#i should set up a tag system at some point

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Carrier"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC x Steve Rogers

Tags: a/b/o, sci-fi, space travel, alien species, m/f/m, interspecies sex, breeding kink, slavery, double penetration, knots, induced heats, forced drug use, dub con

Summary: On a trading voyage to the primitive outer rim, Steve and Bucky purchase their very own terran breeder to serve as carrier for their young.

Part I. "Patriots Populate"

By the time Bucky gets back from the canteen, he’s relieved to hear that the screaming has stopped … or at least lulled. He stands outside the domicile for a moment, straining to hear anything, but it’s quiet. 

He balances the food containers one atop each other and kicks the door’s sensor to get it to open, then once again to get it to close, reminding himself that he needs to put in a maintenance rec for that before Steve decides to divorce him. He peeks over the top of their dinners to take in the gods-only-knows how bad state of their living quart— Oh.

He lowers the containers, which he’d been using to buffer the expected scene of destruction that he thought he'd be returning to. But the room isn’t in any worse shape than it was when he left twenty minutes ago. In fact, a few things have been picked up, the chairs righted, the trinkets that the local population gifted them with put back into place. Bucky looks over at Steve, who’s seated on the couch, then at the terran, who appears to have collapsed on the floor in front of the couch, with her cheek plonked on the cushion right beside Steve’s knee. “Well,” Bucky says. “I see the drugs kicked in.”

Steve grunts. He’s sitting slumped back against the cushions, looking almost as tired as the girl. “Look, I love you and everything, but are we sure we’re ready for this?” He looks pointedly at the female as if to say, And enjoy more of this bliss? “There’s always adoption.”

Bucky snickers and goes to set the containers of food on the kitchen counter. “That’d cost more than three breeding slaves.” 

Steve blows air out between his teeth in unhappy agreement. “Right. I guess that’d kind of defeat the whole point.”

“‘Patriots Populate’,” Bucky quips, making air quotes around the tired Federation slogan. “Don’t worry. Children aren’t hard to raise, just to make.”

“She was so angry,” Steve worries out loud. “How do we know there isn’t something wrong with her?” 

Bucky leaves the question unanswered and comes over to sit on the opposite couch facing Steve and their newly-acquired terran. “She’ll calm down,” he decides. “They always do.” Steve purses his lips and continues to look the girl over critically. Bucky can see the distaste he has for her tattoos, so he decides to quash that before it even gets going. “Lasers,” he drawls. 

“An extra expense.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, because he’s the one who’s always a stickler for profit margins, not Steve. He can tell when his husband is angling for something, and he refuses to take the bait. “Half this system is primitive,” he says. “Any female we’d get out here would likely have them. It’s an easy fix, babe. Just be glad there aren't any on her face. You should see some of the ones down in cargo pop."

“She doesn’t even speak our language.”

“That’s what they chip ‘em for.” He stretches sideways to reach for the domicile’s datapad, navigating on screen. “Here. You want a standard Federation accent? or ‘exotic lilt’?” Steve glares at him, and Bucky shrugs and taps the screen. “‘Exotic lilt’ it is.” He glances at the girl’s slack neck to check that her implant’s receiving properly. The little blue light shows faintly through her skin, indicating that it is. “There,” he says, tossing the datapad aside. “She’ll have it down pat by the end of the day, I bet.” 

Steve scoffs. “Great. She can curse at us in a language we actually understand.” 

“Well what would you suggest, a gag?” Bucky snaps, losing some of his patience. “I don’t think they’ve worked out how to erase a native language yet, unfortunately, so unless you want to have her tongue removed … ?” Steve shoots him another reproachful look, and Bucky stops being gross (they’re slavers, but they’re not those kinds of slavers). “She’ll be fine,” he insists. “Can’t expect miracles on the first day.” 

Steve hesitates. “Look ... Maybe we should reconsider. Get someone once we’re back.”

Bucky groans and shuts his eyes. “Steve, no.”

“A centralized system would at least have—”

“Humongous fees and inner rim taxes that we can’t afford!” he snaps, not interested in having this discussion again. He gestures down at the unconscious girl on the floor. “Bruce did a full genetic mapping. A high compatibility breeder—that’s what you said you cared about, and Bruce says they’ve got the highest genetic match he’s seen in years.”

“Right!” Steve argues. “So we’ll be making great profit on this haul. Enough to afford—”

“Steve!” Bucky leans forward, pissed. He jabs his finger at his husband. “You may have forever to do this, but I don’t. My eggs are on a fucking timetable.”

“I know that,”

“I’m not letting your anxiety issues fuck up the plan again,” he says tersely. “Now I agreed that the eighteen months to get out here would be worth it for what we’d save in costs, but we’ve got half a year left on this haul, and then it’s the same eighteen months back to Federation territory. And I’m not getting any fucking younger. How many more times do you think I’m even gonna go into season?!” He regrets being sharp as soon as he sees how pinched and sad Steve’s face gets in response.

“I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes, looking down. “I … I know. You’re right.” 

Bucky sighs. If he’s being honest, part of his anger is really with himself. He’s the one who decided to focus on his military career for so many years, after all. He’s the one who wasted his youth taking marching orders on little more than dewy-eyed idealism, buying into all the bullshit, all the Federation’s propaganda of speciestic pride and civic duty, honor and glory. And where had that gotten him? What has it gotten him? Not what he’d thought. Or to be fair, maybe he never even really did think that far. Fervor will do that to a fool. Two decades spent traveling from one edge of the galaxy to the next, racking up rank and reputation with the IDF, and now come to find out it doesn’t even really mean much. Not in the grand scheme of things, anyway.

Having his mate, building a home and a life, starting a family line that he can cultivate and be proud of, a legacy that he can watch prosper into something bigger than himself, something better than what he had, and all while he grows old with the man he loves. That’s what really matters. What good is a life spent seeking prosperity if you have no one to pass it on to? 

These past few years, he and Steve have put all their energies into this venture with the Guild; buying the Scythe and bagging ten-million-credit contracts, embracing the entrepreneurial spirit, entertaining that universal boyhood fantasy of playing explorer and making big things go ‘vroom’ in space. They’d long ago agreed to put off starting a family so that they could have those types of adventures, go out on that limb, live that dream. Always forging ahead with the same, ignorant notion maintained: that they have all the time in the world to settle down.

Seven solars ago it had felt that way. But Bucky’s almost forty now, and finding a young, compatible female to be their carrier isn’t the only concern anymore. As the egg-bearing parent of their breeding pair, Bucky’s got an expiration date that Steve simply doesn’t. And sometimes he gets frustrated because it seems like Steve conveniently forgets that. “Sorry I snapped,” he mumbles anyway, rubbing his face tiredly. “I shouldn’t have.”

“... So, Banner said it’ll definitely be today?” Steve checks, his way of making peace.

“Next thirty-six hours was what he said this morning.”

“But how long do you feel like it’ll be?”

“Less than eight,” Bucky admits, dragging his hands all the way down his face. “Probably tonight, if the way my balls feel is any indication.” Steve chuckles and makes a dirty remark about them not needing to wait for the terran to wake up, to start having fun with each other, but Bucky waves him off, because he really does feel close, and he doesn’t want to waste his surely-dwindling egg supply on a fucking blowjob. 

That’s another big reason why he doesn’t want to scrap the terran girl and start over. He’s in season for the first time in over ten months, and he’ll be ovulating very soon. If he and Steve return the slave, if they don’t grab their window this time, well … Bucky will officially have to wait until he is forty-two solars old and back in the inner rim to even attempt to become a father again (assuming that he could even afford to acquire an inner rim slave in the first place, which is doubtful). Even if it wasn’t, there’s still the matter of time. It just seems silly and wasteful to let this chance pass them by when they already have a highly genetically compatible breeder, bought and paid for, right here to serve as their carrier. 

Steve inhales deeply and sends Bucky a soft look. “Hey,” he says. “I love you.”

Bucky smiles back. “Love you too.” 

They both look down at the slumped form of the female. “At least she’s pretty?” Steve says, and Bucky hums in agreement. He’d been the one to pick her out, while Steve was away dealing with cargo transfer and playing diplomat with the locals. He’d given Steve’s physical preferences more weight than his own, though Bucky thinks their female is attractive, too. There are no obvious morphological differences between their two species that he can see, at least not beyond the superficial.

He lets his gaze drag over her assessingly. She’s naked, save for the temporary shift garment that they give all the slaves so that they don’t have to go around butt ass naked during transport day. It’s sleeveless and covers her from shoulder to shin, but it’s still easy to assess most of her body through the thin, biodegradable fabric. Sometimes there will be minor physical differences in the populations that they trade in, especially out here on the outer rim. But so far Bucky’s seen hundreds of these people, and the only trait of note that he can pick out is the greater variance in coloring. Unlike Steve and Bucky’s people, these terrans range from very pale, to very dark skinned. They have many more shades of hair, and some of them even have red hair! The one Bucky’s picked out has a variant of it, her mid length hair bearing a rich, auburn shade that reminds him of the peeling ironwoods in fall, back home.

“Didn’t think they’d be so small,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah, me neither. Makes sense though, with the higher gravity and all.” Bucky thinks he can remember their own females being a bit larger than this one, on average. Though it’s been a long time since he’s seen one. “Do you remember your Oma?” he asks Steve.

“Not really. I was three.” 

Bucky hums sadly. He’d been seven. “I think they were bigger.”

“Well, Banner swears she’ll be a great fit.” 

Bucky snorts at the double entendre, and after a moment of being a prude, Steve laughs too. “That’s what the drugs were supposed to be for,” Bucky says, still peering at her as he waits to see if she’ll stir anytime soon. He’s starting to get a little anxious over how long she’s been unconscious. “How long’s it been since she conked out?” Her breathing seems normal …

“Not long. Maybe three, four minutes before you got back with the food?” 

He frowns when he estimates that he’s been back in their quarters for an additional three or four minutes now. He thinks about calling down to ask if everything is going okay with cargo pop. “The fuck dosage did Banner work up?” he grunts. With the genetic profiles so isolated out in these more primitive systems, they’ve had to reformulate the cocktail for virtually every new population they harvest from. But even still, it’s usually just a matter of very minor adjustments for body mass. The female currently drooling onto their couch cushion isn’t that much smaller than those of the last haul, but …

“Did he say how long they gestate for?” Steve wonders.

“Nine months,” Bucky says, and Steve guffaws.

“Jeez. They’re like rabbits!”

Bucky snickers and agrees. “She might go to twelve or thirteen with one of ours.” It isn’t uncommon. Other than immune rejection, the only significant worry with using alien carriers is if the female’s womb can stretch enough to accommodate their young. Even with drugs to facilitate the process, Bucky knows how lucky it is that their kind is able to breed so flexibly. The genetic profiles have to be similar of course, and the process only works with gestational carriers. Something about the cross-species gametes is incompatible. Fertilization never works out. But for carriers, outsourcing works just fine. 

All of a sudden, the girl on the floor stirs a little, which eases Bucky’s concerns about a possible overdose. Steve makes a surprised noise and then looks excitedly at Bucky. “She moved!”

“Yeah.” Bucky relaxes further back on the couch as both he and Steve continue to watch her. She scrunches her face sleepily, still not awake yet. It’s kind of cute. She opens her mouth wide and gulps in air, making a weird noise. Bucky raises an eyebrow and Steve looks alarmed.

“What is that? What’s she doing?” 

“I dunno.” 

She doesn’t wake up after doing the gulping thing. She merely sighs. A moment later she does it once more, and Steve whines worriedly. “We should call Banner.” 

Bucky refrains from rolling his eyes. “She’s breathing fine, babe.” 

“How do you know?” Steve argues. “She’s gasping for air. That can't be ... that can’t be good.”

“She’s not gasping, she’s gulping.” 

“Call Banner.”

Bucky’s already pulling the datapad back over and pointing it at the female to take a short video of the gulping the next time it happens. It’s like a big, long gulp, followed by a harsh, fast sigh. “Take a chill pill, hon,” he drawls, tapping the screen for an analysis of the footage. He reads the information that the AI generates, and reports out loud to his still worried mate: “It’s called yawn. It’s normal. Not a sign of illness or injury.” 

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what it says. Says here that it can indicate fatigue.” He scrolls down farther, reading the information that’s come up on their terran. “‘Yawn’, he murmurs, testing out the word. “She’s doing a yawn. It’s normal for the species.”

“Which is?”

He scrolls back over the analysis, skimming for taxonomy. He’s aware that the planet is called Earth, but he isn’t sure what the terrans themselves are called. (Earthians? Earthers? Earthlings?) “Here.” He says when finds it. “Hu-man.”

“Oh.” They both look down at their slumped female, thinking the same thing at the same time. “Hu-woman?” Steve guesses.

“I don’t think so.”

“Hew-MEN,” Steve pronounces.

“HEW-men,” Bucky corrects, then second guesses himself and tries it out a couple different ways under his breath (“Hew … hoo … hew-men. Hew-min … ) “HEW-men,” he decides. “It’s definitely HEW-men.”

“Hu-man,” Steve says, pronouncing it the way that Bucky’s settled on, and Bucky nods in agreement. “Human.”

“Terran,” Bucky mutters.

In all honesty, these people aren’t too dissimilar from the last population they sourced, except for that these ones really are “terrans” in the true sense of the word, having been completely planet-bound up until their system’s colonization just a few generations prior. Theirs is presently a pre-digital society, due to some sort of energy weapons disaster that took place over a hundred solars ago—Or at least, that’s what Bucky’s cultural liaison had told him when she’d handed over a strange mask for him to wear. They were cumbersome, but purportedly mandatory for survival at the planet's ground level.

(“A disaster of our own making, I’m afraid. Happened back in my great grandparents’ generation. All major cities went black, industries down for decades, soil contaminated four inches deep. It essentially threw us back into an early industrial age—for civilians, leastways. Not like here on base. We’ve made good progress with farmland and infrastructure, but there’s still a long way to go.”)

That’d been yesterday, Bucky and his crew making all of the requisite diplomatic stops at the first and then second docking stations. Their guide, herself an expat of the planet, had explained the history and conditions on the ground: how over ninety percent of humans now live primitively, and never travel off-world in their lifetime.

Maybe that’s why their new female threw such a tantrum, Bucky thinks. In his experience, fear is the biggest driver of anger. Fear of the unknown. The language download should help greatly with that. Or at least he dearly hopes so. The girl had been so destructive before, and with a ship that always seems to be managing to fall apart in seven different ways, Bucky doesn’t take kindly to having any of his personal shit unnecessarily broken. He regards her where she’s sitting slumped on the floor at Steve’s feet, body leaning against the couch and her head lolled on the cushion next to Steve’s knee. “I’m gonna call the doc,” Bucky decides. “Just to be safe.” If nothing else, he needs to know if this is happening to the entirety of cargo pop.

Steve moves his knee to gently nudge her. Her face twitches again, but other than that she doesn’t stir. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Bucky uses the datapad to call his chief medical officer. Once he has Banner on holoprojection, he indicates their human and explains her reaction to the drugs. “She's been out for almost ten minutes. But like I said, she’s twitching now, so …”

Through the display, Banner scratches his head. “Yeah. We were seeing the same thing down here. I thought maybe the gauge was off and we’d just over-gassed them. But if it’s happening via injection too, then it’s an overall dosage miscalculation. I’ll fiddle with it.” He apologizes sheepishly and reassures them that their newly-acquired female should be back to normal soon. 

Steve asks if they’ll be able to breed her that day. “Should we wait?” he worries, nudging her lolling head with his knee again. “I mean … are the drugs still doing what they’re supposed to?”

“Once she regains consciousness the prep should still have taken effect,” Banner advises. “Just make sure she’s physically receptive. It’ll be easy to tell. Their females have similar arousal responses as ours do … Erm, did. It’s mostly the males that differ.”

“Differ how?” Bucky asks, then sits there with increasingly rising eyebrows as Banner tells him that human males have no designations: no eggs, no barbs, not even knots.

“Wait, what?” Steve squints. “But if they don’t have designations … I mean … Then what even are they?”

“Human males are sperm-bearing only. They fertilize the eggs.”

“But you just said they don’t have eggs,” Bucky re-checks, confused when Banner affirms it. “So they’re all alpha?”

“Well they don’t call themselves that, but essentially, yes.” Banner nods. “Sperm-bearing.”

“Then how the fuck do they reproduce without omegas?” Bucky wants to know.

“They have two party reproduction. The females are egg-bearing, and they carry the pregnancy. They do both.” 

On the other couch, Steve makes a fascinated sound. “Weird!” He and Bucky spend another moment wrapping their heads around that notion. “But … it won’t hurt her, right?” Steve checks again.  Bucky rolls his eyes but says nothing. 

“No. Everything’s formulated to enhance the arousal response— minimize strain, optimize the womb for implantation, and loosen the pelvic structure,” Banner promises. “Their females really are very well suited to it. I was just telling Barnes the other day. It’s the highest interspecies compatibility I’ve seen in quite some time.” 

“Hence why we just bought five thousand units,” Bucky says pointedly, looking at Steve. “You see? She’ll be fine.”

Outside of the holofield on Banner’s end, someone in the room calls out. Banner speaks with the person off screen, then announces to Steve and Bucky that he has to go. “Call me if you have any problems,” he says distractedly, then the holo cuts out.

That’s when the girl begins to blink her eyes open. Bucky can’t help but tense up a little bit, anticipating another tantrum like before. But he relaxes as a minute passes, and then two, and she becomes fully awake and doesn’t start yelling. She lifts her head, sits up straight, and does another one of the gulps—the “yawns,” this one much more intense than before. She looks around the room and pouts once she sees Steve and Bucky sitting there watching her attentively, but at least she remains calm.

Bucky’s shoulders untense. Thank the Makers. “Welcome back,” he says, making sure to speak slowly and clearly. “The medicine we gave you made you fall asleep for a few minutes. But the doctor says you’ll be fine.”

Her eyes go wide as she realizes that she can understand what he’s saying. Bucky smirks and waits to let her process that, before he figures that he should also let her know, “You learned it while you were sleeping. It’s called Federalese.” Again, she frowns, clearly not understanding how that’s possible. She even looks a little disturbed. Given what he knows about her primitive culture, Bucky isn’t entirely sure that terms like “download” or “nano-neural” will help explain it any better. So instead he tells her, “It might feel difficult or awkward for a day or so, but the more you hear it and use it, the easier it’ll come.”

“H-how?” she says, and Bucky thinks: Aw, her first word. (Hey, at least it’s not a swearword. Small blessings.) “How … how, is, this … poss-ible?” she stammers.

“We have a lot of technology that you won’t ever have seen before,” Bucky explains. “But Steve and I will teach you.” The female whips her head to look at Steve, realizes how close she is to him, and scoots her butt away on the floor by a few inches. It’s cute.

Steve offers her a smile and a little wave. “Hey. I’m Steve.” (They’ve already done introductions, but she’d been deep in histrionics at the time, so. Probably worth repeating.)

“And I’m Bucky. We met at the Mile High. You remember that?” Bucky isn’t entirely sure that she will. He’d been present when they woke her up, but she’d been awfully disoriented at the time—not atypical when being decanted after any length of time spent in suspended animation. Frankly, if Bucky had been sourcing from anywhere other than the Mile High, he would’ve found their use of stasis pods to be suspect, and would have worried about legitimacy of sale. It’s prohibitively expensive to keep slaves in suspension, the only real reason to do so typically being illegal poaching; keep the product quiet until a sale’s been made and the buyer’s well off world. But the Mile High Club is nothing if not a reputable dealer, well known for their quality product and pristine business practices. The club’s managing Collector, a Mr. Taneleer Tivan, had happily given a VIP tour of the pods, showcasing both the quality of his stock and the high standards of the operation itself. He’d been quick to supply all appropriate documents as well, handing over proof of sale, consent to enthrallment, and the pertinent federal and local registration codes as soon as they were requested.

When the female sitting in front of them gives no indication that she remembers their initial meeting, Bucky changes tack. “The freighter that came in yesterday? That was us.” He pats the seat of the couch he's sitting on and gestures around the room. “This is her. The Andromeda Scythe.” 

The girl narrows her eyes at the mention of the Scythe. Bucky’s aware that most terrans have no love lost for off-worlders. Life on planets like this one isn't very nice to begin with, and then on top of that, relations with colonial authorities can tend to be rather … tense. Understandable, given that in the outer rim especially there are typically only a few outposts per planet, stations which serve as the only real point of contact between the natives and the rest of the galaxy. It’s very possible that this female only sees two or three transports passing through a year—and that’s assuming that she even lives within view of an orbital docking path. Planetary outposts like those on Earth are managed by either skeleton crews of low-level Federation grunts who fucked up badly enough to be demoted all the way to the outer fucking rim, or by ex-mercs who have nothing better to do than babysit a bunch of primitives on their ruined planets, overseeing order on the ground and liaising with whatever freighters pass through for trade. There are usually only between six and a dozen docking stations per outer rim planet. Earth has only two, which says a lot about how badly its natives fucked it up a hundred solars ago. 

“We’re not with the military,” Bucky tells her, figuring that this might ease her opinion of him (and of Steve, though Steve’s obnoxiously gifted at getting new people to like him). Bucky shakes his head back and forth pointedly. “Steve and me? We’re not IDF.”

The female does at least seem to consider this as a positive thing, as her scowl doesn’t get any worse. “Not … Federation?” she asks, still learning how to move her tongue around the unfamiliar words.

“That’s right. Not Federation.” He thumbs over at Steve, then at himself. “We’re completely independent, free merchants with the guild. You know: the FTG?” (No need to tell her about their respective six and seventeen year careers with the IDF.) He points over at the garish sticker that Steve had happily slapped on the domicile’s wall, right after they’d first bought the Scythe, its three big letters declaring them independent of the Federation’s commerce authority. “You understand?” he says, when she doesn’t respond. “We’re tra-ders. Mer-chants.” 

She presses her lips together and gives a curt little nod. “Yes. I understand.” 

“Okay. Good.” From the opposing couch, Steve shoots Bucky a ‘be nice’ look. Bucky shoots him back a ‘what? I am being nice’ look.

Meanwhile, the female has begun looking around the domicile more completely, turning her head this way and that, ostensibly curious, though she curls her lip in a way that Bucky reads as disdain. Eventually, after a long moment of both Bucky and Steve anxiously waiting for her to say something, she sniffs and asks, “We’re on your spaceship?” 

Bucky tries hard not to smirk or laugh at her. 'Spaceship'. Terrans’ language for things they don’t understand can tend to be amusing, is all. “Yes," he says. “Our ship. The Andromeda Scythe.”

She spends another moment thinking. “And … where-are-we going?” she asks, stringing her words together a little faster now, Bucky’s pleased to note.

“On to the next system,” he tells her. “Right now we’re still docked in the lower troposphere.” 

“On Earth?” She snaps to attention. “You mean we haven’t left yet?” 

The way her face is brightening isn’t a good sign, so Bucky points at her sternly, ready to put a stop to any idea she might have about making some sort of ridiculous escape attempt. “Hey,” he warns, “I paid good money for you, and I’ve got all the documents that say I did. You’re chipped, you’re here, and that’s that.” He softens some at her pout, but still insists, “No more tantrums like before, acting like we just scooped you up outta the forest while you were frolicking and picking berries, or whatever it is you terrans do.”

“Terrans ...” she repeats, frowning as she processes the word. She returns to glaring at Bucky, reminding him that she’ll have downloaded close to the full catalog of their language by now—including the less than flattering meanings that some words can hold. “That’s a slur,” she says.

Bucky scowls. “It’s not a slur. It’s a—” he hesitates when he sees Steve giving him another look. “Okay, fine,” he concedes. “It can be a pejorative I guess. It can be. Doesn’t mean that it always is. And I didn’t mean it that way.”—Except for that he kind of did, the main implication of “terran” being that a person is somehow uncivilized, unlearned, or backwards. Primitive at best, simpleminded at worst. (Bucky resolves to try and stop using it from now on.) He grunts and pushes up from the couch. “Well, I’m hungry. You hungry?” He goes into the domicile’s kitchen to heat up the food he’d grabbed in the canteen. He’s still half hard (like he has been all day), and his nuts feel like they’ve gone three rounds in a boxing match at this point. The fact that he’s not currently balls-deep in something hot, wet and tight is making him grumpy. He returns with the food and hands the female a container, and Steve another, returning to the opposing couch to open the third one for himself. 

The female stays seated on the floor, using the coffee table as a dining surface. She opens the lid of her container and peers at the food inside dubiously, giving it a thorough sniff test and poking at it a few times with the utensil. Eventually she deigns to take a cautious bite, and whatever she makes of it, it must exceed her expectations. Either that, or she’s just very hungry, because she digs right in after that first taste. Bucky and Steve share a look that’s equal parts relief and amusement, and the three of them eat in what Bucky chooses to interpret as companionable silence.

He does notice the female glancing curiously around the room a couple of times (and at him and Steve, when she thinks they aren’t looking). She’s much more relaxed than she was before she passed out, and Bucky's got to imagine that Banner’s drug cocktail has more than a little to do with that. The prep is meant to help things along in that way, after all, relaxing and arousing the female’s body so that it can accommodate the sexual process, be successfully impregnated. No longer is their newly-acquired breeder raging around the domicile like a lunatic. She’s calm, and exhibiting a few signs of arousal that Bucky recognizes from having seen the drugs at work before. Her skin is flushed all along the base of her neck and her collarbones. Her nipples poke against the cheap material of her garment, pebbled into little peaks, and she seems to be squirming uncomfortably from time to time. In a very distinct manner. 

Good, Bucky thinks. They need to get this show on the road.

Bucky throws the trash from their meal away and leaves to check in with the ship’s crew before turning in for the evening. He heads down to the cargo bay to make sure the new stock is settling in without issue. Usually, the Scythe carries an even split of male and female down in the bay, as laborers are almost as marketable as carriers, but this haul is heavy on females due to the high breeding compatibility of their two species. Morita and Jones still have a ton of them sequestered over to one side for parasite decon, but other than that, everything looks to be in good shape. 

Next, he heads to the med bay for a brief discussion with Banner on all the procedures they’ll need to do over the course of the following months, in order to optimize this new haul’s market value. Chipping and language downloads are priority one, of course, followed by grooming, and then dental. Bruce breaks the bad news that Bucky already knew was coming, and tells him that precisely eighty-one percent of the slaves have prominent tattoos that’ll need removing. Apparently it’s a big part of the humans’ culture, which is why such an unusually large proportion of the females are marked. Bucky gripes over all the synth tissue they’re going to have to burn through (that shit’s expensive), but he knows it’s necessary to get the slaves up to industry standard. They only have one regeneration cradle on-board, so they’ll need to get started right away. If they’re lucky, they’ll have it all done by the time they’re back in the Andromeda system. 

“Just do the prettiest ones first, I guess,” he tells Bruce. That way if they run out of synth tissue, they’ll at least have optimized the best units for sale. True to form, Bruce wants to know “what metric” he’s supposed to use to determine which of the females are prettiest. Bucky rolls his eyes and tells him that Monty and Jones know the metric. “Gods, so much money,” he laments about the tattoos.

Bruce cheers him up by promising that the superior reproductive compatibility will more than make up for it, with how much they’ll be able to charge per unit. And that, at least, is a bright note that helps improve Bucky’s mood. As is the fact that, once he arrives back at his and Steve’s quarters, it’s immediately apparent that Steve is making progress with their female.

He’s coaxed her to come up and sit beside him on the couch, instead of on the floor. “Buck,” he says when Bucky walks back in. Bucky stops short at the sight of them sitting so close to one another. Steve has even put his hand on her shoulder gently. “This is Raelynn,” he says. Bucky must make a face without realizing it, because Steve gives him a warning look that clearly communicates: Do not fuck up all my hard work, Pal, and he says, “People close to her call her Rae.” He looks down at her and gives her a small smile (Which she low key even returns! What the fuck? Bucky will never understand how Steve does it.) “She says we can call her that, right Honey?”

Raelynn/Rae nods a little, her eyes flicking from Steve, over to Bucky, and back again. “Yes,” she says quietly. “Rae is fine.” 

Bucky goes over to the couch and sits on her other side, putting her firmly between himself and Steve. Testing the waters, so to speak. “Well then, I guess it’s nice to officially meet you, Rae.” She doesn’t really seem to want to make eye contact with him just yet, but she at least shoots him a small nod, along with a glance that notably doesn’t involve any suspicious or angrily-narrowed eyes. Bucky counts it as another win. He clears his throat as he sits there and tries to think of a delicate way to ask if his husband has gotten around to telling her what she’s there for yet. “Um, so … did you two talk much while I was gone?” He looks to Steve from over the top of her head to check.

Steve gives the world’s barest perceptible gesture, more a clenching of jaw than a true nod. That confirms what Bucky suspected, since the girl’s speech is more steady and confident than even since he left to go check the ship for the night. “Okay,” he says, licking his lips, excited and nervous. He can’t comprehend how she’s still being friendly if the talk about her being their carrier has already happened, but Steve does have a knack with people that Bucky’s always lacked. Bucky decides to trust that. “So, um … do you have any questions for us?” he asks, figuring that to be a safe way to ease into wherever the discussion left off in his absence.

She bites her lip for a moment, then asks, “Where are we going? After here?”

He inhales deeply, glad that the first question isn’t about the sex that's in their immediate future—not that he isn’t willing to talk about it, but he’s pretty sure that Steve’s the one who should broach that topic, if it hasn’t been broached already. Bucky nods and tells her, “Departure’s tomorrow at 0800. We have a few more stops, in nearby systems, then we refuel and start back home.”

“Home,” she echoes. “What’s that?”

Bucky opens his mouth, about to give a definition of the actual word “home," but Steve catches her meaning better than he does and says, “We’re from the inner rim, Honey. A place called Kho.”

“That’s your planet?” she asks. 

“Mmhm. It’s nice. Developed, but still with lots of green. It’s the capital of our system: the Andromeda system.”

“One of the founding twenty-seven,” Bucky thinks to add, but then tenses at the abrupt change in Rae’s demeanor. 

She stiffens and looks up at Steve in something like betrayal. “I thought you said you weren’t Federation?” 

“We’re not.” 

“But he just said—”

Bucky cuts her off by placing a hand on her wrist, which gets her attention. “Hey, no. I meant we’re not Federation officials. Not Intergalactic Defense Forces, not Commerce Corps. We’re free agents with the guild, sure, but we’re still citizens." 

Her mouth works as she fumbles for a rebuttal. “But you said … I mean, I thought … the IDF is—”

“IDF’s the military,” Bucky stresses. “We’re not military. We are Federation citizens, but Sweetie: most of the chartered universe is. Virtually anyone who isn’t a terran—” He cuts himself off right after the word escapes. “Erm, sorry. That is to say, anyone who isn’t in the outer rim systems is a citizen.”

“Yeah,” Steve encourages, as Rae visibly relaxes. “It’s a huge umbrella, Honey. Quadrillions of people. Being a citizen’s not a bad thing.” 

“Oh. I guess … I guess I don’t know these things,” she admits, with a hint of bashfulness to her if Bucky isn’t mistaken. Though that could just be more of her arousal response, the same flush and squirming evoked by the drugs.

Bucky gives her wrist a comforting squeeze. “Hey. That’s okay, Hon. Really. Just wait till you see it. There’s all sorts of technology and conveniences. I think you’ll be amazed. We have so many comforts and entertainment. Things you’ve never even dreamed of.” When she doesn’t look sure about it, he says, “I’ll show you some videos tomorrow. You’ll see. It’s much nicer than what you’re used to here. You’ll have a much better life there.” 

As per freakin’ usual, out of the two of them, Steve is the better conversationalist. 

He’s somehow able to salvage the conversation from Bucky’s—unintended but disastrous—insults to Rae’s home planet, and when the girl starts to notice her own increasingly aroused physical state, he pulls her into his arms and gives her a hug, reminding her that she’s just fine, that this is just the expected effects of the medicine, like they talked about. Just something that’ll help her feel good the whole way through.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whines when it intensifies, burrowing against the front of Steve’s sweater in embarrassment as the effects of the prep ramp up. “Nnnh. I feel … mmnn.”

Bucky and Steve share another look from over the top of her head. Their girl may be new to spoken Federalese, but the universal language of hot, bothered, and squirming female communicates loud and clear everything that she isn’t saying. “That’s your body getting ready,” Bucky reminds her gently, daring to place a hand on her back. “Remember how we talked about the way it would make you feel?” 

“Mmh … hm.” 

It comes out as more of a whimper than the “mm-hm” she probably intended, but Bucky gets the gist. She doesn’t shirk him off when he slides his hand up her back to her shoulder, nor when he begins a comforting little rubbing motion there, so he scoots in closer and leans against her from behind, joining in the hug that Steve’s already giving her. She shudders in their combined hold, but it’s quite obviously in enjoyment rather than displeasure. Bucky noses into her strange, ironwood-colored hair, inhaling at her pulse point and wondering if the lightly floral scent is innate to her species, or just something she’s rubbed into her skin. “Rae?” he prods gently. "Do you want to talk a little more about what’s going to happen?” 

By now she knows that she’s there to be their carrier. They’ve explained that much, but none of the biology has been mentioned. None of the specific points of their … anatomy. Bucky knows she’s still assuming it’s her eggs they’ll be fertilizing. “You can ask questions,” he reminds her, grazing the shell of her ear with his lips and relishing the shiver he feels travel through her slight frame. “Anything you want,” he whispers, mainly just to get another shiver out of her when his hot breath hits her ear.

“We want you to feel comfortable,” Steve coaxes.

“And not scared,” Bucky agrees. He chances a kiss to her neck, and she makes a soft, enjoyable noise. “Nothin’ to be scared of at all. Cause we’re gonna take such good care of you, Sweetheart.”

She sighs, having gone much more lax against Steve’s front in the past few minutes. Steve signals to Bucky that they should cool it for a sec, in the goal of getting a real answer out of her. Bucky grunts but agrees, sneaking a hand to the front of his pants to rearrange himself. It’s been unpleasant all day, but now he’s actually hard. He gives himself a rough squeeze through the fabric, telling his poor, suffering balls to hold in there. Steve, meanwhile, has encouraged Rae to sit back a little. She’s still practically in his lap, and soft as a noodle, but he manages to get a tiny bit of eye contact out of her. “Talk?” he checks, nodding in encouragement. 

She makes a shy noise of assent, followed by a nod and an “okay” that comes out muffled, because she’s already burrowed her face back into the knit of Steve's sweater. From over her head, Steve and Bucky share a fond look, and together they pet her back and begin to explain the differences in their species’ breeding habits. 

It takes a little while. She stops them several times, not upset about anything, but certainly confused, needing to ask clarifying questions. She seems most flabbergasted by the notion of egg-bearing omega men, but not at all by the fact that two men would be husbands—Which really perplexes Bucky, because why the hell would two men marry if they couldn’t make babies together? 

She expresses amazement at the concept of a third carrier sex, which is one of the confusing bits that she winds up needing to ask several questions about. Bucky bungles it on his first try, but then watches his mate take over, and falls even deeper in love as Steve seems to intuitively know exactly what to say. He explains it to her in terms that she can understand, which is that sperm and egg come from the two male parents—the alpha father and omega mother—whilst the female Oma, who lacks gametes, carries the growing baby inside of her womb. 

“Huh,” is all Rae says, with an adorably astounded little expression. “That's ... huh.”

She asks why they don't just breed with their own kind, and that prompts Bucky's explanation of what happened on their homeworld that so necessitated this cross-species sourcing for carriers in the first place. He leaves a lot out, purposefully softening the story of the plague that ripped every man, woman, and child of Kho’s oma parent away, over thirty solars ago (“Thirty-three solars, this next rotation. Gods, I can hardly believe it’s been that long”), and emphasizing how there have been countless families formed with compatible species in the generation since, just as happy and healthy as can be.

She seems very reassured when they tell her about how well her body will be suited to safely carrying a healthy Khomeini pregnancy and bearing their young, and she really brightens up once she understands that she’s to remain with them to be their female mate and act as de-facto oma for their children: the primary caregiver.

Bucky holds his tongue, but he privately thinks that it’s utterly rotten that she’d thought they were actually going to use her for her womb and then not let her raise the baby after that (wtf?!). Apparently, it’s a practice that the human terrans have, and Bucky thinks—again, privately and with more than a little disdain—that Earth culture really is backwards and brutal. No wonder their little savage had been so tempestuous in the beginning! She’d been expecting to be used and discarded!

He and Steve both happily tell her how it will be quite the opposite, explaining how she’ll live in their domicile on Kho with them, which has a lovely garden and courtyard, and rooms that she can decorate for their young. When they inform her that theirs is a healthy ecosystem without the same problems as her planet, and that she won’t have to wear a rubber mask when she goes outside, she gets even more enthused and wants to know all about their planet and its history. They promise to show her as many videos as she wants tomorrow, but first thing’s first: they need to breed her tonight.

Masterlist

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Kinktober '24 entry for: Different Species | Oviposition | double penetration in one hole

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[james-stark-the-writer]

just finished Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, and it is a game written by cowards for cowards.

the final twist genuinely ruins the game. it's so stupid as a narrative decision. i hate it so much. it almost makes me understand what the people yelling about The Last Jedi being too subservient to its themes were yelling about (OBVIOUSLY not the ones that were being bigoted and loud and wrong about it, but just the ones who had actual issues with its narrative directions/execution). genuinely, the twist takes what could have been an extremely solid 8.5, maybe a 9/10 game down to a 4/10 game with nothing of interest to say deluding itself into thinking it's saying anything of worth by thoughtlessly repeating patterns as if that's supposed to generate meaning without any real effort of actually committing to that meaning, or seeing the world as anything beyond its basic binary worldview of Good and Bad.

putting that twist in fundamentally cuts the legs out from any actual, interesting and substantive critique it could have leveled at the legal system and our feelings about people on trial and their perceived guilt or innocence, and it just ends up reinforcing it as a power of good that Will Ultimately Prevail In The Search For Truth, as if that is even remotely a thing any legal system is concerned with, especially the one in the game that mostly just stumbles into The Right Choices because it's a game controlled by the player. it's frankly ideologically incoherent to the point of saying nothing because its critique is unfocused and toothless. best it can muster is "maybe some people are corrupt and lying, but if You take Advantage of The System, you can beat them" as if malicious compliance is supposed to change the system. fuck off.

ran out of tags but. i'm serious about this lol, i really hate it as a narrative and ideological choice. the game threatens to say something bold and interesting and then just pulls the rug out from underneath you. it sucks. it's very much like 12 Angry Men in that way, i think, except at least that movie Knows what it's saying and that its basic premise is its ideological downfall, this just doesn't really feel like it says anything much interesting or coherent, ultimately, because the criticism either drowns in the length and comedic nature of it, or just ultimately isn't focused and pointed and nuanced enough to actually say something meaningful. like ik someone's gonna do a "kid's game" thing but hello, kid's shit has always been nuanced and just bc it's "for kids" doesn't mean it has to abide by some binary ass morality that flattens all its interesting critique, especially when you're constantly led, structurally, to the more interesting and nuanced narrative choice only to have a twist completely ruin it and making it all feel like a waste of your time. plenty of things are nuanced and interesting and "for kids" without deflating their themes and messages by writing a stupid twist that undercuts the interesting parts of its arguments.

[marinecorvid]

blorbos from my brain

[jouska-the-deer]

Me: *Goes multiple years without posting art and comes back as another species of deer.*

Anyway hi! I've posted a thing and I'm still breathing so in my opinion I'm absolutely winning. I hope to keep posting things in the future so be on the lookout for that. Have a nice whatever-time-it-is-where-you-are; I'm gonna enjoy some noodles and possibly go to bed before 4 AM tonight.

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[kiwriteswords]

The light reflects the chain on your neck [Aaron Hotchner x Birthday!Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 700|| AN: It's my birthday weekend, so I wanted to share a few ficlets of Reader and Hotch inspired by that. These will be fully self-indulgent, so I apologize! Tags/Warnings: female reader, reader's birthday, gift giving, BAU!Reader, building romance, fluff. Summary: You wouldn't have picked Hotch to be the gift-giving, birthday-celebrating guy--but for you, he is.

The bullpen was quiet--quieter than it had been in days. The case had been a long one, stretching over state lines, exhausting every last ounce of patience and energy you had.

But it was done. The unsub was caught, the victims’ families had answers, and the team had finally made it back to Quantico, some retreating home while others finished reports under the dim office lighting.

You stayed behind, not ready to leave just yet. There was something about the stillness of the office after hours that felt grounding, like the adrenaline still coursing through your system needed time to settle before you could convince yourself to sleep.

Hotch was still here, of course. He always was. His office light glowed faintly through the blinds, casting long shadows across the walls. He had come downstairs at some point, returning from whatever final briefing he had to endure, and now he was across from you, leaning against the edge of your desk with that ever-present sense of quiet authority.

His tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves rolled up past his forearms--telltale signs that even he was tired.

“You should go home,” he said, voice low in the near-empty bullpen.

You smirked, raising a brow as you leaned back in your chair. “You first.”

He huffed a quiet breath, amused but not entirely disagreeing. Instead of responding, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box, setting it down on your desk with the kind of deliberate movement that made your stomach flip.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

Hotch met your gaze, expression unreadable but tinged with something softer. “Your birthday was two days ago.”

You blinked. With everything that had happened, you had barely thought about it. The case had swallowed up the week, leaving little room for anything outside of work and exhaustion.

“You remembered?”

He gave you a look--one that suggested he found the question absurd.

You hesitated only briefly before taking the box, fingers carefully peeling away the paper. 

“Aaron Hotchner,” you paused at the wrapping paper, raising a brow, “you got me a present?”

His expression was unreadable, save for the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Yes, that’s generally what people do for birthdays.”

A quiet laugh left you, shaking your head as you continued to unwrap the gift. “I didn’t think you did birthday gifts.”

“I don’t.” He hesitated, then added, “Not usually.”

The weight of those words settled over you, heavier than they should have been.

You pried it open with delicate fingers, breath catching at what was inside. Nestled neatly in a small velvet pouch was a locket. Simple, elegant, something you could wear every day without it drawing attention.

Your fingers traced over the smooth surface, its weight both unfamiliar and achingly familiar all at once. “I had one like this when I was a kid,” you murmured. “But I never knew what to put inside it.”

Hotch remained quiet, watching you with that quiet intensity of his.

You carefully pried the locket open. Inside, on one side, was a small photograph of the team--one of those rare moments where you were all together, laughing, existing beyond the chaos of your work. On the other side, a second photo.

Just you and him.

It wasn’t staged. Wasn’t forced. Just a candid moment from an outing you didn’t even remember, the two of you standing side by side in quiet conversation, the familiarity between you obvious even in a still frame.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the warmth creeping into your chest. “I can’t believe you remembered this photo.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t waver. “I remember everything when it comes to you.”

The words settled somewhere deep, somewhere you weren’t sure you were ready to acknowledge yet.

You weren’t sure a man had ever bought you jewelry before. Something about it… jewelry--it felt so…so intimate. 

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you traced the edge of the locket. “You know, you’re dangerously close to ruining your reputation.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d get from him in the middle of the office. “So I’ve been told.”

Silence stretched between you--not awkward, but weighted with something unspoken. Something neither of you had put into words, not yet.

You glanced at him, something caught between gratitude and something else--something deeper. “Thank you, Hotch.”

He nodded once, then pushed off your desk, his voice softer than usual. “Come on.”

You pocketed the locket carefully, grabbing your bag before following him toward the elevator.

For the first time in a long time, the idea of going home didn’t feel so lonely.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216  

[cece693]

mmmore personal bodyguard.. OHhh i love this old man!!! ohh i love tony stark please.. would you make more of male reader and Tony..

I also love that old man. So, I was thinking of what else can he and his hunky bodyguard get up to and then DING! What if the bodyguard takes his job so seriously that he takes a hit meant for Tony and we get an overprotective Iron Man?

Personal Bodyguard Pt. 2

pairing: tony stark x male reader tags: overprotective Tony, Tony has feelings, reader is over it, he was a military man for fucks sake, my man be stressin, reader is set to prove a point, fluff

You stir awake in the gleaming medical bay of Stark Tower, blinking under the fluorescent lights. The drug-induced fog makes your thoughts sluggish, but the unmistakable sting in your shoulder reminds you exactly why you’re here. You shift against the pillows, wincing at the dull throb of pain.

Across the room, a small army of medical personnel are quietly conferring, flipping through charts and checking vitals. You hear the beep of machines and soft murmurs. It’s overwhelming, and you’re not the only one who thinks so. “Everyone out,” comes a familiar, commanding voice. “Now.”

Tony stands at the entrance, hair mussed, tie undone, brow etched with anger and worry. His voice cuts like a knife through the room. The doctors and nurses exchange glances, but none dare contradict him. They file out in a subdued rush—some clearly concerned, but none wanting to challenge Tony Stark when he’s in this mood.

“And before anyone complains,” he adds, glowering, “I’ve got the best AI in the world monitoring him, so scram.”

Moments later, the door slides shut with a quiet hiss. The only sound left is the steady pulse of the heart monitor by your bed and the faint hum of the Tower’s ventilation system. Tony crosses the room in long strides, practically radiating anxiety. He stops at your bedside, eyes darting from the bandages on your shoulder to your face, to the monitors, and back again. It’s like he can’t decide what to focus on—he just wants everything to be okay.

“Are you comfortable?” he demands, reaching to adjust your pillows. “Do you need a different angle? More medication? Less medication? You look like you’re in pain. You should’ve said something—didn’t the doctors tell you to—?”

A weak smile tugs at your lips. “Tony, breathe. I’m all right.” But he’s not listening. He keeps fiddling with the bed’s controls, trying to find the perfect angle, cursing under his breath when the motor jerks your injured shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling back like he’s burned. “God, I’m screwing this up.”

“Hey,” you say, voice soft, “it’s fine. Really.”

He sighs, frustration etched across his features. “It’s not fine. If it were fine, you wouldn’t be in a hospital bed with a bullet wound.” His hands ball into fists at his sides. “I’ve been over the security tapes a hundred times, trying to figure out how I could’ve—how we could’ve—prevented this.”

The chair next to you squeaks as Tony sinks into it, his exhaustion evident. He rubs a hand over his face, and you see the shadows under his eyes. You suspect he hasn’t slept since the incident. “I can’t—” Tony starts, then stops, words hitching in his throat. “I can’t just sit here and watch you get hurt because of me.”

You let out a careful sigh. Even that small motion makes the pain spike. “Tony,” you say, voice steady despite the discomfort, “it’s not your fault.”

He makes a strangled noise and gestures to your injured shoulder. “Yeah, ’cause getting shot while protecting me is totally just a random coincidence.” He’s spiraling—has been, ever since the bullet meant for him hit you instead. You try to catch his eye, but he’s jittery, like a live wire about to spark.

“Look,” Tony says, voice cracking, “maybe you—maybe you should go. Quit. Or—or I should fire you. I’ll give you a severance package that’ll make CEOs weep with envy. You can do literally anything else. Anything safer.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Fire me?” There’s a stab of hurt under the shock, but you force yourself to stay calm. “That’s one hell of a ‘thank you for taking a bullet for me.’”

He flinches at your words, but his gaze hardens—a brittle, desperate resolve. “If it means you never have to bleed for me again, then yeah. I’ll do it.”

A flurry of emotions churns in your gut—annoyance, exasperation, and a surprising surge of affection for the panicked man in front of you. You carefully push yourself upright, ignoring the twinge of pain, and pin Tony with a firm look. “You can’t do this.”

“Fire you?” He scoffs, but the sound comes out choked. “I can do anything I want, remember? Billionaire with an army of lawyers.” A shaky hand runs through his hair again. “I could relocate you to—oh, I don’t know—Switzerland. Buy you a nice chalet in the Alps or something. You’d never have to see a bullet in your life.”

You can’t stop the small, exasperated laugh that escapes you. “A chalet in the Alps. Fancy. I’ll keep that in mind for retirement.” You pause, letting the joking tone fade. “But until then, no deal.”

He looks incredulous. “Why not?” he demands, voice cracking again. “Why on Earth would you want to keep doing this?” His eyes flick to the bandages peeking from your hospital gown, as if they’re the most damning evidence in the world.

You tilt your head, the ghost of a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Because you hired me to protect you, genius,” you say, letting a bit of humor slip in. “I got shot, yeah, but guess what? You didn’t. Mission accomplished.”

He stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. “I’m sorry—what part of you being shot is an accomplishment?!”

“The part where the bullet didn’t go through you.” You soften your tone. “Look, Tony, I know you hate that this happened. But injuries are part of the job, and I accepted that risk the moment I signed on.”

He slumps forward, elbows braced on his knees, face buried in his hands. “Well, I didn’t sign on for this.”

You reach out with your good arm and place a hand on his forearm. “Tony, look at me,” you coax. Slowly, he drags his hands away from his face, eyes red-rimmed. “This injury isn’t as bad as it looks. I’ve had worse in basic training.” (A slight exaggeration, but hey, you’d say anything to calm him right now.)

Tony tries to scoff, but it comes out more like a choked laugh. “Basic training had bullet wounds?”

You shrug with your good shoulder. “Not me, specifically, but some guys I knew.” You press on before he can argue. “Point is, I’m okay. Sore, but okay. So, you’re not firing me.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you fix him with a look. The “don’t even try it” kind that makes even a billionaire genius back down.

“Let me make this clear,” you continue, voice gentler now but unyielding. “I appreciate the concern, really. It means a lot that you care about what happens to me. But this is my choice. I’m not walking away, and you sure as hell aren’t pushing me away. If we keep doing this dance, the only thing you’ll accomplish is driving yourself crazy—and me right along with you.”

He sucks in a breath, eyes glimmering with fresh tears, though he blinks them back rapidly. “I just…I don’t want to see you hurt again. Ever.”

Your lips curl into a small smile. “That’s not how this works, Tony. If I’m with you, there’s always a risk. You’re Iron Man, for crying out loud. Trouble follows you like a lost puppy.”

A strangled half-laugh, half-sob escapes Tony. He scrubs at his face again, clearly embarrassed by his own display of emotion. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, still not meeting your gaze. “I’m…I’m a wreck.”

You inhale, letting your fingers drift from his arm to his hand, lacing them together. “Yeah, you are,” you agree, tone gentle but with a fond edge. “And that’s okay. But you don’t get to fire me. I’m tougher than I look, Stark.”

He starts to argue, but you give his hand a firm squeeze. “Seriously,” you insist, making sure he hears every word. “I’ve been thrown out of planes, shot at, and gone through obstacle courses that make grown men cry. A little bullet in my shoulder? Not enough to scare me away from you.”

A hint of incredulity flashes in his eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“I do,” you say, jaw set. Before he can argue further, you shift your legs off the bed. Pain flares through your shoulder, but you grit your teeth and push yourself upright. Tony bolts to his feet like you’ve just threatened to jump off a cliff.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands, voice shrill with alarm. “Hey—easy, easy!”

You wave off his concern. “I’m standing,” you say through clenched teeth, mustering a cocky smirk despite the pain. “You need proof I’m still in one piece? Well, here it is.” Tony’s eyes dart from your unsteady legs to your bandaged shoulder. He looks ready to catch you at any second. But you square your stance, heart pounding, determined to show him you’re stronger than he thinks.

He reaches out, as if to gently guide you back onto the bed, but you seize the moment. Sliding an arm around his waist—ignoring the painful protest in your shoulder—you pull Tony close. Then you press your lips to his in a firm, grounding kiss.

It’s not the smoothest kiss—your balance is off, and you’re pretty sure you’re leaning on him more than intended. But Tony’s body goes stiff for a split second before he melts against you with a quiet, desperate sound at the back of his throat. For those few seconds, the throbbing in your shoulder blurs into the background. All that matters is Tony’s warmth, the faint scent of cologne, and the taste of desperation on his lips.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. One of his hands is splayed across your lower back, the other hovering near your bandage as though he’s too scared to touch it. “You idiot,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “You should be resting.”

“Probably,” you admit, wincing slightly as you shift your arm. “But you needed to see I’m still here. Really here.”

He draws in a ragged breath, eyes flicking over your face. “I see you,” he murmurs, voice tight with lingering fear. “But if you pass out, I’m going to strap you to that bed myself, understand?”

You huff a faint laugh. “Sounds kinky.”

A brief spark of amusement flashes in his eyes, followed by relief. “God, I hate you,” he jokes, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You card your fingers through his hair, feeling how tense he still is. “Can’t make promises, boss. Besides…” You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

He exhales shakily, and the hand on your back tightens. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” you concede. “But you love me anyway.”

A hesitant, watery smile curves across his lips. “Yeah,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. “I really do.”

[hootyhoowoo]

ah! I totally get keeping your ao3 private! in any case, do you have any svsss fic recs you’d shout out? any ships is fine! bingqiu, Liujiu, 79, Liushen, I’ll take it!

Okay i'm sorry this took so long!! I was trying to look through my fics and see what would be appropriate to post bwaahahah

So disclaimer, i'm more of a one-shot type of reader for the most part, I really enjoy a nice hearty and wordy piece. I'm also a whore so I enjoy a lot of pwps!! I delve into omegaverse and some dead dove fics a lot too so please READ THE TAGS before reading

Also, these are more of my own personal reviews of the fics? You can read the summaries +tags to find out more :D I'm sure the authors can summarize better than I can

but anyway, I'll start out with the fics recommended to me by others, and ones that are so widely loved by the fandom!

These are multi-chaptered:

"I Wish You Were My Husband"- Feynite; Bingqiu, Liushen, and Qijiu all in one!

This fic was recommended by a good friend of mine, and it is sooo good anon. It's got wife stealing, love triangles, and is sooo hilariously funny it's made me genuinely laugh out loud while reading. There was times where I felt like I was just reading canon content and had to remind myself this wasn't mxtx writing. The author does a wonderful job in delving into Shen Qingqiu/Shen Yuan's inner mental gymnastics, and the complicated history and relationships between the different pairings is so tangible and well done. Not to mention the dialogue between SQQ and SQH made me CACKLE.

"Like A Tooth From a Mouth (I Leave A Hole)- Anonymous; Bingyuan (?)

Okay I started this fic but still haven't gotten through all of it, but the first chapter (first few paragraphs really) captivated me so much I was instantly hooked. Actually, I may draw this out at some point bc I really love the beginning of this fic. So angsty. So well written- especially once Liu Qingge gets introduced, he's so cute and I really like the dynamics of everyone in this one. Disciple!Shen yuan with his system and Shizun!Luo Binghe will always be messy and i'm here for it <3

"Shen Yuan of No Relation"- Gemi ; Bingyuan, Qijiu (i'll probably come back and edit if needed)

Ahhh. Ze fic of all time. OKAY so I haven't actually finished this one yet, i'm currently still reading. BUT I WILL SAY: It is so good so far. So good. The author's writing feels so hearty and their descriptions of the setting is something I fell in love with immediately. The way they write the characters is very endearing and i'm giddy with excitement to continue to read c: This fic was very very recommended by multiple friends so i'm happy to finally start it!!

"Love in Another Shape"- Celardor ; Starts Liushen -> Bingliu -> Bingliushen

Okay this fic was recommended to me by the same person who recommended IWYWMH so you know this shit is bangin. I have not read this yet, but I have had many people gush about it to me and had the lovely opportunity to chat w the author and they are the sweetest person so I'm very excited to start it next!!

'Satisfaction'- Raiiskaim ; Bingjiu

ohohoho ok- can I just say I love Raiiskaim's works, but this one is soooo delicious. It's got dead-dove like elements so be warned, but ahhh the follow up to this fic is "Discontent, and the spaces inbetween" and dude omg the ending literally made me gasp. Can't recommend this enough if it's your flavor.

"Blessing in disguise" - chamsie; ...implied Qijiu?

yeah i like omegaverse and i will not be shamed about it on my own blog. BUT this one is not...your typical pwp omegaverse fic. It's very shen jiu centered around him and his babby- shen yuan! it's very cute and good and I quite enjoyed it when I read it a whiiiile ago. Actually, I think it's time for a re-read. heh

-

These next ones are one shots

"We Should Stick Together" and "You're My Best Friend, I'll Love You Forever" - Pennydaniels; Liujiu

ohhhh my god. OHHHH MY GOOOOODDDD. Do you ever read a fic and have it touch something so deeply in you and it's like a soothing balm to a really rough aching burn? yeah so that's how these two fics are to me. I vividly remember reading them on an airplane and literally crying my eyes out I had to ask the flight attendant for tissues- and got side eyed by the other passengers. Specifically YMBF,ILYF.... this fic definitely shaped the way I would like to be loved. Excellent works, definitely recommend, read tags, as always. Pennydaniels is one of my fav ao3 authors, so definitely recommend checking out their other stuff too!

"Through the Widening Circles"- ancient_moonshine ; Bingjiu

Please read tags. It didn't bother me but ik it may not be everyone's flavor- but trust me when I say that this fic also made me sob like a baby, especially towards the end. The author does a great job of navigating through trauma and healing in such a touching way, but it is a pretty heavy fic because of these delicate topics. Such a good read, and I think one of my first SVSSS fanfics too!

"Vedaniya" - ancient_moonshine ; Bingjiu

Once again another fic by this amazing author, this one is a little more kinky ehehe but it's still very good and there's a gut wrenching scene that gets me every time near the beginning.

Anyways I hope this list satisfies! I can't wait to read more and get recommended more as we keep going on this scummy adventure :D if you have any recs, please be sure to drop them down below or in my inbox :3 always happy to add to my queue of reads.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf

Part 9: To see

Part 10: To touch

The outpost was quiet, the hum of its systems a familiar background noise as you sat on your bed, staring at the data pad in your hands. The words on the screen blurred as your mind wandered, far from the plant samples and bioluminescent analyses you’d been reviewing. A sigh escaped you, and you set the pad down, leaning back against the wall just to massage your tired eyes.

A soft knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts. One of the younger scientists, Brian, stood there, a boyish grin on his face and a bottle tucked under his arm.

“Hey,” he said, his voice light and cheerful. “We’re having a little... gathering in the lounge. You should come.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “A gathering?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. “Just the xenobotany team. Some drinks, some laughs. Maybe a game of truth or dare. You know, good, old-fashioned bonding. Kate said you’d be too boring to come, so... prove her wrong?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes at the mention of Kate’s teasing. “I don’t know, Brian. I’ve got—”

“Come on,” he interrupted, flashing a pleading look. “We’ve been stuck on this rock for years. You deserve a little fun. Just an hour, I promise. And if it’s lame, you can leave. Please?” he looked at you, clasping his hands together in mock begging. “We need you to balance out the chaos. You’re the only one who can keep Kate from going rogue.”

A small laugh escaped you despite yourself, and you shook your head. “Fine. But only because I love you guys,” you said, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

Brian pumped a fist in victory. “Yes! You won’t regret it. Promise.”

You doubted that, but you followed him to the common area.

The rec room was buzzing with laughter and chatter when you arrived. The team had rearranged the furniture to form a loose circle, and a makeshift table in the center held a few half-empty bottle of some kind of cheap Earth alcohol. Kate was perched on the edge of the couch, mid-story, her hands gesturing animatedly as the others listened, their faces alight with amusement.

“And then,” Kate was saying, barely able to contain her laughter, “the harness snaps, and poor Tim is dangling upside down, yelling, ‘This isn’t in the manual!’”

The room erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t help but chuckle as you slipped into an open seat. Kate waved you over, patting the seat beside her. “There’s my favorite hermit. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to socialize.”

You rolled your eyes, settling into the chair. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Norm passed you a cup, his smile warm. “Glad you could make it. It’s been a while since we’ve all just... hung out.”

Max, sitting across from you, raised his own cup in agreement. “Cheers to that.”

You smiled, taking an empty seat beside her as Norm handed you a cup. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing yet,” Norm said, leaning back with a smirk. “Just the usual chaos. Kate was just regaling us with her latest embarrassing memory.”

“Not embarrassing,” Kate corrected, pointing at him. “Hilarious. There’s a difference.”

Kate leaned in, smirking. “You know, back when Brian tried to impress a Na’vi by speaking their language and accidentally proposed marriage instead.”

Brian groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I knew that story would come up.”

The room erupted into laughter, and even you couldn’t help but join in. The alcohol was cheap and burned going down, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. You let yourself relax as the conversation flowed, each story more ridiculous than the last.

You found a seat on one of the armchairs, sipping your drink as the conversation flowed around you. Kate was in rare form, regaling everyone with stories from her trainee days. One particularly ridiculous tale involved her accidentally gluing herself to a desk during a safety demonstration, and the room erupted in laughter as she acted out the scene.

The mood was light, the banter easy, and for the first time in days, you felt a little of the tension in your chest ease. You let yourself laugh, even chiming in with a few quips as the stories grew wilder. The alcohol loosened tongues and lightened moods, and before long, someone suggested playing truth or dare.

As the laughter died down, Brian leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

Kate groaned. “Brian, you live for this, don’t you?”

“You know it,” he replied. “Come on, who’s first?”

The game started innocently enough, with silly dares and harmless truths. Tyler dared Norm to eat an entire spoonful of powdered coffee, which resulted in a coughing fit that left everyone in stitches. Max was asked to confess the worst grade he’d ever gotten during his training, and he sheepishly admitted to failing a chemistry quiz because he’d confused sulfur and silicon.

The game picked up quickly, the cheap alcohol loosening everyone’s inhibitions and making even the most reserved members of the team lean into the fun. Brian, one of the younger members of the xenobotany team, was practically bouncing in his seat, grinning mischievously as he leaned forward.

“Alright, let’s start this properly,” Brian declared, scanning the room. His gaze landed on Kate first. “Kate! Truth or dare?”

Kate rolled her eyes but smirked. “Truth. Let’s ease into this disaster, shall we?”

Brian grinned. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever said to a superior?”

Kate didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, easy. I once called the lead botanist ‘Plant Daddy’ by accident. To his face.”

The room burst into laughter, Max nearly choking on his drink. “Please tell me he responded to that,” he managed between gasps.

“Oh, he did,” Kate replied, her voice dry. “He said, ‘I prefer Dr. Grant.’ I think I wanted to crawl under the nearest microscope and die.”

As the laughter died down, Kate rubbed her hands together and turned to Norm. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Norm raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of his drink before replying. “Dare.”

Kate’s grin widened. “Alright, I dare you to chug this entire cup without making a face.”

Norm glanced down at his half-filled cup of the questionable alcohol, then shrugged. “Please. I’ve survived worse.”

The group cheered him on as Norm tipped the cup back and drained it in one go. He managed to keep a straight face for about two seconds before his entire body shuddered, and he sputtered, coughing as the burn hit him.

“Oh, god,” he choked out, his face scrunching up as everyone roared with laughter. “What is this? Paint thinner?”

“Close enough,” Brian said, grinning triumphantly. “But hey, you tried.”

“Alright, Brian,” Norm said once the chaos subsided, pointing a finger at him. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Brian said confidently, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

Norm tilted his head thoughtfully. “If you could switch jobs with anyone here, who would it be and why?”

Brian grinned. “Obviously Max. Then I could slack off and call it ‘management.’”

Max held a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Excuse me! My job is integral to this team.”

“Integral to keeping your chair warm,” Kate quipped, and the room dissolved into laughter again as Max threw up his hands.

“Okay, your turn,” Max said, leaning forward with a grin turning toward you.

“Truth”

„What’s the cringiest thing you’ve ever done at the Omaticaya village?”

Everyone turned to look at you expectantly, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “My Na’vi talking skills aren’t enough cringe for you?” you tried to deflect.

“Nope,” Kate said, grinning wickedly. “Spill.”

You sighed, setting your cup down. “Fine. It was maybe... my fifth visit? I was trying to joke around with Lo’ak. So I... uh... I threatened to touch him all over his body with my creepy tiny human hands.”

The room erupted into laughter, Max nearly spilling his drink as he doubled over. “You didn’t!” Kate gasped, clutching her stomach.

„Oh, I did!”

“Lo’ak must have been mortified,” Norm said, grinning.

“He was!” you said, laughing along with them. “He jumped back like I’d just threatened to poison him.”

As the laughter died down, you felt a warmth settle in your chest. For a moment, the weight of everything—the pressure, the uncertainty—felt lighter. Here, surrounded by friends and laughter, you let yourself forget the complications of your heart and simply enjoy the moment.

*Flashback – 3 years ago*

The soft hum of the transport reverberated through your feet as you stepped off with Norm and Max. You adjusted your exo-mask out of habit, even though the fit was perfectly snug, the air filters working as seamlessly as ever. Pandora's lush, living expanse stretched before you, the vibrant greens and soft bioluminescent glows making your heart swell with awe—as they always did. No matter how many times you visited the Omaticaya village, the sight of it never failed to take your breath away.

You spotted Kiri and Lo’ak bounding toward you, their movements fluid and full of energy. Their excitement was contagious, and you smiled widely as they greeted you with playful enthusiasm. Kiri reached you first, grabbing your hand and tugging you forward as if you might bolt. Lo’ak, always the charmer, grinned his signature mischievous smile and gave a mock bow.

“Back to grace us with your presence, huh?” he teased.

“Of course,” you replied, smiling. “Who else would put up with you?”

Their laughter was warm, and you found yourself relaxing despite the faint nervousness that always accompanied these visits. You tried not to think about the towering figure lingering near the entrance of the Sully family kelku. You knew he was watching—he always was. Neteyam had a way of observing from a distance that set your pulse racing for reasons you refused to examine too closely.

As you approached, your eyes flicked toward him briefly, catching the faint light in his golden gaze. He stood tall and composed, his arms crossed over his chest, every inch the stoic warrior. Something about his presence was magnetic, grounding even, and yet it left you feeling like your balance might slip if you got too close. You quickly shifted your focus back to Kiri, letting her lead you inside the family’s home.

The interior was warm and inviting, the bioluminescent patterns on the walls casting soft light across the space. You marveled at the woven tapestries and carefully crafted furnishings, each piece an extension of the forest itself. The air was filled with the subtle scent of wood and earth, calming and alive.

“These are beautiful,” you said, your fingers brushing over a hanging tapestry. The texture was rough but intricate, the patterns telling stories you could only begin to understand. “Did you make these, Kiri?”

Kiri’s face lit up with pride. “Some of them. Others are my mother’s. She’s incredible at weaving.”

“She is,” you said, your admiration genuine. “I could never do something this delicate.”

“Maybe I can teach you,” Kiri offered with a grin. “But you’d need to come here more often.”

Before you could respond, Lo’ak piped up, throwing an arm around Kiri’s shoulder. “She should. She’s already half-Na’vi, the way she’s always hanging around.”

Your cheeks warmed at his comment, but you laughed it off. “If that’s your way of inviting me, I’ll take it.”

Lo’ak smirked. “Anytime.”

Still, you couldn’t ignore the way Neteyam’s gaze lingered. You felt the weight of it even as he stayed silent near the wall, his posture relaxed but his presence undeniable. He always seemed to watch from the sidelines, and you often wondered what he thought. Did he see you as an interloper, an outsider trying too hard to fit into a world that wasn’t yours? Or did he feel the same pull that you did—the unspoken connection that hummed between you whenever he was near?

“Neteyam,” Kiri’s teasing voice cut through the quiet. “Are you just going to stand there like a statue?”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping as his golden eyes flicked toward you before quickly darting away. His ears twitched slightly, betraying his discomfort, and he straightened, clearing his throat.

“I am just... observing,” he said, his voice measured and steady.

Lo’ak grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. “Yeah, big bro. Observing her, more like.”

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Oh, come on, Neteyam,” you said, gesturing to him. “Sit with us. You’re making me nervous, standing there like that.”

For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, he joined the circle, his movements deliberate. He sat a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance, but even from there, his presence felt all-encompassing. You tried not to let it affect you, focusing instead on Kiri and Lo’ak’s playful banter.

Your curiosity got the better of you as you turned to Kiri, her dark braids swaying as she laughed. “Can I touch your hair?” you asked tentatively. “It’s so intricate.”

“Of course,” Kiri replied, leaning forward. Her braids shimmered faintly in the soft light as you reached out, your fingers brushing over them with care. The texture was unlike anything you’d felt before—firm yet soft, a perfect harmony of the natural and the crafted.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, genuinely in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Maybe you’ll have braids one day,” Kiri teased. “Then you can really fit in.”

Your laugh was light, but the idea lingered in your mind. You couldn’t help but glance at Neteyam as you spoke, wondering if he thought the same. Was he as curious about you as you were about him?

Kiri beamed, clearly delighted by your interest. “You humans have strange hair too,” she teased, her smile wide. “So light and... fluffy.”

You laughed at that, the sound soft and genuine. “I guess we do. It’s not nearly as beautiful as yours, though.”

Lo’ak snorted from where he was sprawled out nearby. “Kiri’s just showing off because her braids are better than mine.”

“Because I take care of them,” Kiri shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.

Their banter made you laugh again, the warm, musical sound filling the space. Being with them always felt so natural, so easy. You hadn’t expected to feel this level of comfort here, surrounded by a culture and people so different from your own. But with Kiri and Lo’ak, it was like you belonged, even if only for a little while.

Your curiosity was insatiable as you reached out to trace one of the dark blue stripes running along Kiri’s arm. The texture of her skin was fascinating—smooth yet firm, so different from your own. “Your stripes are so unique,” you murmured, your voice filled with wonder. “Do they mean anything?”

Kiri glanced at the lines on her arm, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips. “Not really,” she said. “They’re just... us. Like fingerprints for humans, I guess.”

“That’s incredible,” you said softly, marveling at the intricate patterns that adorned her body. Each stripe seemed perfectly placed, as though painted by an artist’s hand. You couldn’t help but feel a deep admiration for the natural beauty of the Na’vi, a beauty that seemed to harmonize so effortlessly with the world around them.

Your gaze lingered on Kiri’s arm for a moment before curiosity tugged at you again. You turned slightly, your eyes falling on Neteyam. He was sitting quietly, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding. There was something about him that always made your heart flutter, a quiet intensity that drew you in no matter how hard you tried to resist.

You knelt in front of Neteyam, your heart racing as your hand hovered just inches from his arm. The stripes on his skin were mesmerizing, curving and twisting in intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with life. They weren’t just beautiful—they were a testament to the connection he had to this place, to Eywa, to the world you were still learning to understand.

You hesitated, your fingers twitching slightly. “Neteyam,” you said softly, your voice quieter than you intended. “May I...?”

He blinked, his golden eyes meeting yours, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. For a moment, you thought he might say no, but then he nodded, his expression calm though you could see the faintest flicker of something behind his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or something deeper.

Gently, you reached out, your fingertips brushing against his forearm. His skin was warm, the texture smooth yet firm, and you marveled at the way the stripes curved along the muscles of his arm. You let your fingers trace one of the lines, following it with careful precision, afraid to press too hard, as though he might pull away.

“Yours are different,” you murmured, your eyes flicking up to meet his for a brief moment before returning to his arm. “The way they curve here... it’s beautiful.”

You saw his ears twitch in response, a small movement that he probably thought went unnoticed. It didn’t. The little gestures, the way his tail swayed or his ears shifted, were all things you’d come to recognize. They spoke volumes, more than words ever could.

Your curiosity got the better of you, and your gaze shifted to his hand. “Your hands,” you said, leaning closer so you could see more closely. You reached out without thinking, gently taking his hand in yours. His hand dwarfed yours entirely, the sheer size of it fascinating. “You have four fingers,” you said, your tone soft with wonder. “Not five like Kiri and Lo’ak.”

“It’s... normal for most Na’vi,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. It was almost hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure why you found it so interesting.

You turned his hand slightly, your fingers brushing over the rough calluses on his palm. “They’re amazing,” you said softly, tracing one of the lines that ran along the base of his fingers. “So strong.”

He didn’t pull away, but his tail flicked behind him, and you noticed the way his shoulders seemed to tense ever so slightly. You felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if you were being too forward, but his lack of protest gave you the courage to continue.

“Does it feel different?” you asked, tilting your head as you compared his four fingers to your five. “Having four instead of five?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied, and you couldn’t help but notice how quiet his voice was. “I’ve never had five.”

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the quiet tension between you. “Fair enough,” you said, glancing up at him. His golden eyes were focused on you, watching your every move with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

Holding up your hand, you placed it against his, palm to palm. The difference in size was stark, his hand engulfing yours entirely. “It’s so big,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I knew it would be, but... wow.”

The moment hung in the air, your fingers lightly resting against his. You could feel his warmth, the steady strength of his hand beneath yours. Your gaze flicked up to his face, catching the faint color blooming on his cheeks, the way his ears twitched and his tail swayed more erratically.

“Look at him!” Lo’ak’s voice shattered the quiet moment, and you turned to see him grinning, pointing at Neteyam. “His tail’s going wild! Big bro’s flustered because of her tiny alien hands!”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and before you could think, you turned to Lo’ak, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Oh, so you want my tiny alien hands crawling up your body?” you teased, wiggling your fingers at him like claws.

Lo’ak’s grin vanished, his eyes widening in mock horror as he stumbled back. “No, no! Keep those creepy little hands away from me!”

Kiri burst into laughter, doubling over as she clutched her stomach. Even Neteyam, who had been so still and composed moments ago, let out a deep, rich laugh that sent warmth flooding through your chest. It was a sound you hadn’t heard often, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

You turned back to Neteyam, catching the way his laughter softened into a smile as he looked at you. His golden eyes sparkled in the dim light, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The teasing, the laughter, the noise—it all fell into the background. All that mattered was the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world.

Your own smile softened, and you felt a quiet joy settle in your chest. Neteyam had always been steady, composed, a figure of strength and responsibility. But here, in this moment, he was just... him. And it felt like a gift, one you hadn’t expected but cherished all the same.

You didn’t know what Eywa intended or where this path would lead, but as you watched him, you thought that maybe, just maybe, this was where you were meant to be.

Part 11: To ask

[babacontainsmultitudes]

🤔 Admittedly I was a little disappointed by the reveal (but certainly not surprised the foreshadowing was heavy in this episode lol), but not actually against how Beth (and Will) seem to be playing with it thus far- which is to say that I do think it has a lot of potential, and I suspect there's more to what we're seeing).

;) Big ol' ramble below

Mostly the theory has turned me off until now (at least insofar as I've witnessed it transpire in the fandom at large) because it struck me as so painfully ironic to see Trudy, a 1950s housewife, struggle to exist under the system that she's in, fail to fit the mold assigned to her, and be denied her personhood very literally for it (this being ironic insofar as how it mimics how she would have been treated back then). This and because frankly I just think she's a lot less interesting if she's fully a robot LOL, but I'll hopefully get to that in a bit.

Not that the hints at her mechanical nature and the relevance of Tucker's background were lost on me; I can appreciate why those would contribute to a plausible, fun and I think still mostly harmless theory (now fact). However, minus one or two specific posts I've seen on the matter (namely a recent one suggesting that if Trudy is a robot Beth is probably taking inspiration from The Stepford Wives, :( sorry person who made that post I couldn't find it I wanted to credit yoouuu), I've seen the theory just about exclusively presented in a manner that, rather than explore the metaphorical and political significance of Trudy being partially or fully mechanical, at best disregards the parts of her narrative that are at their core about sexism (among other related things), and at worst negates them entirely (i.e. Trudy only thinking and acting how she does because she's a robot malfunctioning and not because the world itself is causing harm and she rightfully wants something more than the role she was forced into, Trudy not even having any real thoughts and feelings of her own, etc.). I just think it kind of sucks to shove all those important things about her aside and say "actually, there's no person suffering here, she's just a robot" and perhaps worse yet to imply that she does have thoughts and feelings but because they result in Weird™ behavior it must be a problem with her code and not at all relate to what women were subjugated to during this point in American history.

CONVERSELY I don't think Trudy being a robot (or at least partially one) at least from what Beth and Will have presented us thus far, inherently suffers from any of these issues? First and foremost because Trudy definitely appears to possess sentience, thoughts, and emotions of her own, matters which immediately complicate her degree of personhood and don't inherently box her behavior in as a bug in her programming rather than an issue with the world she's been put in, quite the opposite in fact! I think they have a very solid groundwork laid out here to make a strong statement with Trudy's narrative (and perhaps ask the question of what is really malfunctioning here), all the more so since [I pull out a Rebecca Swallows-style conspiracy board] I don't think she's entirely robotic in nature? Actually you should just read Mack's tags in this post cause he has great thoughts on the matter (of which those are just some of them), but if I can direct your attention to one thing in particular, it would be Beth's fact (I *believe* from episode 2) about Trudy never graduating high school because of her essay where she suggested that "perhaps women could one day domesticate themselves", a statement that could of course be interpreted a number of ways but ultimately threatened the patriarchal status quo enough (in suggesting women's independence) to cost Trudy her diploma. Taken on its own this fact appears to contradict the theory that Trudy has always been robotic in nature, because it doesn't really make sense that Trudy would have been set up to go through high school (or school at all really) when Tucker's intention was/is for her to be the perfect housewife. You may then suggest that Trudy's memories of this are fabricated and not actually her lived experiences, in which case firstly perhaps you should reread my earlier point on the robot theory being used to actively negate and otherwise disregard the portions of Trudy's narrative that pertain to sexism and feminism, and secondly it really doesn't make any sense to me that Tucker would implant those kind of memories into Trudy's brain? To be completely honest if she's been a robot from the very beginning (rather than someone who became a cyborg, which is what I'm trying to suggest here), then I don't see why Tucker would program her with actual sentience in the first place (suspending my disbelief here with regards to the possibility of programming sentience to begin with). It seems much more likely to me then that Trudy was not always a robot, and instead altered by Tucker to force her into a role of subordination and remedy her """imperfections""". This option is significantly more interesting to me one, because it implies that Trudy has actually lived a life up until the present, full of its own complexities and strife (and dreams, and real actual memories worth exploring, etc.), and hence is not by any means "just a robot", and second because it amplifies the hypothetical statement being made on the lives of the real living women of the era and how they were treated and seen as being "in need of fixing" for not conforming to gender roles or otherwise acting "out of line" with what was expected of them.

OKAY THIS GOT OUT OF HAND SO I'M CUTTING MYSELF OFF HERE but I wanted to my share my current thoughts what with this ending and where I'm at so hopefully that was at least interesting to whoever has chosen to read through this one okay thank you byyyyyyyyye~

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field XIII

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 4.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there. oh, and manipulation (both of them lowkey)

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: nothing much to say other than thank you guys and i hope you like it :)

series masterlist

You think you might die from this heat. The ice bag that Coryo brought you only lasted so long, especially when you shared it with the covey, which cut its window of efficacy in half. Both of you trailed behind everyone on the way to the lake, besides for Maude Ivory who found a very comfortable spot on Coryo's back. You should have thought to buy her some new shoes before the several-hour hike, but you didn't think that would be of consequence.

"How is Sejanus?" You ask, making conversation as you wipe the sweat from your brow. You'd like to gauge if Coryo knew anything more about your mutual friend's habit of hanging around with the wrong people.

"He's... yeah. He's fine." Coryo sighs, adjusting his hold on Maude Ivory's legs around his waist as he steps over a tree root.

"You don't sound so sure." You laugh, tilting your head up at him.

The bruise on your cheek wasn't red anymore, now healing into a yellowish hue that Coryo could hardly tear his eyes away from. He wishes you were still in the habit of wearing makeup every day, then he wouldn't have to stare down the result of his failure every time he looked at you. He shakes his head. "Well, I'll tell you about it later."

You just nod, looking down at the ground in front of you to make sure you don't trip. Now it was your turn to wish that the two of you could talk about what's going on between you. Whatever Sejanus is up to with Billy Taupe reminded you that even though you're far away from the chains of the Capitol, you still weren't entirely free. Even if now it was just free of the prying ears of a little blonde girl who loved to talk. "If you could change one thing about your routine right now, what would it be?" You ask, looking up at him again and squinting at the sun as it breaks through the trees above you.

Coryo draws his head back for a moment, confusion washing over his features at the seemingly random question. "Uh, everything. Next question."

"Ah-ah," You shake your head, hair falling into your face which you quickly pull back again. "Only one thing."

"Okay, fine." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Um... not sure, honestly. Maybe I'd have more success trapping those damn Mockingjays." He grumbles, looking up into the treeline.

You laugh, rubbing over the mostly healed scratches on your arms. "Nothing yet, huh?" Up until the point that you forgave him, you had gone out every night for almost a week, having learned a better system for opening the traps that didn't result in them cutting up your arms with their claws. Not so much as a thank you from the birds that apparently could speak, until you had started to thank yourself every time you reached around the side of the traps to open the metal, just so they would echo it back to you. You knew it was crazy, but it had become a fun semblance of a normal routine.

"Not one. Hardly any Jabberjays either, we think someone was setting them free in the night, they were easier to trap at first." He replies, smiling at you despite his frustrations about it. He couldn't wait until they could catch enough for Dr. Kay so he could start shooting them instead. "Rebels, most likely."

"That's annoying." You laugh, trying to hide the nervousness in your tone. "Why would they care about some birds?" It was a stupid question to pose, to poke holes in his only theory when it didn't already point back to you.

"They're hardly more than animals themselves." He grumbles, shrugging. "No, actually, I'd probably spend more time with you, if I could." He changes his answer and effectively, the topic as well. At this, Maude Ivory lifts her head from his shoulder.

"Are you guys in love?" She asks, turning her head so she can look at you now.

"Oh, no." Your cheeks burn as you laugh, shaking your head. "It's complicated big kid business, Maude Ivory."

"That's enough." Coryo chuckles nervously, spinning her on his hip and carefully putting her down. "Go bother the others."

The girl giggles, walking backward in front of you with her shoes in her hand. "It's why, I love you, you're as pure as the driven-" She starts to sing a song you were writing with Lucy Gray, knowingly taunting you, but you're quick to cut her off.

"Hey! Don't!" You laugh quickly, pretending to push her forward so she'll run along. "They've got some thin walls in that house..." You chuckle quietly, avoiding his gaze as you watch her run up ahead.

After a few moments of silence, Coryo speaks again. "What about you? What would you change?"

"Can I be uncreative and say the same thing as you?" You ask, cheeks still red.

"Sure." He nods slightly, a small smile on his face.

"Great, because those birds are starting to get on my nerves." You joke, bumping your shoulder against his arm.

He smiles, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I hate you too."

"Oh, hush. You know I love you." You freeze up as soon as you say it, suddenly it holds a lot more weight to it than your typical friendly banter.

At that, Coryo drapes his arm over your shoulder with a satisfied smile, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

"Can you tell me about Sejanus, now?" You ask, head placed on Coryo's lap as you lay on the dock. You had been out of the water for a little while, now, utilizing the sun to dry your wet hair and skin.

He looks back up to the cabin, seeing Lucy Gray and the rest of the covey scattered and picking plants or lying in the grass. "Uh, he just keeps sneaking off, and I found a good bit of money in his locker, but he told me he was broke so... I don't know what he's up to."

You sigh. "I've seen him hanging around Billy Taupe a lot. They're a sketchy crowd in the nicest of terms."

"Well, he is district. It doesn't surprise me that he'd associate with them." Coryo explains, distracted in a weak attempt at braiding a small section of your hair.

"He's gonna get himself killed." You mutter, eyes closed to block out the sun. You couldn't tell Coriolanus about how you ran into Sejanus a couple of weeks ago, knowing he would ask questions about why you were out at that time too. It's easier to lie to Sejanus than to him.

"It's not our problem if we stay out of it." Coryo tries to ease your mind.

"We can't just stand by and watch, though. It'll eat my conscience alive if something were to happen to him."

Coriolanus looks down at you, watching your calm expression form into something resembling worry. He chews on the inside of his cheek and nods to himself. He would have to do something, if Sejanus ended up getting in some kind of trouble, the guilt of knowing without acting will kill you. "Okay. I'll figure something out. I'll get him to keep his distance." He promises.

Days had passed since that interaction, and Coriolanus is crippled by the fear that he made a horrible mistake. He got the full story from Sejanus, and it was worse than he pictured.

You liked Sejanus, at least you acted like it when he was around. Coriolanus could always see that the district-born boy meant something to you, even if it was unclear based on the way you spoke about him when he wasn't present. Him running off into the woods with a bunch of derelect rebels was far from a viable option, Coriolanus wouldn't have it. He couldn't risk your reaction knowing that he told you he would do something to intervene.

He needed to talk to you. You were the only one he could trust to tell about the Capitol-bound recording he sent off of Sejanus' confession, or the news that his family had been kicked out of their apartment back home. He wasn't even sure he wanted to tell you. Coryo had been fighting this internal battle for what felt like ages, so maybe he could just include the basics, leave out his actions, and let you lift some of the tensions from his shoulders by telling him it would be okay. That it would all be over soon, and that you're proud of him for passing his exam. He could get the two of you out of this dump by the end of next week, and he couldn't get you away fast enough.

Unfortunately for him, when he finally arrived at the Hob on his night off you were already on stage with the Covey. You were laughing, dancing and spinning, occasionally joining Maude Ivory on her hip drum while Lucy Gray sang. The crowd loved you, and you loved the attention. He'd be lying to himself if he tried to say he didn't love watching you so happy, but the timing was inconvenient at best.

Coryo found his usual spot against the wall, sitting down next to Sejanus. He wasn't about to let him out of his sight, not anymore.

"Give it up for our friends in the band!" He smiles at Maude Ivory's excessive spirit as she holds her arms out to encourage applause before her eyes lock on him. Her face lights up more, somehow, and he greets it with a nod.

She turns to you while music is slowly tuning out, and gives a slight tug on the bottom of your new dress. It had been scuffed up in your fight with Ash, but you had cleaned it up nicely- hardly a stitch was out of place.

You look down at the girl, who just gives a slight nod in the direction of the wall Coryo was sat against. "He's here, you gotta sing it now!" Maude Ivory says, loud enough so you could hear but not enough to be picked up by the mic behind her.

You look very briefly over at Coryo, shaking your head at her as your cheeks turn rosy. "He's never gonna hear it." You say, leaning down to her level. "Who even says its about him, huh?"

"You can't trick me, Sage." She giggles, pointing at your nose.

"C'mon, lets do it!" Lucy Gray chimes in encouragingly as you stand back up. "I'll play for you. All you gotta do is sing."

You roll your eyes playfully, shaking your head again. "No, I-"

"Now, welcome back for her second performance with us, Sage! She's gonna take us over for a minute here. I promise, y'all are in for a real treat." You're interrupted by Maude Ivory making the announcement for you. Internally you cuss, plastering on a nervous smile.

"It's beautiful, you gotta relax." Lucy Gray says in your ear, already adjusting her hold on her guitar. "If I can sing a breakup song to the whole country, you can sing a love song just to the folks in this room. C'mon." She smiles, nodding for you to take the mic as Maude Ivory bows you in.

You'd played this song a bunch back at the Covey's home after Lucy Gray caught you humming the abstract tune of a lullaby your mother used to sing to get you to sleep when you were little. You didn't remember a single word, but the melody was enough for her to recreate and embellish it into one of their songs, to which she insisted you help her write the words for.

Coryo is leaning forward, elbows rested on his knees as he watches you. From what he knew, you weren't much of a singer. The redness evenly spreading across your cheeks and nose in time with the intro music was evidence enough of that.

"Sing for us, sweetheart!" Someone from the crowd calls out, which is matched with whistles that force Coryo to sit up to try and get a look at who the hell is yelling at you. His jaw is seized until he hears your voice echoing through the large room, drawing his gaze back to you on the stage.

"I've taken some hits, so no wonder I'm wary. It's why I need you, you're as pure as the driven snow..."  You look over his way only briefly while you sing the first round of the chorus, trying not to let your voice catch from the nervousness still pumping through every inch of your body.

He knows it before you're finished, but the last word, the one you didn't let Maude Ivory get to on the way to the lake, makes his heart flip in his chest. The eye contact he made with you as you said his name was so heavy with everything you've ever wanted to say to one another but never had, and he completely swells with pride knowing that it was about him.

"Cold and clean, swirling over my skin..." The inclination, again, to shout to everyone that you were his girl was immense and overtaking. Just like the first time, but now he knew it for sure. He was positive."You cloak me, You soak right in, down to my heart."

By the time you render the final verse, his whole world has changed."It's why I trust you, you're as pure as the driven snow..."

I'm gonna marry her.

He's up as soon as the song is over, heading for the back of the stage as you take your bow. Your smile is wiped when you look up and he's no longer there, and neither is Sejanus. Worry pools in your insides as you scan the crowd, giving a rushed smile to Lucy Gray and Maude Ivory as you jump down. You hurry to the back of the stage, brow furrowed as you search for Coryo.

By some miracle, he's there. If you're not mistaken, he's got tears in his eyes as he strides up to you quickly, the stage lights leaking past the stage to illuminate him just enough. His pace and his intense expression only worry you more. "Is everything-" You ask frantically, only for your question to be disrupted by his actions.

Coryo takes a deep breath, and then, as soon as you're within reach, he cups your face in his hands and leans in. The world around you seems to fade as his lips meet yours in a passionate, long-awaited kiss.

Time stands still, and in that moment, everything falls into place. The worries that plagued him when he walked in completely dissolved as he felt your hair in between his fingers. When he finally pulls away, a small smile graces his face.

You're both breathing heavily as you stare at each other, and it's then that you realize he wasn't crying due to any kind of upset. He was crying because of you. With a smile so real that you could feel the sun on your back, even late at night in this dim building hundreds of miles from the comfort of your collective home.

"Coryo..." You say, smile fading as you regain perceptions of your real life.

"I know, and I have so much to tell you..." He grins, leaning down to kiss you again.

It was your turn to interrupt, pressing a hand to his chest to stop him in his tracks. Tracks you so desired to follow, wherever they may take you, but right now you had bigger concerns. "No, no it's... where is Sejanus?"

He pauses, and it's like the spell is broken as he straightens his posture, looking around as if Sejanus should be right there. "Uh... shit." He had completely forgotten about his friend as he fell under the trance of your voice, of the song you were singing to him.

You're quickly out from under his arms, walking back around the side of the stage to go look for your friend.

"Coryo-" You stop, and he's right on your heels as you turn back to him, pointing toward the back wall. "Go check the bar. Keep an eye out for Billy Taupe. Obviously. He's probably with him." You instruct and he nods to you quickly before beginning to push his way through all the drunk people in the crowd.

You try and scan the sea of faces, but you don't see Sejanus anywhere. The music the Covey is playing is loud, drowning out any hopes you had of being able to shout for the boy. You could follow Coryo in the search, but that would no doubt just waste time. You groan, pushing your hair back out of your face in frustration. You shouldn't have stopped Coryo from kissing you again, if Sejanus wants to be reckless you should just let him. The two of you already saved his life once, was that not enough for him?

You glance down the deserted hallway to your right, and then your feet are carrying you toward the back room in an instant. You turn the corner and push the sliding door open when you hear shouting coming from the other side. "What the fuck is going on?" You ask, eyes flitting between Sejanus, and the two other boys in the room, alongside a girl who who you vaguely recognize.

"Y/N?" Sejanus asks, turning back to you quickly.

"Y/N..." The girl mutters to herself, rolling the name around in her mind and on her tongue. You can see it in the way she's looking at you. You ignore it, eyes locked on your friend now.

"I told you to not get involved in things you shouldn't, didn't I? Didn't Coryo?" You scold him, gesturing to the door.

"It's not- I didn't know they were going to buy weapons! It's not what I wanted, they told me the money was only for supplies, that no one would get hurt!"

"These are supplies." Billy Taupe's friend, Spruce, replies.

"Why would you trust them!" You spit, pointing vaguely at the other people in the room.

"Listen, Princess-" Billy Taupe starts, a bitter taste to his tone just as the door slides open again. Coryo's frame is blocking your view of the boy in a second, tucking you carefully behind his back.

"Talk to me. Not her." He hisses, and you grab his arm. The feeling of his skin under your palms is comforting, warm, and tense in your grip. "What are you doing, guns, Sejanus?" He turns his attention to your classmate.

"Coriolanus, I didn't know this is what they would do, they lied to me-" Sejanus starts his pleads for help again on a separate set of ears.

Unsurprisingly, his response is almost identical to yours. "You thought they would be honest? What are you doing? There are peacekeepers right outside!"

"That's what I said." You mumble in exasperated agreement "Why did you even give them money at all?" You ask, hoping to get some answers.

"Sejanus wants to run off with these dimwits into the woods up north," Coryo explains to you.

"What?" You ask, shocked, looking past him at the boy you've known for years. The thought of never seeing him again pulls at your heartstrings in a way you're unfamiliar with. "You can't. Absolutely not."

"You're not my Ma, Y/N!" Sejanus spits.

"Wait, I know you." The girl cuts in, pointing at you. "You're that missing girl. From the Capitol. Y/N Y/L/N. My dad got a call about you!"

You freeze up at the accusation, biting your tongue as you look up at Coryo. A memory flashes in your mind, that's why you recognize her. She's the girl who Lucy Gray dropped a snake on in the reaping- the mayor's daughter. "Huh?" You ask, trying to look as confused as possible.

"Don't play dumb, we're past that." She scoffs and you just shake your head.

"Genuinely, don't know what you're talking about." You relax your posture, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Well," She sighs, shrugging sarcastically. "I'll go tell my dad where you are. Your family sure is missin' you..." She starts to take a few steps before the back exit and you clench your jaw at her smug smile. You want to rip the hair out of her head and throw her body in the lake to rot.

"Mayfair, you can't leave." Billy Taupe scolds her, grabbing her arm which she quickly yanks away.

"This is ridiculous and confusing, and you act like I don't see the way you still look at Lucy Gray! Why don't you take her with you instead, huh?"

"She is coming, isn't she?" Spruce asks, seeming just as confused as you in a completely opposite way.

"You were bringing Lucy Gray?!" Mayfair shouts, shaking her head at her (now presumably) ex-boyfriend.

"She said she wanted to come!" Billy Taupe defends and you laugh, shaking your head.

"Okay, so clearly there's some major communication issues in this gang of misfits you've found, Sejanus, so let's just go and leave them to it. It won't benefit you to be stuck in the wilderness with a bunch of starving idiots who will kill each other in a week if they get too lazy to hunt." You plead with him and he shakes his head at you.

"Y/N, wait-" Coryo says, looking back at you only briefly.

"Yeah, Capitol Princess is right. I'm out." Mayfair says, raising her hands in defeat and turning to leave. "You'll all hang for this!"

"This power trip you have about your father being the mayor pales in comparison to what my family has. You'll all be dead by the morning if you say a word." You tell her, voice calm as she freezes, turning to look back at you.

"She's all talk, she won't tell anyone." Billy Taupe tries to defend her from the tensions rising in the room. You were concerned about getting sent home, of course, but if she told about their plans to run, everyone in the room would be executed come the morning light.

"Oh, you think I'm scared of you, Sage? You think I won't tell? Ask Lucy Gray." She's right, Lucy Gray had told you about how this girl was responsible for the reaping being rigged to result in Lucy Gray's death in the games. What they never accounted for was her strength, her intelligence, and her having Coriolanus Snow and Y/N Y/L/N as mentors.

And how Lucy Gray became a victor, known initially to most of the Capitol for her similarities to you. Only, Lucy Gray wasn't bat shit crazy.

Coryo's mind is reeling at the threat made to you as the girl starts to walk away. Within a second, before you can even make a move to tackle her, he's reaching onto the table and grabbing one of the guns. He lines up quickly and squeezes the trigger, letting the bullet fly square into the center of the girl's back. His training had paid off sooner than he thought. Coriolanus wasn't about to have you caught, sent back to a home much worse than that safety hazard at the edge of the Seam where you're currently staying.

"Mayfair!" Billy Taupe is quickly at the girls side, but she's already dead. Sejanus is shaking, and you are fighting back the smile that threatens to form on your lips despite the stress of the moment. "What have you done?" He screams at your friend.

"She was gonna get us all killed!" You defend. "You should be thanking him! Trust me, she was nothing special."

"You've got something comin', Capitol boy." He says, shaking his head as he looks up at the two of you, hatred filling his eyes. "You think you're gonna blame me for this? That you'll never get caught?"

You resist the urge to just shrug, agreeing that no, probably not. Undeniably, your best move would be to blame him. "He was defending all of us, can you not get that through your thick skull?" You settle on, keeping your footing as level as possible as Coryo pulls you back closer to his side again.

"If I swing, for this you will with me!" He screams in anger, back on his feet and moving quickly towards you as Coryo shoves you back behind him, lining up again. He didn't have to shoot, though, because Spruce does. The boy's body flings into the wall to the left of you from the force of the impact, slumping against the floor.

Your heart is pounding as you look between your two friends. "Sejanus, are you alright?" You ask, trying to approach him as Coryo starts shouting orders at Spruce to get rid of the guns.

"Hey, he's fine." Coryo grabs your arm, pulling you close to him to look at you. "I'm gonna handle this. Get back out there and sing, play the violin, just do something, okay?"

You glance back at Sejanus again, who is clearly panicking so bad he looks like he might faint. "No, I'm not leaving you, and Sejanus-"

"Sejanus is fine." Coryo says again sternly, shaking your shoulders now as he looks into your eyes. "Go back out there. I will handle this. I'll find you soon." He promises, gently pushing you in the way of the door. "Go. Now."

You swallow the anxiety sitting uncomfortably in the back of your throat and nod, glancing only briefly at your friends before you leave, closing the door quickly behind you.

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i've closed my taglist for coryo now!! sorry to everyone who wanted to be added, but unfortunately there was significantly more demand than i expected and i sadly just can't tag everyone. BUT! if you still want notifications when i post for this fic, please turn on my post notifs!!

[thydungeongal]

D&D 5e being poorly designed issue #499:

Flesh to Stone requires three failed constitution saves to actually petrify anything, and even then requires ten rounds of concentration to make it last longer than a minute. Constitution is the most common save to have a bonus in in this system, and since it is a sixth level spell, this bonus tends to be quite high. As a result, this spell pretty much never actually does what it is billed as doing.

If the target does make their saves, this effectively translates into 3-5 rounds of a single target being restrained, at the cost of a sixth level spell slot and concentration.

The web spell, meanwhile, creates an area of effect in which any creatures that fail their dexterity saves are restrained. Dexterity saves are pretty common, but they have to keep making them as long as they're in the webs, and it's a strength check (rather than a save, so usually a lower bonus!) to escape. The spell requires concentration, but the maximum duration is an hour.

That's right. Web is objectively and unambiguously better than Flesh to Stone, despite being four spell levels lower. This is because the people making 5e wanted to get rid of save-or-suck effects, but didn't want to get rid of the spell names, and so nerfed them all to the point of uselessness. There is no use case for Flesh to Stone that would not be better served by Web or some other, notably lower than sixth level spell. You could cast Web with that sixth level slot, and it'd be a waste of resources, but it would still be less of a waste than Flesh to Stone, because it lasts longer, is slightly harder to resist, and can affect more than just one creature.

This is your game design on nostalgia and self-reference.

Yeah there's a lot of weird and conflicting ideas going on with spells in D&D 5e because they really lacked a coherent set of design goals: the designers seemed to have lacked a clear consensus on whether they wanted the game to be a balanced (albeit tipped in the player characters' favor) tactical combat game like 4e or an old-school experience with lots of nasty save or die effects. Part of the issue is that at an early point in the design process they decided not to take 4e's lead on monsters effectively having their own unique spells and spell-like abilities, and instead decided that the same spell lists should be available to both monsters and player characters.

And as anyone who's played 3e will tell you, when spells are as readily available and effortless to use as in Hasbro D&D and both sides have save or death spells available, it leads to rocket tag. And rocket tag is really not conducive to a fun tactical combat game that is supposed to be slightly tipped in the player characters' favor.

(Rocket tag is also the name of the game at higher levels in TSR editions of D&D and I feel it does harmonize better with the sheer amount of "fuck you" design in those editions. I think the assumptions written into the rules that combat isn't supposed to be fair or fun affects that very much.)

Anyway, so it's not just pure nostalgia, it's a combination of nostalgia while at the same time trying to copy D&D 4e's homework but not understanding the assignment. The biggest issue with D&D 5e in the context of all the various editions of D&D is that it had the benefit of more than thirty years of design and still ended up without a clear set of design goals besides "let's make the game that's the most D&D!" Like, ultimately as a dungeon game it's fine, but given the context of what's come before it should've been great.

[last-sprout]

Last Sprout Dev Diary - Nov 22, 2024

Hello sprout folks! I'm Valerie, or @oneominousvalbatross, and I've been working on Last Sprout since July, and I'm wildly excited to share some of the things I've been working on with y'all.

Ignore that Twiggs' hat falls off that's natural.

I'm aiming for a Dev Diary once a week on Fridays, and I'm just gonna be giving a brief look into making a game! I'm learning how to do a lot of this stuff live, so I'm sure there'll be a ton of massive rewrites and changes. I have probably a dozen huge systems that are already built that I'm not going to be getting into in this post, since I'm already half a year or so into development, but I'm sure I will find space to include them later!

XP

I spent most of my time figuring out exactly how we wanted to represent XP in the world. We were pretty certain that we wanted XP to exist physically as a substance you picked up, so I started with a system from a previous build.

In that version, we just created a bunch of XP objects and scattered them into the world, then had some code that scooted them around. Of course, that means that we're tracking an individual unity GameObject for every single instance of a point of XP which is, uh, slow.

This is what we call 'suboptimal.'

So obviously we needed to not instantiate an entire transform every time we needed to spawn XP. Even if we re-used objects that would just be prohibitively expensive for an object that really just needs a position.

I'm not going to go over each step in the process, but after experimenting with GPU instancing to just draw a bunch of XP objects at once, eventually I landed on extending Unity's particle system, since it has a lot of the settings I wanted access to.

To make the XP move how I wanted, I wrote a pretty simple process that iterates through all the little blobs and checks how close they are to a designated collector, then uses an exponential decay function (with thanks to Freya Holmér) to make them move towards Twiggs.

I think every game should have an action that can be best summarized by making the noise 'SHWOOOOOP.'

Parrying

Parrying was a good deal simpler, but it still has its issues. Essentially, all a parry needs to be is a hitbox and an animation, with some callbacks to enemies to let them react to the parry. Whenever an attack hitbox intersects with either a Parrybox or a Hurtbox, it checks its tags to see if it's interacting with the appropriate entities, to makes sure enemies aren't hitting or parrying each other constantly. If it passes the test, it calls GetParried() on the intersecting object.

GetParried(), idiot.

For the basic behavior, parrying just interrupts the attack in progress and knocks the enemy back by a set amount, but there's room in the system to add all sorts of neat effects, which I'm sure we'll be taking advantage of in the future. It's been a challenge to juggle the various kinds of hitboxes, but it'll definitely be worth it going forward!

Of course, between all these bits there were a ton of bugfixes and little experiments, but that's a topic for a later dev diary!

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Miraculous Ladybug

Open My Eyes by buggachat

Adrien smiles as he eats breakfast with Nathalie, smiles as he walks through the halls of his new lycée, smiles as people stop him on the street and tell him time and time again what a "hero" his father was.

(Adrien wishes he could've been a hero, too. He should've been. Maybe then his father would still be alive.)

(But he's surviving. Everyone may be treating him as though he were made of glass, but he can still go through the motions, he can prove them wrong, he can still smile.)

“And you’re… happy,” Marinette spoke carefully, a nervous tilt to her voice, “... right?”

(Adrien has some things to find out.)

DC

the good, the bad, and the power hungry by konan_konan

dim trake ☑ @timdrakeceo・8hr if one more person tweets about #superlex unironically im gonna end it all 391K Views | 200 Retweets | 13 Quote Tweets | 22.1K Likes

j-son of a bitch ☑ @jsntdd・8hr ↳ replying to @timdrakeceo hurr durr these are the consequences of ur actions bitch 201K Views | 109 Retweets | 4 Quote Tweets | 18.4K Likes

or: lex luthor makes bad choices. and then, so does everyone else.

call me cute and feed me sugar by suzukiblu

Tim Drake had absolutely no intentions of ever becoming anyone's sugar daddy when he met Superboy.

This would have worked out better for him if Superboy had ever had an actual legal identity or an actual legal guardian or just . . . literally anything whatsoever in life. Ever. At all.

Just a bank account, even.

how big, how blue, how beautiful by merils

Kon-El is not good with medical settings. One could even say he's quite bad with them. How bad, exactly?

Well, let's put it this way: Very few things in the world can make him scream for Superman to save him.

(Superman will save him. That's what family's for, right?)

Clone Wars

The Kenobi Chronicles by WobblyCat

General Kenobi isn't actually dead. Someone should really tell that to his troopers, though.

Or: The clones under General Kenobi's command have a groupchat dedicated to him. Cody wishes his subordinates weren't so fucking stupid.

SVSSS

Shen Yuan's Forced Shen Qingqiu Redemption Arc by SpicyReyes

The System's OOC function won't unlock all at once - instead, character traits have to be added individually, through quests. This leads to Shen Qingqiu having to jump through endless hoops just to complete enough side quests to unlock the ability to be a decent person - all while avoiding the effects it has on those around him. If only the cheapskate System wouldn't keep changing the cost of point values - he needs to know what the hell Yue Qingyuan told the others about him that makes them all look so sad when he does manage to be nice! He's breaking his back here, can't we just appreciate his work?!

second-hand alibis by nex_et_nox

"All right. I’m in Proud Immortal Demon Way," he says, once he's had a chance to compose himself again. He sits back up, tossing his stupidly long hair back over his shoulders where it belongs; he is totally calm and ready to grill the System for more information.  "Who am I supposed to be?" Please please please don't let it be someone who Bingge violently murders. Though given the fact that he's a man in PIDW, his chances are already skewed, and not in his favor. Ugh. [Bound Role: Shen Yuan, Rogue Cultivator. Weapon: the sword Heng Li. Starting B-points: 100.]

or: Shen Yuan transmigrates as a rogue cultivator, one completely unconnected to any canon characters or events. Right, System? Right?

[collapsedglasshouses]

Like The Movies || Vinny Mauro x fem!Reader

PICTURE FOUND ON PINTEREST

SUMMARY: When Vinny and his childhood best friend Y/n jokingly decide to watch adult movies together, things escalate rather quickly.

WARNINGS: smut, MDNI, watching porn together, mutual masturbation, mutual pining, mentions of drug consumption, friends to fwb sorta, …

A/N: I wrote this last night, I don’t know where it came from… Maybe I’ll write another part. I don’t know yet! This is not proofread sorryyy

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @nerdraging4point0 @circle-with-me @tearfallpixie (i hope you dont mind me tagging you, i thought you would like to read this ♡)

Vinny was glad tour was over. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, he had a blast. But coming back home meant one thing for him. He would see you again. Vinny couldn’t remember a time where he hadn’t known you. Since he could remember, you were there. From kindergarten, where you beat up a guy that stole him a shovel while building a sand castle, to high school, where you were there for each other during the worst heartbreaks.

Even when he became the drummer for Motionless in White, you were there. You supported him through every life stage he was going through and it even came to the point where you bought the house next to his. You two were basically attached at the hip.

It was no wonder that when he was back in town, he visited you the second he had settled back in. There was this tradition, where to two of you would meet up, smoke some weed and talk about everything that happened during the time you couldn’t see each other. Nothing was out of the usual. Except… Everything was out of the usual this time…

It was a warm Saturday evening in July. The sun was slowly setting down and he had just come over to your house. Of course, it meant he would be here until late at night. As always.

Since the temperature reached their peak at this point, it was no wonder you only wore shorts and a crop top. Nothing Vinny hadn’t seen you in before, but this time he took a great notice in how good it actually fitted you.

As usual, you both had been smoking for almost an hour at this point and you were currently babbling about the most random shit that came to your mind. You enjoyed your time together as always. But you actually didn’t know how you got to the topic you were currently talking about.

“Oh, come on! You can’t be serious.” You exclaimed while handing him the joint. His cheeks were almost crimson red at this point. He was nervous. “You can’t tell me you really enjoy these overdramatic movies.”

“It’s not like I enjoy enjoy it, I just skip videos until I reach one that I can, you know, finish to.” He mumbled and let out a small giggle before he inhaled again.

“And you decided an old and corny eighty’s porn was the right choice?” You giggled and let your head fall onto the backrest of the couch for a second. It wasn’t unusual for you to talk about sexual events in your lives, considering you had gone through so much together, but hearing that he jerked of to something like that made you giggle almost uncontrollably.

“Oh, don’t make fun of me, I bet you watch that shit all the time.” He threw back at you, before putting the joint, or what was left of it, out.

“I’m not saying, I don’t watch porn, I’m just saying I try to keep my taste… Authentic.” You answered him honestly and shifted in your place for a second. Vinny did not miss how your crop top rode up a little and how it warmed his cheeks even more, but he decided to blame it on the drug running through his system.

“So, what’s authentic in your eyes?”

That’s when you noticed something changed. The energy in the room shifted. You looked into your best friend's greenish eyes and you noticed how they seemingly became darker. You knew he just wanted to tease you but something in his tone sparked your curiosity. Something in his attitude made you think he was genuinely interested in your taste in adult films; curious even.

“Should I show you?” You almost whispered, after contemplating your answer for what seemed like eternity. You thought about if it would make things between you and Vinny awkward but you ultimately decided against it. Nothing ever could make things between the two of you awkward.

You saw how his Adam's apple bobbed and you felt strange. There was this feeling in your gut, you couldn’t quite describe. A feeling you had never felt before when you were around him but you just blamed it on your not-sober state.

“Why not?” He mumbled quietly and you could have sworn how his gaze went to your lips for a second.

“Okay.”

Around twenty minutes later, you were gathered around your tiny laptop screen. You had finally decided on a movie to show Vinny but now that you were really sitting there, you were strangely unprepared and vulnerable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and you felt hot all of a sudden. There was something weirdly intimate about this thing. You felt dirty to some extent. You were about to show your best friend your taste in adult movies. You turned to face Vinny for a second, his gaze filled with an anticipating and curious expression.

“What if you find it weird?” You mumbled and his eyes immediately found yours.

“There is literally nothing about you that could surprise me in the slightest, Y/n.” He reassured you with a slight teasing tone. It took you a second to believe his words. But he was right. He knew everything about you. There was nothing weird about two best friends watching that stuff together.

“We can make a deal.” He then exclaimed and you blinked at him. “If we feel weird at any point, we just put it out and watch some dinosaur documentary or something.”

You laughed at the randomness of his media choice.

“What?” – “Dinosaur documentaries? Seriously, Vin?” Vinny smirked for a second before he lifted his hands in defends. “If you find it more comfortable, we can also sit in silence and stare at the wall.”

“No, no. You are right.” You exclaimed before holding out your hand which he took and shook lightly. “Deal.”

When you leaned down to load the video, you noticed how Vinny shuffles in this place. It felt like your heart was going to explode out of your chest.

Breathe, Y/n, breathe.

After a short intro that promoted the person’s OF the video cut to a couple in a bedroom. The naked guy was sitting on the edge of the bed, almost shaking in anticipation as the girl was slowly kneeing down in between his legs. Even though the video was filmed in third person, you could clearly see how she looked up at him through her lashes. Then she began to blow him.

You swallowed hard, not really knowing what to do. You sat stiff, not daring to look at Vinny for a solid minute. The only noise filling the room being the guy’s small moans and whimpers.

“Do you like when guys moan?” Vinny then asked, causing you to look at him with a surprised look on your face.

“What?” - “I-… I mean you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but-…”

“Yeah… I-… I think I like it. When it comes naturally of course.” You mumbled and felt how your cheeks grew warmer.

You looked each other in the eyes for a second before he nodded slightly. The scene cut to him eating her out, their positions switched.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw that Vinny‘s eyes were completely glued to the screen. His eyes were wide. His mouth slightly open and he occasionally sucked his lip in to dampen it. You wondered if he enjoyed it.

You took a deep breath, trying to forget about Vinny sitting next to you, before looking at the screen again. They began fucking at this point. It was the first time you even noticed what watching porn was even like. You watched strangers chase each other’s high for your own entertainment.

You noticed the way the woman threw her head back as the guy pounded into her. She wasn’t fake-moaning, slight noises of enjoyment leaving her pink lips. Occasionally, there were words of praise exchanged between the two of them and you couldn’t help your mind wondering off again. You felt how your stomach started to heat up. You felt yourself shifting in your seat. You felt the way your mouth felt dry and you had to keep licking your lip to feel comfortable. The same way Vinny had to. You noticed how your nipples perked up slightly. How your crop top started to feel tight.

You were starting to get worked up and even though you put great afford into it, you couldn’t help but peak a glance at Vinny once in a while. His cheeks were tinted in a red tone and even though you tried not to, your gaze wondered to his pants. He was hard.

Your entire face and stomach went incredible hot at this sight, like you’d been suddenly standing in the hot summer sun. His hands that had become much more defined due to playing the drums so frequently, were laying on his thighs and he occasionally rubbed them against his black shorts like he was desperate to move them.

What shook you the most, though, was that you wanted him to move his hands.

You took a deep breath again, trying to calm your nerves. You couldn’t believe you just thought about your best friend masturbating next to you. You tried your utter best to lock those thoughts away but it didn’t even take a minute until your eyes settled back onto his figure. It intrigued you. He intrigued you.

You didn’t know how to ask him if he wanted to touch himself. You didn’t want to make it weird. But you desperately wanted to ease the tension in the room. You knew you yourself couldn’t hold back for much longer. Not that you didn’t have self-control but seeing him being so turned on by the movie, made you feel even more desperate.

Onscreen, the scene had totally changed a couple of times but you didn’t even notice one bit of it.

“Vinny?” You said, your voice sounding raspy. He made a quiet noise in response, almost sounding like a whimper. Fuck.

“You… I… I'm mean y-… You can…” You sighed before starting the sentence over. “You can touch yourself if you want.”

He swallowed and glanced over at you, looking at you for the first time since your whole dilemma had started. His beautiful eyes were dark and mirrored some kind of hunger, his cheeks flushed and you couldn’t deny how gorgeous he looked. “I-… I mean, you can too.”

“Yeah,” you gasped in response. “Yeah, it’s not weird.” 

With that the dam was broken. Any clear thought in your head that would have held you back even in the slightest, was washed over by how ridiculously turned on you were.

You took a deep breath before you fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts. You were soaking wet at this point. For a short second you coated your fingers with your arousal before placing them on your clit. There was no going back. You began to circle your clit, chasing your high as you closed your eyes.

“Shit.” You slightly moaned and threw your head back on the backrest. Even though your common sense tried to ignore the presence of your best friend next to you, you couldn’t help but focus entirely on the fact he was there. You slightly looked at him again.

You were hearing him. Soft noises slipped past his lips, his hand slightly rubbing along his clothed erection.

“You don’t have to be shy, Vinny.” You breathed out, “I won’t mind.”

“Really?” He asked. You nodded quickly and he let out a relieved sigh. He leaned forward for a second and slipped out of his shirt, earning himself a surprised look of you.

“I don’t wanna wash it, I have just put it on before coming over.” He explained and you nodded with a sheepish smile, realizing what he implied. You tried to hide how you swallowed hard. You knew you shouldn’t have watched him. It was crossing the lines of what friends should and should not do, but you couldn’t help but realize how fucking good he looked.

He basically shoved his hand into his briefs to get some relief.

Onscreen, the girl gripped the sheets of the bed to hold herself together, while you realized your hand at grabbed the small blanket laying next to you, doing the exact same thing.

Your mind was racing. You didn’t know if you should blend Vinny out completely or let your thoughts win. It was like you needed him to be there and at the same time wondered if this would change anything. You knew this was wrong deep down, you knew this was crossing a line but then he made this noise. This sweet and soft moan that escaped his lips made your head go blank.

You peaked over at him and noticed his gaze was on you. On your hand that was between your lips. You were on fire, your chest heaving.

You knew both of you should have looked away, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to watch Vinny. You lifted your fingers to your lips for a second and licked them, causing him to let out a loader moan. You couldn’t do this anymore.

When you moved them between your thighs again and pushed them inside of you, you felt like Vinny was about to crumble into a million little pieces. The pace of his hand became faster and you couldn’t help but look at his member for a second. God, he was big.

As you curled your fingers to find the delicate spots inside of you, you feared this moment would be over any second. You wanted to stay like this for eternity. Watching Vinny get off to the scene of you doing the same. You loved how he looked.

“Don’t stop, Y/n.” He moaned out when he saw you slowing down for a second and that alone almost drove you over the edge. You didn’t know if it was your horniness but you wanted nothing but to kiss him. It felt like his whines and whimpers turned you into some sort of monster that craved him but right now you weren’t even clear enough to filter out your own thoughts.

The sight of Vinny with his member in his hand felt like an intense experience. The sort of experience that made you want to change your thoughts on life completely

“You’re so fucking pretty, Vin.” You moaned out, not holding back in the slightest. “I wish I could feel you.”

If it was even possible, his cheeks turned even more red. You felt your whole skin prickling. The movie in the background long forgotten. You were staring into each other’s souls at this point. If he hadn’t known everything about you at this point, now he definitely did. And so did you.

It felt like a long-awaited event when you finally reached your high. All the tension leaving your body in such immense waves you feared you would collapse. You moaned his name loudly as your head fell back in the backrest.

Then the moans fell from his lips. It almost felt like you would cum again when you saw him cum on his chest for a second, but you pressed your eyes closed for second to calm your thoughts.

You didn’t open them for a couple of minutes until the volume of the movie in front of you was turned down a little. You peaked through your eyelashes, seeing Vinny had cleaned himself and put his shirt on again.

You slowly leaned forward and stroked over your clothes, trying to smooth them out, in an attempt to drown out your incoming thoughts. You were hyper-aware of Vinny’s gaze.

“Everything alright?” You mumbled, trying to ease the tension between you.

“Yeah…” He mumbled and ran a hand through his hair. “Good movie… I guess.”

You didn’t really exchange any words, before Vinny sighed and mumbled. “I need to go home. Ricky asked if we would hangout on Discord after I get home from yours and I don’t want to leave him hanging for too long.”

You nodded, trying to gift him a small smile but all of the sudden you couldn’t look at him anymore. Not that you felt guilty or something, you just feared that those feelings would bubble up again.

“If you want I can call you afterwards and we can watch some dinosaur documentaries together.” Vinny then suggested and you laughed for a second.

“Yeah… okay.” You mumbled and put a strand of her behind your ear.

After that he quickly got up and left, leaving you with your thoughts.

After you cleaned up your living room and showered you quickly got ready for bed and awaited Vinny’s call when you realized he had texted you the second he had left.

Vin: god this was so hot

He was going to be your death.

DIVIDERS BY @saradika-graphics

[gece-misin-nesin]

I hope it’s ok if I rant a little about MHA because your post about Endeavor walking free reminded me of how detrimental some of the messages MHA can be. (I’ll try not to write much, feel free to delete this tho!)

It is so frustrating how the story doesn’t linger enough on the weight killing people that have yet to commit a crime, people that are a threat to the status quo, holds.

Sometimes I legit feel insane because people will be saying things like, “He could be a threat, so of course they should kill him.” And then talk about Deku and class 1A “changing the world for the better,” when the series doesn’t care to unpack its systematic issues past individual issues + the series essentially maintained the system that failed so many—resorting to reforms and expanding programs doesn’t actually solve the problem imo.

And it’s so hard nowadays to even try to have a conversation that entails criticism of the story, when so many fans fall for the condescending righteousness the story feeds as a response just because it came from heroes. Even though the story itself presents reasons why we shouldn’t blindly trust heroes (Endeavor literally right there) 🤦

Like, the story presents characters being oppressed and the ultimate response to their plight is constantly, “Just be a better victim.” The whole situation with Touya and Endeavor + what Deku says to Touya, is absolutely insane to me.

It made me sick to see people saying, “This is what Touya always wanted.” This is what people are taking away from the story, when many people who grew up being abused and didn’t fit the “perfect victim” criteria will tell you how fucked up that ending was.

Anyway, sorry for ranting. It’s so hard to find people who understands criticism in the MHA fandom 😭 The story has a lot of good points and potential, Hori just couldn’t handle it properly.

I am ALWAYS happy to listen to bnha rants!! I devour the bnha critical tag like a wild beast lmaoo

As for your thoughts, 100% agree. I feel like a big part of the problem is that the story spends so much time setting up systematic issues and then just..drops them? Acts like they don't exist? And instead it redirects all blame and reason to indovidual problems, like Endeavor for example. Touya became a villain because of Endeavor..but the conditions under which he became a villain could have been massively prevented if the ranking system didn't exist and if so much value hadn't been placed on it. Or if the wealth and privilege that being a hero had brought to Endeavor hadn't let people turn a blind eye to his bullshit. Because are you really telling NO ONE had even an inclination that something was wrong in that household? Really?

This also applies to Tomura. In the beginning The Walk where he spent some amount of time on the streets without anyone helping him seemed very important to his backstory. He didn't become a villain just because his father was a pos, he becane a villain because the state of heroism led to a society that glorified heroes to such an extent that people didn't help a bloody kid on the street because a 'hero would'. But instead most of his memories Deku interferes w are about the Shimura household instead of the very important bystander syndrome. And THEN to top it all off, we learn the stupid 'AFO orchestrated Tomura's whole life' thing. I cannot find the right words to express just how much I loathe that.

Anyway, Touya and Tenko are just two examples. Overall, the story chooses to resolve individual problems (and how well even those are resolved is certainly debatable) and frame them as the leading causes of villainy when its mostly systemic issues that cause it and then act like there were no systemic issues in the first place. I mean, literally no one has a problem with the HPSC casually having private assassins to commit extrajudicial murder, so. Guess Nagant should have just been "optimistic" and waited for someone to, idk, topple the literal government.