a fight, but a game. You don’t need to shrink away from his anger and hide in the dark, because it’s not real. 

Bucky’s a safe place to be. 

But God, he looks adorably ridiculous right now.

His eyes narrow, and a giggle bubbles out of your throat before you can stop it. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, trying and failing to bite down your smile. “It’s- It’s not you- I just-“

You laugh again, and Bucky’s just staring at you, nostrils flaring and jaw clenched. “Jell-O that funny to you, sweetheart?”

“No,” you shake your head, letting out a long, slow breath. “Sorry, I- Do you want some of my fruit?”

You push your plate forward, and Bucky blinks. “What.”

“You’re not going to eat the Jell-O.” You shrug. “Take some fruit.”

Bucky examines you for a long second—the small piece of you that’s starting to get too soft and gooey and happy all the time fluttering under his attentions—and reaches forward slowly. 

He takes an apple, still watching you as he retreats with it in hand, and you give him a small smile of reassurance. He’d acting like you’re going to yank it back and spit in his face.

That… might have happened before.

You push your plate fully to the center of the table.

“Me being wrong that funny to you, huh?” Bucky raises his brows, and you shake your head.

“I- It wasn’t really that funny.”

Bucky gives you a flat look. “Butterfly, you think everything is funny. What was it.”

“If I think everything is funny, you don’t have to worry about this-“

“Well now I am worried about it.”

You flush, and you backed yourself into that corner. Bucky’s keeping you there, pinned under his firm gaze, but you didn’t think about your words—it’s far too easy to not think about your words with Bucky—and now you’re trapped. 

“I won’t be offended. Thick skin.” Bucky pauses, then offers you a small grin. “From the steroids.”

A full, wide smile grabs at you before you can stop it, you don’t bother to try and force it down. “Oh? I thought that the serum wasn’t steroids.”

He shrugs. “It’s not. I just started to doing new steroids. For when you throw Sam at me.”

You snort, shaking your head. “I could not throw Sam. He’s heavy, I think he’s trying plant his wings in his back or something.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Why were you laughing?”

Of course he wouldn’t just drop it. “Bucky-“

“C’mon. I’m serious, sweetheart, I won’t be offended.”

“It’s-“ You sigh, leaning back in your chair and running a hand through your hair. “You looked cute.”

Bucky stares at you, and the apple splits in his hand. “Cute.”

“Yeah.” You shrug, and you really hope one of his powers isn’t super hearing. The mist is rising up your spine under his attention, you can feel your own heartbeat. “This doesn’t have to be weird, Bucky. You have stickers on your arm and you’re sitting in a chair made for a child. It’s cute.”

Blink. Nostril flare. “You made me put stickers on my arm.”

“No, I made you put a sticker. All the others were voluntary.”

“You try saying no to a bunch of kids like that.” He mutters, glaring at the abandoned Jell-O cup, and you raise your brows.

“What happened to thick skin, James?”

“Shut up.”

You laugh again, Bucky’s mouth twitches, and this is too easy. Being his friend is too natural, and that ease is what you’d been trying to avoid, because what he can’t see in you is now something you’re in danger of just telling him, and he is cute, but his smile is starting to do soft things to your bones, and Miles still doesn’t like him-

It’s better to not think about it. You’re allowed to have friends. Miles doesn’t like Sam either, and you’re still his friend. This can just be another Sam.

Nothing about how Bucky’s grinning at you—how you feel your body settling in his presences and that raw piece of you begging for him to touch it—is like Sam. But friends. You just have to not think about it, and remind yourself over and over that you’re friends.

“Oh.” Your eyes widen—something in your brain snapping into place from Bucky’s cute, to he’s your friend, to he’s going to break that plastic spoon—and Bucky frowns at you.

“What’s oh.”

“Wait, give me one-“ You reach down into your bag, digging past extra papers and stray lipsticks until you find it. “Sorry, I forgot this morning, and- Yeah, here.”

Forgotten is a little bit of a lie. You’d gotten distracted, just from the sight of Bucky waiting by your car. 

He was attractive. You’d known he was attractive, because you weren’t fucking blind. 

But now he was being nice to you. And talking to you. And treating you the same even though he knew most anything, where all the suits who recognized you from your past would still sneer and whisper about you where they didn’t think you could hear, still scan over your body and make you offers and tell all the new hires that the boss was a whore, and Miles-

You can’t think about what Miles did, when he learned who you’d been. How that was the first night you hid in the bathroom, and the first long-sleeve shirt in the summer. 

Bucky hadn’t done that. And it’s a bar lower than Hell, but he’d still be clearing it if it was up in the stratosphere, because there’s nothing more to do than treat you like he always has. 

He’d just been standing in the garage, tall and broad, and he’d been watching you carefully, and he was handsome. Really handsome. Carved from stone and making you a little dizzy handsome. And his hair looked soft, and his lips were so pink when they’d pulled into a small smile that started in silver-blue eyes-

And you’d gotten distracted. 

But that wasn’t what this was about.

You drop the mason jar on the table, grabbing out the metal utensils with it, and Bucky blinks at you.

“What’s this.”

“You always eat with plastic stuff.” You shrug, pushing the items forward. “And, uh, laundry.”

“Laundry.” His tone is unreadable. Maybe you fucked this. 

“I remember what you said about the coins, and you were looking at Sam’s washing machine like you wanted to fuck it.” You mumble, push the quarters—trapped in the jar—across the table with a tentative smile. “So unless that’s part of the cyborg thing. Laundry.”

Bucky snorts, but still doesn’t take the jar or utensils. “That’s not part of it. I don’t want to fuck appliances.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Good?”

You flush. “Just because that, um- Can’t be healthy.”

“I’m sure I’d be fine.” He drawls. “If I’m a cyborg, I can probably fuck machines same as I fuck people.”

He’s trying to kill you. His words are probably meant to make you laugh, make you think of him fucking a dryer or microwave, but now all you can think of is Bucky fucking a person. On a bed, under or over him, while he looks at them and watching them fall apart, and it can’t be you, but whenever it’s someone else you feel something tight and sour over your heart, stamping it down until you’re the one under him, and-

Bucky says your name carefully, yanking you from your cruel fantasy—fucking shit, it was not a fantasy, it couldn’t be a fantasy—and you swallow.

“Sorry.”

He frowns. “For what?”

A lot of things. So many things. Uncountable things. “Not giving you the coins sooner. I knew you needed them, I just kept, um, forgetting.”

Bucky’s trying to peel you apart with just his eyes. You don’t like how you can’t tell if he’d care for you when you’re only stripped and bare parts for him to rebuild, or if he’d tear you apart further and sell you out to the highest bidder.

You hate how you feel like he’d care for you. There’s no evidence of that. But you think he would, and that’s incredibly dangerous. 

“You didn’t have to give me these at all.” He says slowly, and you frown at him.

“Yes, I did.”

“No-“

“James.” You lean forward, pulling all of your practiced and artificial command together, raising your chin to hold his gaze. “Take the quarters or I’m sneaking them into your bag.”

Bucky’s mouth twitches slightly. “Think I’d be a pretty shit bodyguard if you could sneak quarters into my own bag.”

“Let’s test it and find out.”

If he pushes back, you will find a way to sneak them into his possession. He needs them, you don’t, and it’s that fucking simple.

But Bucky just sighs, and takes the jar. “Fine.”

You stare at him. You’d really been prepared for more resistance. “Fine?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it.”

You nod slowly, and it is fine. 

It’s more than fine.

It’s nice. Better than it’s been, to see him give you an exasperated look, but not mean it, and keep talking to you. To watch Bucky entertain you, even when you don’t deserve it, and really, fully drop the show.

Because you realize—when you’ve returned to your office, and he’s back on the couch as you sit behind your desk—that you barely touched the Show today. With the children it had been more smoke and mirrors—hiding all the vast and dark ugliness of your life from them, making the parts of you that are alive glow for them more than they do in your body—and with the hospital admins it had been polite smiles and handshakes, paired with exchanges of formal words, but other than that it’s all been Bucky.

There’s no Show with him. It feels good. 

And it’s putting you both in a danger that even Bucky can’t keep you safe from, but you’re selfish. Cruel. Undeserving and horrible.

So you don’t call anything off. Don’t shove Bucky away so he can save himself from where you’re already permanently trapped. 

He’s safe, so you cling to it, and risk taking more.

“James?”

He glances up from his book with raised brows. 

You have no fucking clue where he gotten a book, but he’d looked focused, and you may have been staring at him for long minutes before you called his name. 

Because he’d been focused, and you hadn’t wanted to interrupt.

Not because Bucky looking focused makes that piece of you flutter again, the mist turns hot up your spine, spreading through your whole body.

“You need something translated again?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No, I- Um- Can I ask you a question?”

Bucky doesn’t break your gaze. “That was a question.”

“Bucky-“

He chuckles, nodding and pushing to his feet. “What do you need, Butterfly.”

Oh.

He said that too simply. 

It’s spreading the mist into your gut.

“Your arm.” You mumble, tucking your hair behind your ears. “I- If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll drop it, but I have a few questions, just about the tech, and I’m serious, if you don’t want to answer them I can- I’ll figure it out, so-“

Bucky says your name, and your words die quickly in your throat.

He’s looking at you.

Into you.

It doesn’t set you on edge anymore. If anything, you relax.

“Slow down. You’ll hurt yourself.” He drops in the seat across from your desk, pausing for a second as he watches you carefully.

Only half in the seat. Giving you the chance to kick him out.

You offer him a small nod, and he lets out a slow breath before he continues like there was no hesitation at all. 

“Say what you want.” He grunts, and that’s the voice, so you listen.

“To know about how your arm works.” You whisper, shredding a hopefully unimportant paper between your fingers. “I- I know it’s connected to your nerves a little bit. And I’m wondering if that technology is… transferable? I don’t know, I’m not good at science, I just…”

You trail off, and Bucky raises his brows.

Maybe you’re pushing it too far. He’s never eagerly spoken about his arm, and you’re not that close, no matter how his eyes are still peeling you apart, and you still trust he’s not going to abuse that power-

“For the kids.” He says slowly, and you can almost hear him turning over your idea in his head. “Like at the hospital.”

You don’t know how he got it, but he did. So you give a small nod, and he sighs. 

“This arm is advanced. Wakandan. I have no fucking clue how it works other than the brief rundown I got from Shuri. But,” Bucky leans forward, holding your gaze. “I understood the metal one. That Hydra had me in. I had to do my own repairs on it, when I was the Soldier, and before-“

“Sokovia?”

“Yeah. That.” Bucky sighs. “It wasn’t as realistic as this one this,” his hand flexes in a slight display, and your fingers curl on the paper. You want to touch him. Touching him earlier—the metal cool and rippling under your fingers—was grounding. Fascinating. A little intoxicating, to be that close to him.

That’s not what this is about.

“But I could still feel things with it. Just dulled.” Bucky lets out a long, slow breath, scanning over your face, and you hope he couldn’t see that. The growing, unhelpful hunger that’s going to get you both killed. “I can do that.”

“Do-“

“Give you my best rough schematics.” A small smile tugs to his lips. “I took an engineering course. Turns out I’m not shit at it.”

That doesn’t surprise you at all. You don’t tell him that too. That’s too much, too far, too intimate to say you seem smarter than you care to show people, and you can barely afford having Bucky across the desk.

There’s a cold, quiet dark eating at your brain, and it keeps circling around the idea of Miles walking through the door, seeing Bucky with you, and everything that’s already so fragile crumbling down. You’re stuck in a bird cage, stuck on a tightrope, and you trust Bucky to free you or catch you, but you shouldn’t. You have nothing to back it up but promises he might not be able to fulfill and the fact that he didn’t spit in your face on Sam’s roof. You only have an understanding of him that might be entirely wrong, completely baseless, and it’s all fucking unless anyway.

You can’t save something that’s head is caught in it’s own trap. 

He texts you, as you’re packing up to go home. Bucky gives you a small grin and opens the door, you give him a full-lipped smile that feels a little plastic, and all the dread building in your stomach peaks as your phone buzzes.

Miles

going out

dont wait up

change the sheets

And it’s instant. The relief. 

You’re not free. You’re never free. But it’s a night that won’t inch by, where you won’t sleep on the bathroom floor or keep your body braced at every second, just in case. You won’t have to smile a little wider than is happy and moan a little louder than is pleasure. 

No Show. 

A whole day, without the Show. 

“You good?” Bucky’s voice is close to your ear, and when you glance up, he’s scanning the parking garage. 

Then his eyes fall to yours, and almost lock against them, and your smile widens.

“Butterfly, are you-“

“I’m good.” You whisper, and for once, it’s the truth. Nothing dazzling or flashing around it makes it seem more real. 

You’re just good.

Bucky scans you over, and that raw piece of you flutters. Higher and higher up your spine under his attention and in time with your heartbeat and buzzing over your every nerve until-

“Good.” Bucky give you a tight smile from his eyes, opens your car door, and the fluttering stops.

It doesn’t hurt. It’s not shocking or sickening.

It’s warm. 

Clean. 

Bucky meant it. He doesn’t ask things he doesn’t care to know. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. He opens your door and doesn’t ask for thanks—if it was for thanks, he would’ve likely stopped long ago—and the car ride is lined with soft music because it doesn’t seem to make him scowl as much anymore, and it’s a grace he’s offering you that you don’t think he fully understands. 

“Do you want to come up?” Your offer is soft, because he has no reason to say yes, and you don’t want to ruin whatever rare thing is causing good today by saying the wrong thing a breaking something.

“To your apartment?” Bucky shoots you a brief, odd look that you don’t understand, but you nod anyway.

“Yeah. See the Boy.”

“Ah.” He smirks slightly. “You know, I still think he doesn’t have a real name-“

“Well you haven’t done your reading-“

“You haven’t told me what to read.”

Bucky’s right. You haven’t. Didn’t.

You’d picked up Miles, and it had gotten lost in that bubbling dread. 

But the dread’s not here now. 

“I’ll take anything.”

“You said you were going to ask questions-“

“And I’ll be able to come up with them on the spot.” You give Bucky a pointed look. “Or do you not believe in me?”

He scoffs. “Belief isn’t what I’m worried about. You’re going to ask me something insane.”

“No, I’m not-“

“Yeah, you will. And you won’t think it’s insane, and that’ll make it more difficult.”

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring out to the road. “It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate my genius.” You mutter. “Sounds like a you problem, Bucky-“

“Wouldn’t be. If you gave me that list.”

“Are you coming up to my apartment or not?”

“You really want me up there?”

“Yes.”

Your answer is too fast. Too certain. 

If Bucky catches that, he doesn’t even give you a strange look. His fingers only flex on the wheel, and he gives you a small nod.

“Alright, then.”

It’s not a long visit. Bucky comes in, kicks his shoes off without a word, and stands awkwardly in the kitchen until you remind him sitting is allowed. 

The Boy finds him fast, jumping up on Bucky’s lap with a squeaking noise, and letting you occupy yourself with the bookshelf. 

All the on-display books are ones Miles has approved of. Ones that make you seem like high-minded and sharp people who deserve these types of apartments, rather than the too loud and messy and angry monster and Her keeper. Books that are boring, made of pointlessly long words and a filter of gray over all the scenes, until all you’re looking at is the fog.

Bucky doesn’t need the fog. And he seems content on your couch with the Boy, so you shuffle your way upstairs. 

It’s worryingly easy to find a book Bucky will like. You find too many books you think Bucky will like, but they all end the same way.

With the dark, heaviness of tragedy. 

“You know how the Wizard of Oz got turned into a movie?” You ask him, moving back down the stairs, and Bucky twists to face you with a small frown.

“Yeah, but I only saw it once.”

“Awesome. So this,” You set the book on the couch near Bucky’s head, he angles the cover to read the title. “Has a movie to go with it, too. And we can watch it, after you read the book.”

Bucky pauses, giving you another unreadable look. “We?”

Shit. “Yeah,” you mumble, playing with your hair as your nudge the book a little further forward. “If you want. But you have to read first.”

He grunts, grabbing the book to read the blurb on the back, and shoots you a glower seconds later.

You return it with a sweet smile, and he sighs.

“Why does it have to be romance.” He grumbles, thumbing through the pages, and you shrug.

“It has a happy ending.”

That earns you another strange look. “There have to be other happy endings that aren’t romance-“

“Nope. The Princess Bride is the only happy book in history. Deal with it, Buck.”

His jaw twitches. “I know that isn’t true.”

“You can’t prove it. C’mon.” You give him slight pout. “Please?”

Bucky gives up shockingly fast, with only a flare of his nostrils and a tight nod. He stands, stuffs the book in his bag, and kneels down until he’s eye to eye with the Boy.

“Next time I see you, I’ll have your name, Buddy. She,” he points to you, never breaking eye contact with the cat. “Can’t come between us.”

“And you said you didn’t want a romance book.”

“Shut up, or I’ll ask Sam his name.”

You stick your tongue out at him as he rises to his feet. “Sam would never betray me like that-“

“He would if I promise to listen to his music instead of reading.”

Shit. Sam would do that, and you don’t know why Bucky’s entertaining this at all.

“I won’t, though.” Bucky shrugs, moving to the door. “I’m honorable.”

You giggle, and it’s light, and the day is still good. “Of course you are. What was I thinking-“

“Save it.” Bucky grins at you, and it’s almost glowing from his eyes. “Bye, Butterfly. See you tomorrow.”

You raise your hand, giving him a small wave before the door closes behind him. “See you tomorrow, James.”

He will.

But it won’t be as good. 

And you want to cling to this for as long as you can.

It’s mostly the momentum. For the first time in a week, you find yourself on the bed with your Hydra papers—you’ve kept them hidden in the one place Miles will never look, your toiletries cabinet—shifting over all the codes as the Boy prances around the mattress.

You tell him what you’re working on. It’s a habit you build during the Blip, to keep yourself from going mad with loneliness. 

Now it’s mostly just there to keep the long nights a little more at bay.

“I’ve gotten most of it,” you say, and the Boy stops to look at you. Like he’s actually listening. “You have to look past the Russian. All of the words are synonyms, in a pattern. Then once you get the pattern, it’s mostly all numbers. Twenty-seven, twelve, sixteen, nineteen, eighty-four, ninety, ninety-nine, a lot of zeroes. I don’t understand what those mean, though. I’ve only gotten one sentence, and it’s all weird biblical doomsday stuff. There’s like, a demon name, and another name that’s probably like, Russian.” You frown at the Boy, still watching you. “It would probably help if I spoke Russian.” You sigh. “So it goes.”

You’ve really almost gotten it.

You keep thinking of Bucky.

It’s distracting. The flashing images of his hands, metal and skin, on the wheel, and opening doors, and planted on the desk across from you. How he speaks with the tiniest accent that comes out in drawls, and how he says your name like it’s natural now, and how you want him to keep saying it. Keep being near you. Keep liking you, and looking at you, and seeing you. The feeling of his attention, tattooing over your skin and clawing its way up to the surface, because you want to feel that again.

You want to have something good that you don’t have to dance to earn and keep. 

You want to see what Bucky looking at you, and only you, would feel like. 

In the cafeteria, where he’s there not because it’s his job and he refuses to just take a day off. Where he’s there just for you. To talk to you, because he claims he likes it, and you have no proof that he’s lying. He even keeps up with you. Never misses a beat. 

Fixing things because he wants to fix them for you. Because you could, somehow, be someone worth fixing things for, and Bucky seems good at it. He seems good at everything you’re not, and immovable where you think it wouldn’t be horrible to be kept. 

Where the mist moves through your body, deeper and deeper, and you can see Bucky hanging around you at a game night, and letting you speak. Writing. Tell him what to do, then you doing it, before finding somewhere private that’s not just so you can whine.

A little so you can whine. He’d press you to a wall, and you’d be able to feel all of his controlled strength, as he held you, and he’d be looking at you.

Handsome and looking at you, and not moving away when his voice drops near your ear, and he’d say-

“I’m gonna take care of you.” Bucky drawls, hauling you a little further up his chest, until you’re straddling his thigh. “And it’ll feel good, sweet girl. Nothin’ gonna hurt you while I’m here, and I’m not going,” he guides your hips in a smooth roll over the corded muscle. “Fucking anywhere.”

You believe him. It’s all a little hazy, but you can see the blue of Bucky’s eyes and hear that command in his voice, and he’s not going anywhere. Here, in a misty and hazy world that’s all good, and you’re safe. 

And Bucky’s touching you.

Everywhere.

Trailing hands on your thighs and over your stomach and gripping you by your waist, guiding you to keep grinding down onto his thigh until you’re gasping his name.

“Sounds so good,” He mutters your name in your ears, squeezing your hips three times. “Love it when I can hear you, keep making those pretty sounds for me-“

You make a loud one, as his fingers shove deep into your cunt. A gasping, high and needy one that makes Bucky groan, and your brow falls to his shoulder as he starts to pump.

It’s building. That lightheaded and dizzy sensation that makes you feel like you’re made of stars. And Bucky only feeds it, muttering more and more filth in your ear, the cold of the wall behind you nothing to the perfect warmth of his bare chest, pressed right to yours.

“Cum for me, babydoll.”

You sit up with sweat stuck to your brow, a strangled moan, and a heat in your core that snapping and sending small shivers through your body.

You’d fallen asleep. And the sheets have gathered around your legs. Between your thighs.

Bucky’s low voice is still in your ears.

You don’t know what just happened.

That’s going to be a problem.

End Note: Plot about it crash into us like a fucking freight train. Also i had a whole long paragraph about WHY they're falling for each other so fast, but I think if I'm doing my job even kind of okay, it'll be able to speak for itself. If not, i LOVE yapping, so feel free to ask or talk about it!

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[doc-davey]

King Saul’s evil spirit, also known as the Ruach Ra’ah

I want to show some of the characters from my Saul retelling, The Book of Saul, and one of the major ones that take part of Saul’s life is Ze’ev, who is King Saul’s evil spirit but personified as a spirit always taking the form of a wolf in Saul’s visions.

I have yet to properly introduce him, but I will now lol.

I draw him frequently with Saul and I have a lot planned for him. He’s his own character instead of simply being the vaguely mentioned evil spirit that attacks Saul in the Bible lol. In the story, there’s some heavy lore that Ze’ev carries, and when he first actively interacts with Saul (right after being rejected as king), he becomes Saul’s conscience, and a guide, as he twists truths for his own benefit and amusement.

To summarize Ze’ev’s character, Ze’ev can be interpreted in many ways. He is basically the essence of Saul’s subconscious containing his deepest fears and regrets. Saul’s mentality will be reflected on Ze’ev who guides Saul, seeking truths he desperately yearns for, through 7 seven visions. No matter how hard Saul tries, he cannot escape the spirit always appearing before him. And also, those 7 visions are basically Saul’s hell with different truths revealed to him. Ze’ev finds so much joy in watching him suffer, yet he is able to have Saul always running back to him for help. Ze’ev knows very well that Saul has absolutely no one to turn to as he takes advantage of his helplessness.

As for Ze’ev’s appearance, he is usually a wolf, and there are two reasons why Ze’ev appears as a wolf. One being the tribe symbol for Benjamin, the tribe Saul’s from, which is represented with a wolf, and in the past I had called Ze’ev the “Wolf of Benjamin”, but I ended up changing his name lol. But the second reason resonates with Saul more deeply, where in the story, Saul is terrified of wolves due to traumatic experiences with them, and it comes off basically as a phobia Saul has (I believe the phobia for wolves is called “lupophobia”, that’s what Saul would have oof). But ironically, Saul is from Benjamin, and he’d be surrounded by wolf symbols as a benjaminite king ruling the place. And plus, Ze’ev is almost always a wolf, and if you recall what I’ve said, Ze’ev is the essence of Saul’s mind made up of his darkest fears and regrets while appearing in Saul’s visions.

I could literally go on and on about the evil spirit Ze’ev, but I would be crossing spoiler territory if I do loll.

But some small things about him: Ze’ev shapeshifts a lot, and his form is always moving in place. And he has a HUGE tail that constantly flows.

But lastly, this one means a lot to me lmaoo, but hear me out on this. When it comes to Ze’ev’s voice, I usually either have him speak with both a male and a female voice that intermingles at the same time (for reference, it’s just like Satan’s voice from that creepy Mark Twain clay animation movie. Look it up if you’re curious lol). Or, Ze’ev speaks as a distorted version of Saul’s voice.

Butttt, I can’t help but headcanon his voice as Will Wood when it comes to visualizing him in my head. Ze’ev sings as well (he sometimes sings to lure Saul), and whenever he sings, all I can hear is Will Wood. Ack, Will Wood!!! 🔥 And I know I’m being biased because I LOVE Will Wood (pls if you’re a Will Wood fan you gotta let me know 😭). But outside of the book, I imagine Ze’ev’s voice as Will Wood’s lolllll.

I already have a bunch of Saul and Ze’ev animatics planned, but if I do make an animatic/animation with Ze’ev, it’s going to be a Will Wood song.

[cerastes]

Today is Day 9 Of Me Playing Girls' Frontline 2.

Like any other gacha, the start is braindead because they need even the most non-sentient of creatures to be able to clear. This is nothing new, but it really stuck out like a sore thumb in this particular case because this game heavily uses the XCOM formula as its inspiration. For the uninitiated, the original 1994 X-COM: UFO Defense starts incredibly brutal and only gets harder as you advance. The 2012 reboot, XCOM: Enemy Unknown starts reasonably brutal and scales pretty harshly and always demanding you really, really are learning what your tools can do and what the game mechanics are as you basically fight an asymmetrical Civilization III game against an opponent that 1) outguns you most of the way and 2) fights you with the hatefulness one only reserves for someone that has fucked one's wife. GFL2 starts you off against enemies that require absolutely no tactical acumen whatsoever, that do not use cover, and that deal pitiful amounts of damage even if you yourself don't use cover. This lasts a little too long for comfort but again it's industry standard. Once you get to parts of the game that require sentience, it's fun to see how they've gone about the flow of combat: You're basically pitting your characters with their own special conditions, specialties and passives against many enemies that initially are simple as hell (they just move and shoot) but steadily become more complex and nuanced (enemies that target an area for bombardment at the end of their turn, enemies that can counter in specific circumstance, enemies that trap your enemies with overwatch fire, reaction intereceptions, AoE, etc). The system definitely has potential. I've yet to truly find anything actually challenging that wasn't me fighting enemies 10-20 levels higher than my units, but the fundamentals of cover and risk-reward are there even on-level; if you get shot at completely exposed, you are going to take hefty damage (unless you are rocking a Suomi shield).

The biggest departure from XCOM proper is that there is no accuracy: All attacks will always hit, unless certain abilities outright deny the damage -- like certain enemy Medics that can use the Anesthesia skill to negate one instance of damage -- and the game really favors a more aggressive style for both the player and the enemy through the Stability System: All units have a Stability counter, which decreases by certain amounts depending on the attack received. Once it's depleted, units can only benefit from the most bare and basic defensive effects of cover, which are not very good. Stability Break also may have additional special effects on certain enemies, chiefly bosses, resulting in extra damage taken, reduced attack power, changing forms, losing certain active or passive skills, etc. As a huge fan of systems like this, I Enjoy.

The game is gorgeous looking: The environments are highly detailed, the character models are incredibly well made, the guns are lovingly sculpted. I know the overarching meme is that it's got the best anime girl feet in the industry -- and it's true, they put more love into rendering and modelling these girls' feet, stockings and socks that I've seen parents put into raising their children -- but the model quality is truly overarching, they spared no effort in any obvious area, it's a really gorgeous looking game. The sound design and the music are all fine and have not wowed me in any special way, really, but visually, good lord, the game truly does go hard. Another thing the game does really well is video cutscenes, the action and choreography of actually very decently lengthy cutscenes they show pretty often go very hard, with good explosions, good gunplay, fluid and good looking motions, etc. The animation direction in GFL2 is really, really good, something I wasn't expecting given they've not really delved on this area particularly in previous games. They probably hired a really good studio for this-slash-got themselves some very talented and skilled personnel for it.

The game economy is Post-Mihoyo style: There's a set cast of Max Rarity characters, called Elites in the game's nomenclature, that inhabit a Standard Banner with absolutely fucking horrendous rates. 0.6% chance of rolling anything Max Rarity, 0.3% of an Elite Doll, 0.3% of an Elite Weapon. Besides this, there's the Limited Banners, which is every banner ever, meaning post-launch Elites are all Limited with a Limited Signature Weapon. In other words, shit sucks. The only saving grace is that the game, in thankfully true XCOM fashion, is much less about having Strong Individual Units, and much more about having a team with good synergy, and there's plenty of great non-Elites you'll have plenty of copies of. Gameplaywise, you won't get shafted by not having the Newest Woman With A Broken Kit, which is good. Signature Weapons so far from what I've seen are very nice to have but no functionality is tied to them and no character feels incomplete without their Signature Weapon or without multiples dupes, which is really good practice and a deal breaker for me if it's present. About the only stupidly broken character I can think off right this second is definitely Suomi, who supports so incredibly well that she lets you Not Play XCOM. She's seriously and hilariously busted and futureproofed.

The writing is pretty damn stiff. This is nothing new with Sunborn. The thing with Sunborn is that when it hits highs, they are VERY high, but the trip to those highs is clunky and stiff, with an overabundance of nothingburger technobabble and tacticool filler dialogue that, were this a megahit the way One Piece is, would definitely inspire a dogged group of fans to make a website that tells you exactly where to read and where to skip to avoid all the meaningless filler. Even if you like some tacticool, it's just SO much of it that serves no purpose. The characters are... Unfortunately, not super fun. Our old friend Oats, ahem, Groza (OTs-14) is there, and she's fun, but the rest of the characters have not done a good job to endear me to them: Colphne I'm pretty ok with, Nemesis and Krolik really have exhausted the fucks I can give for them by this point (I'm in Chapter 4). This is particularly painful in the case of Nemesis for me, a character whose design I really, really love and who I was looking forward to a lot. Nemesis' whole thing is that she literally cannot speak normally and has to communicate entirely in cryptic theater kid ramblings, and Krolik conversely only exists as the only person that can somehow accurately decipher what the fuck it is she's saying. This is charming for all of three cutscenes before it becomes very old and basically filler: Nemesis says "The embers of starlight long forgotten by statues lingers in the fingertips of the deaf" and Krolik replies with "Hah!? Who are you calling a coward?! I'll beat you up!" because Nemesis shittalks Krolik a lot, and that's the crux of both of their personalities. I know they are building Nemesis for something else but good lord it's torturous and stale. There's a Super Powered Child that I don't care about and she's the main plot device. Mayling is funny and endearing, and I like her. We meet characters from Ye Olde GFL 1 days and so far it's been pretty nice every time: Suomi, Lenna (UMP9), Kalina, Leva (UMP45), always a good time hanging with them. I particularly enjoy how divorced Commander and Kalina are. Oh, the Commander (your character) is an actual character, fully voiced and all, I like that a lot, and I like them. You can choose a male or female Commander, with fully 3D rendered distinct non-obscured, non-masked models and that's pretty damn cool. Still, can't help but miss the bangers that were ST AR-15, RO635, DEFY, and others from GFL1.

There's plenty of stuff to do without using Stamina, especially event stuff, but I fear that once you run out of it, you enter that weird limbo of "logging in, autoclearing the RNG drops mode, logging out". I'm not there yet but I dread reaching it. I know they just launched the game here (1 year old in CN) but, I guess I've been immensely spoiled by Arknights' several replayable game modes, this game, being XCOM in nature, would ROCK a roguelite mode or some sort of replayable game mode so much.

Overall, it's been a pretty nice time, as someone who dropped but nonetheless greatly enjoyed GFL, it's great seeing the Old Friends better than ever. My friend Suomi and my friend Tololo (CHILE MENTIONED 🇨🇱🇨🇱🇨🇱) are there for me and I'm glad to hang out with them again. I wish my friend Sabrina would also join me sooner than later :'). Color me surprised that so far, the gameplay seems both fun and has potential, but we'll see how it goes from here. Overall: Good first impression.

Say something nice about my friend Tololo