#incompatible species

[imakemywings]

Replaying Mass Effect Andromeda reminds me how many things about this game are actually fun and a genuine improvement on the original trilogy and how many things annoy the hell out of me

[tiredyke]

i honestly feel like the cis vs. trans debate depends on how we’re defining the terms. “trans” as in “no association with your agab whatsoever”? probably excludes a good sum of trans people. “cis” as in “only expresses their gender through stereotypical presentation and/or never experiments with the concept of gender”? probably excludes a good chunk of cis people. but this doesn’t necessarily conflict with or negate the cultural significance of being cisgender or transgender and labeling those experiences as such. cis and trans people obviously receive very different treatments and privileges, so it’s less about strictly defining what it means to be cis or trans and more about how these terms (as broad groupings) help us understand and identify where we stand. they’re communication devices first and foremost, not diagnoses. i hope that makes sense

[gaphic]

strategizing like a 4-star general on how to explain to oleg why adina's sexy dance class makes me uncomfortable without making it seem like i'm weird about sexy dancing

[bonefall]

I’d be REALLY wary of that idea. I know it’s not your intention but no matter how you slice it that creates a scenario where some cats are genetically superior and more civilised than others based on where they’re from, which I feel is bad even if they happen to be nice to kittypets. Really love your work but maybe consider how you’d handle that one !!

Yeah, that's exactly the reason why I tacked the big old "THIS IS NOT IN THE REWRITE" warning onto the front of it lmao.

It also creates a situation where the Clans have an actual, unfortunate REAL justification for cat eugenics, which would mix very, very badly even in situations where there is no Clan/Housecat conflict. Unless it was completely dominant and always passed on but... you see how it's already an uncomfortable idea I'd have to tack on a bunch of bandaids to.

Sometimes a thought remains just a thought exactly because you end up thinking through its implications, y'know?

[the-trans-dragon]

I am eagerly waiting for my society to figure out that our sex is more complicated and nuanced than "male and female" and I think a nice baby step would be admitting that our concept of sex is...

...inadequate?

...incompatible with a comprehensive understanding of life?

...silly?

I don't think humans will ever have the perfect terms for perfect comprehension but...it's kinda human nature to try to find the words. Are you telling me that this type of terminology (link to the Wikipedia article) is the best we can do? Even when discussing creatures that clearly are not compatible with a binary view of sex?

Like, if we can't even admit that complex sexes exist somewhere on the planet, how could we fathom that they exist within us?

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Guess who got a deleted Zootopia scene in her recommended this morning and decided to go back and finally finish the one and only Zootopia fanfic she ever read?

[itsadragonaesthetic]

Me: hey I had some questions about this species of fish- Pet store employee: if you have questions, you should never expect to own one. I'm not selling them to people who don't know what they're doing Me: ....... what

[mochapanda]

what if i made a giant detailed dungeon meshi world map

[sassyhazelowl]

Quail Group Person: my quail is being aggressive to the other quail *shows video of a very DEFENSIVE quail telling the other quail to piss off and the other quail failing to do so because its in panic mode and climbing all over him/kicking him in the head* Other Person: cull him he's aggressive

[prokopetz]

Not posting this as a reblog because I don't want to screw with somebody else's notes, but the whole "theological implications of Tolkien's orcs" business has some interesting history behind it.

In brief, a big part of why the Lord of the Rings Extended Universe™ is so cagey about what orcs are and where they come from is that later in his life, Tolkien came to believe that orcs as he'd depicted them were problematic – albeit not because of, you know, all the grotesque racial caricature.

Rather, he'd come to the conclusion that the idea of an inherently evil sapient species – a species that's incapable of seeking salvation – was incompatible with Christian ethics. Basically, it's one of those "used the wrong formula and got the right answer" situations.

In his notes and letters, Tolkien played around with several potential solutions to this problem. (Though contrary to the assertions of certain self-proclaimed Tolkien scholars, there's no evidence that he ever seriously planned to re-write his previous works to incorporate these ideas.) In one proposal, orcs are incarnated demons, and "killing" them simply returns them to their naturally immaterial state; in another, orcs are a sort of fleshy automaton remotely operated by the will of Sauron, essentially anticipating the idea of drone warfare.

Of course, this is all just historical trivia; any criticism of The Lord of the Rings must be directed at the books that were actually published, not the books we imagine might have been published if Tolkien had spent a few more years thinking through the implications of what he was writing. However, the direction of his thoughts on the matter is striking for two reasons:

Tolkien's orc conundrum is very nearly word for the word the problem that many contemporary fantasy authors are grappling with fifty years later. They want epic battles with morally clean heroes, and they're running up against exactly the same difficulty that Tolkien himself did – i.e., that describing a human-like species who are ontologically okay to kill is an impossible task.

After all the work he put into solving this impossible problem, one of Tolkien's proposals was literally just "what if they're not really killing the orcs, they're just sending them to the Shadow Realm?"

[vintagegeekculture]

Because she was an intentionally mysterious woman initially only seen in a single episode, and before she got an on-air backstory in the recent streaming series, Star Trek supplementary material developed contradictory information on who - or what - Number One, the female first executive officer of the Enterprise, was. To my count, she has four different, completely incompatible backstories in the comics and novels, and this is absolutely unique in Star Trek, which usually keeps it consistent.

Peter David, in his New Frontier novels, identified Number One as a long lived immortal human mutant (like Flint from the original series) named “Morgan Primus” who was an early genius in cybernetics and artificial intelligence, which is why the Enterprise computer has her voice. One of the names Morgan Primus assumed to hide her immortality was Morgan Lefler, and one of her daughters was Robin Lefler, Wesley Crusher’s love interest from the Next Generation Series played by Ashley Judd. Robin Lefler did not inherit her mutant ability to heal all injuries.

Alternatively, the DC Star Trek Comics of the early 1980s said that Number One was from an obscure planet of peaceful, open, friendly telepaths who resemble humans exactly, and that she was present at first contact with Starfleet. They explained that her blunt, direct, undiplomatic manner is due to her being from a telepathic culture that values total honesty. This would make her the first telepath on the Enterprise, with Spock and Arex coming later. Her planet was created before the Next Generation, but her species being a peaceful, open, telepathic race resembling Mediterranean humans who are not well known or commonly encountered in the original series era….well, that certainly sounds an awful lot like Betazoids to me. If this backstory is true, she may have been the first Betazoid seen on screen, in much the same way fans generally believe Trelane was either Q or a member of the Q Continuum.

D.C. Fontana’s only Star Trek novel, “Vulcan’s Glory,” was one of the earliest attempts to give the character a backstory, and was the most consequential long term. The first novel set in the era of the first Star Trek pilot with Captain Pike and a young Spock, "Vulcan's Glory" identified Number One as being an Illyrian, a race of human-like beings who specialize in species wide breeding programs and genetic improvement. This genetic superiority is why she was cool, intellectual, aloof, and a bit arrogant. Her nickname “Number One” came from the fact she was the supreme product of the hyper-competitive Illyrian system, and won at everything from academics to athletics. According to DC Fontana, her actual Illyrian name is impossible to pronounce, so when dealing with humans, she assumed the human name “Una Chin-Riley.” Una of course, being “Number One” in Greek.

As DC Fontana is such an important figure in Star Trek history and only actually wrote one Star Trek novel in her life, many future materials used the backstory established in “Vulcan’s Glory,” like the David Stern Pike-era novels of the 2010s....but more importantly, the Discovery and Strange New Worlds series, which canonized the “Una Chin-Reilly” name by using it on screen (I remember gasping when Pike called her Una in a Discovery episode, meaning they were going with the Fontana backstory, a detail that may not have been significant to the casual viewer). Since DC Fontana wrote “Vulcan’s Glory” in the 80s, a lot more information was learned about the role of genetic engineering in the Federation, however, and interesting things were done in that series to bring her in line with everything we’ve learned since in Deep Space 9 and Enterprise about augmentation and the society wide prejudice against it. For example, they established that the fact Number One was Illyrian was not public knowledge, but that she pretended to be human her entire life.

The one person who didn’t see fit to give her a backstory or even a real name was John "Johnny Redbeard" Byrne in his comic series about the Cage era Enterprise, who thought the mystery of the character was the most interesting thing about her, and he was deliberately cagey about any details. To Johnny Redbeard, she was just “Number One.” There was a running joke that every time someone says her actual name, or when we see her personnel file, it was blurred out, or somebody’s thumb was over it, and so on. It was rather like the running joke where Mr. Burns never remembers Homer Simpson's name. Johnny Redbeard loves mystery men and women who don't talk about their past, since that was the characterization he famously gave to Wolverine in his X-Men comics.

The one detail of Number One's past that is clear is that Number One in Byrne's comics is competent, mysterious, and has mystique, certainly, but she is completely human, without any powers. Byrne always got exasperated that his X-Men co-creator Chris Claremont added fantastical and far out details to the background of X-Men characters (like how Nightcrawler's girlfriend Amanda turned out to be a sorceress) because he felt "some people should just be allowed to be normal." Byrne always said his original idea for Wolverine's "true" backstory was that he was a Vietnam veteran in intelligence who volunteered for bionic experiments that wiped his memory, and disliked the idea he was immortal, and vetoed the very, very early Dave Cockrum idea Wolverine was an actual mutated wolverine who achieved sentience and a human shape (which early X-Men comics hint at). Byrne was reportedly enraged that they gave Moira MacTaggart a mutant power, as he saw her as just being a scrappy Scottish housekeeper.

Johnny Redbeard didn’t give Number One a past (other than to show she was on the Enterprise's shakedown cruise with Robert April as a rookie officer), but he did give her a future, as he showed an older Number One as a starship commander in the Kirk era (aging gracefully with a white tuft like Tongolele), and later, a flag officer in the Motion Picture era.

To what extent are these backstories compatible? Well, with what we currently know about Number One, that she hid her true species and status to avoid prejudice, it could be that some of the other versions were tall tales she spread to obscure her true origins. The John Byrne idea she served as an Ensign with Robert April in the Enterprise's very first mission hasn't been confirmed, but hasn't been denied, either. The Peter David "Morgan Primus" backstory is completely incompatible, but perhaps there are some elements to it that are true, like the idea that the early part of her career involved working as a computer engineer in artificial intelligence, which is why the computer has her voice.

[ghcstao3]

(part 2) (cw fictional drugs, mild body horror, mild torture)

Shifters should be born, not made. That’s one of few things that science has been able to say for certain about the biology (and ethics) of the species.

Of course, this never stopped those truly motivated—for a few years now, there’s been a serum circulating black markets and cartels and terrorist rings, a dangerous, potent thing that allows for the temporary rewrite of human DNA; for just a handful of hours, this serum allows any non-shifter to gain a shifter’s abilities, often with the goal of making them stronger, deadlier when it comes to picking off their enemies.

Obviously, this serum comes with a few cons: a human cannot determine what animal a serum will give them until it is taken, and because its effects are only temporary, the substance becomes highly addictive. One taste is never enough—but after so many continuous uses, the drug’s effects change into something far more sinister. Potentially fatal; one might lose their mind if they’re lucky, or become some deformed half-thing stuck between human and animal if they’re not.

There’s a reason, scientists will say, that sometimes genetics, DNA is not to be tampered with to such extreme lengths.

But with this serum comes a rumour: somewhere out there exists a more permanent solution, a serum to completely change someone, to make a shifter. Something so strong that it can transform a person, though at a high risk of something going wrong.

This serum does exist, and certainly does hold a risk of things going wrong—the survival rate within days of injection is a measly 5%. The human body is not built to withstand the force of fundamental change, though some prevail; unfortunately, however, often enough they don’t survive long enough afterwards to meet the full potential of their new abilities.

And not necessarily because of the change itself—but rather because the people creating these abnormalities will often decide to erase their existences, once past their use and novelty. If this new creature cannot be leashed, there’s no point in keeping it, no point in allowing it to go free and revel in its newfound talents.

When Simon Riley doesn’t break the way Manuel Roba wants him to, he becomes a victim of this serum. He’s informed, in spite of his torture-induced delirium, that this injection will put him down one way or another—be it through the pain, the incompatibility with his body, or through his expired usefulness after Roba has beaten him into submission in whatever form Simon is blessed with.

The serum feels like hot, molten, infernal flame has been injected directly into Simon’s veins, searing his body from the inside out. The first wave of pain arrives in a flash, has him writhing on the ground as his muscles lock up and he’s gasping for breath to fill lungs already burned to ash. Throat closing up, bones grinding together, the ripping of flesh. He can’t scream. Can’t claw at himself until he’s bloody and raw and dead.

It just goes on.

Roba’s laughter rings through the cold, impersonal laboratory, four cement walls and a cracked floor, the reeking, cloying scent of mildew and rust and failed experiments—it’s all that Simon’s world has narrowed down to until he blacks out in his anguish.

When he wakes, everything is wrong.

Simon’s more than disoriented, though that’s hardly a surprise. But beyond that, beyond the usual aches and sores and bruises—the red of the bloodstained floor is dull, too dull, and his limbs don’t feel like his own. His brain is a fog, simultaneously exhausted and alert, and his tongue sits heavy in his mouth—Simon rolls over, sluggish, his tongue sliding languidly with gravity, picking over teeth sharper than he remembers them being.

The bars of his cell rumble open, the rattle reverberating through Simon’s body.

Wrong. All wrong, wrong, wrong.

It takes effort to lift his gaze, to meet Roba’s own where he stands in the doorway. Simon’s eyelids droop, weighed down by nothing he can discern, and all he can make out through the slits of leftover vision is that smarmy grin and those beady, oil-black eyes.

Roba grins wider when Simon stirs, shifting stiff muscles in a fool’s errand of attempting to sit up.

“I knew you would survive, English,” he says. Simon’s ear twitches. “Welcome to the first day of your new life.”

Roba’s footsteps are loud, grating in their approach. He crouches in front of Simon’s prone form, regarding him in a way Simon has been plenty subject to—always displeased in some capacity, sometimes for known reasons and sometimes not, but also plotting, envisioning the next methods he might use to drill obedience into the soldier, to rearrange his anatomy, to fuck irreparably with his head.

With a sigh Roba reaches into his breast pocket to fish something out, some antique compact with engravings on the lid that Simon is in no state to decipher. He opens it with a muted click, then holds it in front of Simon’s face with something akin to a sick glee woven into his expression.

What stares back at Simon is not human.

[fozmeadows]

TERFism really is just white beauty politics in a pseudo-feminist hat, because there's simply no escaping the fact that every concern-trolling argument TERFs make against transition, and particularly towards trans men, boils down to the worst thing you can be is an ugly woman, where "ugly" is code for "insufficiently young, white and/or traditionally feminine."

The ridiculing of trans women, for instance, centers disgust at the idea of anyone with traditionally "masculine" features attempting to pass as female, which - as has been well-documented by this point - frequently sees butch women, women of colour, older women, tall women, strong women, and any other woman who doesn't fit this dogwhistle standard of prettiness caught in the crossfire. Masculinity is incompatible with beauty, this logic goes, and all women must be beautiful. Ergo, the more masculine you appear, the less female you are. TERFs, of course, will try to deny their active participation in anything so ragingly unfeminist as policing women's bodies in pursuit of a narrow physical ideal, and yet, as the recent furor over Imane Khalif has roundly shown, this is exactly what they end up doing: an endless reinvention of new and shittier forms of phrenology to explain why this woman or that is not, in fact, really a woman.

Accepting trans women who don't, by conventional standards, pass, means accepting the femininity of women - both cis and trans - who diverge from these beauty standards: who have facial hair or receding hairlines, deep voices or big hands and feet, who are muscular or tall or strong-jawed, who are either incapable or undesirous of pregnancy, or one of a thousand other things we're told (despite the fact that humans are not a strongly dimorphic species) are exclusively masculine traits. But trans women who do pass engender a different terror: the fear that beauty is not an exclusively "feminine" inheritance, such that someone deemed a man might natively posses it and thereby render "real" feminine beauty somehow less special.

And then we have the scaremongering around trans men, which frequently presents as "concern" over, specifically, impressionable girls and young women being tricked into harming their healthy bodies by the nefarious Trans Cabal. That this same concern is never extended to adult women is the giveaway, because adult women are, by this reckoning, inherently less valuable, being neither as pretty nor as fertile as their younger counterparts. It's already too late to prevent their inevitable descent into the ugliness of ageing, and either they're parents already (in which case, their biological purpose has been served, thus rendering their identities past that point moot) or else have been written off as too old for childbearing anyway (which adds to their irrelevance).

Which makes it all the more ironic how many of the stated negatives of transition for trans men dovetails with things the cis female body normally does as it ages and/or postpartum. Long-term binding is decried for the way it causes the breasts to sag or deform and the nipples to enlarge, for instance, when this is exactly what happens as a consequence of pregnancy and breastfeeding. An increase in facial and body hair is common for post-menopausal women, let alone those with PCOS. Plenty of women naturally have deep voices, with many growing raspier regardless with age, while both ageing and childbirth inevitably alter the appearance of genitalia, sometimes radically. Even top surgery, the procedure most maligned as "butchery," has its cis analogues: not only for survivors of breast cancer or those who, due to genetic predisposition towards aggressive forms of it, opt for preventative mastectomies, but those who undergo breast reduction surgery, whether for cosmetic or health reasons - while some women, on yet a third hand, are natively flat-chested.

Taken together, then, what unifies the demonizing fear of trans women and the infantilizing dismissal of trans men by TERFs is an obsession with a specific, youth-and-Eurocentric-based notion of female beauty, where being deemed too masculine in either direction is the disqualifying factor. In TERFlandia, masculinity therefore becomes a synonym for ugliness: trans women can't shed it sufficiently to be counted at any age (unless they pass, which is a prospect too terrifying to countenance), while trans men must be stopped at all costs from embracing it (unless they're already old, in which case they no longer matter). Which is not to say that transphobia more broadly lacks for other avenues of attack; it's just that concern around trans bodies and the necessity of controlling them inevitably circles back to beauty, youth and fertility as the abiding hallmarks of womanhood, and as soon as you point this out, all the other arguments start to unravel.

[suzukiblu]

do you have any kryptonians hcs that you think would be fun to see incorporated in more fics out there? like cultural stuff & biology

Ones I've seen before and really like:

Kryptonians purr

Kryptonians are built physically harder/denser/heavier than humans and don't have much "give" in their bodies

Kryptonians can tell that humans aren't the same thing as them, but humans can't QUITE tell that Kryptonians aren't the same thing as them; there is just the tiiiiiniest bit of uncanny valley there when they aren't deliberately trying to pass for humans, though

Kryptonians immediately just "recognize" other Kryptonians as being Kryptonian ( though maybe this one is at least IMPLIED in canon, though I've never been totally clear on that one--but like, a stronger version of it, if that makes sense?? )

Ones I've been slooowly forming myself for personal use:

Kryptonians have different voices and different hearing, in the sense that a Kryptonian has more tones/nuance in their voice and can HEAR more tones/nuance in a voice, and a lot of other species' voices sound flat or toneless to them because they lack those additional tones

"chiming" as a way for children to get their parent/caretaker's attention; basically a specific musical little sound that they make

Kryptonians typically only being physically expressive or emotive with close family members/friends, and vocal communication frequently being more emotive/descriptive for them than physical is

Kryptonians come in just sliiiightly brighter colors than humans do--eyes, hair, skin, etc

it takes a long time and extended time together to "learn" someone's heartbeat

food is generally served on specific complementing dishware, in terms of color/shape/specific meal

most clothes involve multiple layers, mainly a fitted undersuit that covers as much skin as possible, and then an overrobe or two that hide(s) the shape of their bodies as much as possible; specific cuts of drapery are a big thing in their fashion

wearing house crests is a Big Deal all the time and involves certain rites of passage/ages/etc

diet being fairly simple and minimalistic; they have rice but not really bread, eat more fish than red meat, and cuisine tends to concentrate on very subtle and natural flavors; there's not typically a lot of different things on their plate and they don’t generally use chemical preservatives in daily life

to a Kryptonian it'd be a LOT more normal that Kon and Match got made in test tubes than it'd be that Jon and Chris got made via natural births, and there would absolutely be a "is cloning worse or is just leaving your kid's DNA up to chance worse??" kind of argument going on there, culturally speaking

( also I could go on for a fucking MINUTE how Jon being a successful and healthy hybrid who is also apparently fertile enough to have at least one descendent alive and well in the thirty-first century is an insane and weird thing that makes very little sense that I DESPERATELY wish came up in more of the fics/canon that I see involving or mentioning him; seriously, Kryptonian DNA is so complicated that Bizarro syndrome is a regular thing in clones produced from it even by people who SPECIALIZE in cloning, but the kid who just got whatever random genes won the random race is the one who came out perfectly stable and healthy and has ZERO health issues/concerns? like, EVER?? hOW, canon. HOW. )

I will actually live and die on the hill of "Lex is more genetically compatible with Kryptonian DNA than Lois is" because fuck a) biological determinism and b) loving couples DO frequently have to deal with genetic incompatibility and that's just much more interesting to me narratively, and also I love the weird little not-quite-tragedy of that concept, both in how Lex refuses to be an ally to someone he actually is so naturally “compatible” with and in how Lois would have genetic compatibility issues with someone she loved so much and was loved BY so much

ONE DAY I will write the fic where Jon is actually NOT a healthy hybrid and has a ton of health issues from birth and can't even use any Kryptonian powers without having a freaking asthma attack or HEART attack, resigns himself to it just being an unavoidable Kryptonian-human hybrid thing and that he'll never live up to his dad or grow up to be "Superman"--and then one day an oblivious newborn bb clone Kon shows up out of the blue in perfect health with EXTRA superpowers and very publicly declaring that HE'S gonna be Superman someday, and everyone in the Kent family has to just deal with that and how they all feel about it. ONE DAY.

[charseraph]

A planet with four sophont races and a sharp technological gradient.

The water peoples expanded along one landmass’s coastline and gulfs, and became the first to weave and construct permanent settlements.

The earth peoples had learned to genetically engineer the plant life growing around them, designing species for tasks like intercommunications, medicine, construction, and travel.

The air peoples spearheaded aviation technology for the planet, and had been on the precipice of an industrial age upon contact.

The fire peoples were the last to be contacted on their isolated continent. Some ancient Firish art depicts the aircraft of the more advanced other civilizations. They rely on two symbiotic species to move, emote, and manipulate with.

Due to the evolutionary gaps between the races, natural languages are usually incompatible. Tactile and sign are the most popular shapes for intermediaries to take.

While signs and touches have been quickly modified to include a simplified form for the fire peoples’ single arm to express, the full expressive potential of Firish emotion does not have an outlet in common language, and full physical accommodation for their symbioses in public spaces is unheard of.

[vampyrial]

thoroughbred.

summary: You and Levi have been paired up. For what task? Propagating the species, of course.

warnings: nsfw (mdni), dubcon (not from anything Levi or Reader do, but because this is about state sanctioned breeding for repopulation, basically and those in authority are a little overzealous when it comes to making sure you're doing your part.)

contains: afab reader, breeding (duh), little plot, fingering, vaginal sex, voyeurism

author’s note: here, have the fruit of my ovulation horny mind. this will be multiple parts.

Restoration was a considerable effort. Many lives were lost in the war and those who remained were of considerable strength to have survived. They were of excellent stock, and in them lay the hope for the future.

It was agreed upon not to openly call it a breeding program, even if that was its more accurate title. Its official title was ‘The Propagation Project’, a far more tolerable name. You would be paired with a genetically suitable match, your cycle would be closely tracked and a few days out of the month would be set aside for you to…perform your duties. This was still a trial run, there were areas that would probably be improved in its second incarnation but mainly, everyone was just hoping something would come of it so that there could be a second incarnation.

Each pair would be paired until their prime childbearing years were over, all of their children being from each other. It was thought that this would reduce consanguinity. Matches were made based solely on the genes of each candidate, strong and agile with strong and agile, generally. Though, amongst those who were of the most desirable genes, there was some flexibility regarding personal preference. It was necessary to be more accommodating towards their whims, particularly the whims of those who would be doing the labor. Besides that, there were a few already established couples and it made sense to simply pair them if there was no drastic genetic incompatibility rather than risk contaminating the results and wasting the efforts of the candidates.

Your match was Levi Ackerman, your captain. You two were both of extremely desirable genes, though you hadn’t chosen each other, it was more that you felt more comfortable with him than any other candidate. When registering to be matched, they asked who you would hope to be matched with and you answered with Levi. He was just someone you knew you could trust and someone you knew you were attracted to. You hoped he felt the same as Levi hadn’t had any objections to the match. You wondered if he’d given your name when he was asked who he hoped his match would be.

You knew it didn’t really matter whether or not he was attracted to you, they had aphrodisiacs that would make him want you either way if need be. But you, like most everyone else involved in the project, didn’t want to just have sex because innovation allowed for such powerful drugs which made breeding like rabbits easier nor because you needed to propagate the species. You wanted there to at least be something there that wasn’t obligation. Something purely yours between yourself and the man who would father your children. You hoped that wasn’t asking too much.

So as to be sure you had done your duties, the first go around would be in a designated place, a building repurposed into a hotel of sorts. It was lovingly dubbed “the stable.” You and Levi had gone up to the room you were assigned, finding that an attendant would be waiting outside the door while you “consummated” as she put it. It seemed that losing a fertile day and wasting sperm could be punishable offenses with how strict they were. It had been explained to you that she would be checking the room afterward for fluids as proof as well as doing an inspection of you. With how desperately the population needed to bounce back and how much money was poured into the project you understood the fiscal implications behind their meticulousness but it all felt so sterile.

The room was plain looking and better than you’d thought it’d be, you’d half expected a pile of hay. A bed made with white sheets, nightstands, lamps hung on either side of the bed, a faded rug, thick curtains cutting off all but a sliver of the red afternoon light. On the right was the washroom. On the left nightstand, there were two blue vials of the aphrodisiac, also cursed with some deeply unfortunate name that you refused to recall.

“Should we…?” You asked nodding toward them, breaking the silence.

“You can if you think you need to, I’ll go without.”

His voice was low and every word went straight to your clouded little head. “No, I don’t need to.” You were bashful from the suddenness of your desire but it felt less like a job with the arousal already warming your body.

“May I?” He asked, brushing his fingers over the hem of your shirt. You nodded, not trusting yourself with words.

He pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it onto a chair by the window. He kissed the exposed skin of your neck down to your shoulder, his hand was cold as it ran up your back reaching for the clasp of your bra. You were practically shivering by the time you’d been made completely bare, Levi pushed you backwards onto the bed, earning a surprised yelp. He slipped his jacket off and crawled onto you, planting open mouthed kisses on your breasts before parting his pretty lips and taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue swept over it, driving gasps from your mouth and making you squirm beneath him. Your fists balled in his shirt.

You could feel yourself becoming slick as he went on, hands caressing everywhere but your cunt. You pushed your hips up toward him, trying to gain more friction brushing against him and feeling his cock brush against your thigh. He hissed at the contact and pressed your hips flat down against the bed, putting an end to your writhing. You whined and although you would probably feel embarrassed for it later, you let a hand wander downward to touch yourself. Levi intercepted it and your other hand, holding it above your head.

You thought you’d done something wrong but then he slipped his other hand down your body to touch you through your panties, teasing you, making a wet spot on them. He palmed against your panties feeling them grow all the more obviously soaked, his fingers long and deft as you remembered from being grasped by them, pulled back from danger. You had begun to beg, forgetting all about the attendant outside who could most certainly hear you. “Please…” It was unbecoming behavior in front of your captain but that in and of itself was a bit appealing.

“You don’t have to beg me” He said in a hushed voice, finally pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I was just getting you ready.” He slipped your panties over and slipped a finger through your lips right up to your clit. His breaths were heavier hotter once he felt you, slick as satin.

“Captain…” You said as he pulled back to strip your panties off, his gray eyes staring straight at your cunt, slipping a finger in and seeming amused by how much slick there already was.

“You’re going to call me captain even in a situation like this?” He laughed, a little meanly you thought.

You nearly pouted. “You’re my captain...” You answered, lamely.

He scoffed. “Don’t call me that, it reminds me of why we’re here. Call me by my name so that I can forget we’re breeding stock.”

He slipped a second finger in before you could respond, then a third, stretching you as he pistoned them in and out. You could have cried for the teasing way he missed just slightly missed every spot you need from him, just grazing against the part of you that would make you absolutely serenade the attendant outside. He’s being cruel on purpose, too. Every time he misses, brushes against a place inside that makes you shudder, he says “Here?” with the most earnest smile you’ve ever seen grace his lips.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out, sopping wet. He spread them apart to admire the way your sticky arousal webbed between his fingers. “You really like being teased like this?” It wasn’t really a question, he sounded as if in awe.

“You’re definitely ready now” He murmured. You could feel it, slick at your thighs and underneath you and dripping from Levi’s fingers. He slipped them into his mouth, a deep pink blush spreading across his skin.

“Then, you too. Take your clothes off, too” You croak.

He obliged, stripping down to his boxers which were soaked with his sticky precum that wet the fabric with ease each time he felt you squeeze around him. His cock slipped past your swollen folds as he slowly slid in, carefully. Your legs were atop Levi’s hard, muscled thighs as he split you open. A moan tore free from his lips as he bottomed out.

“Fuck” He gritted his teeth.

He was finally pressing against that spot that made you feel like steel in a forge. Your agonized moans filled the room, one would think he was torturing you. He was moving quite slowly, gently, rocking his hips against you. Your pussy swallows him and as he savors the feeling, he is struck utterly dumb and unable to speak. He makes sure to kiss your cervix with each stroke for even as his body is inundated with pleasure greater than any he’s ever known, he still hasn’t completely forgotten his purpose.

You cling to him, your hands clutching the firm flesh of his biceps as your nails dug into his skin, tracing the old scars left from this and that. All the sense in your body is utterly fried, you’re babbling like a drunken fool.

“Levi cum inside me, please, please.” You knew you needn’t beg but you desired it more than anything and you were nearly in tears with the urgency of your need.

“Be quiet” Levi nearly choked. “I– I’m close.”

“Cum inside me” You beg again. “Breed me.” You had obviously gone insane, he’d already told you to let him forget and you thought he’d cool off upon hearing your idiotic ramble. However, soon as the words left your mouth he immediately set a punishing pace. Each kiss of his cock inside you brought you closer, more reckless, a mess. Shaky moans freed from his lips.

“Th-there…! It’s okay, you can breed me, please, Levi” You begged breathlessly as you reached your end, pulsating around him as he continued to bury his cock inside you with astounding preciseness, mercilessly pounded into that sweet spot that prolonged your orgasm until you were tender and sensitive.

“Oh fuck.” Levi released with a tortured groan, rather dutifully not wasting a drop. Even as his cum began to seep out of you slightly, he pushed your legs back as far as possible and fucked it back in, stuffing as much as possible where it belongs.

It was a breathtaking feeling, him filling you with rope after rope of his cum, it seemed he came a lot for even after a few seconds he was still spilling. Your mouth was agape all the while, a string of saliva between your lips. He leaned to kiss you, all tongues, sloppy and lustful, each of you needing the other to hold onto. Each of you eating the moans from the other’s mouth, almost sounding melodic in a carnal sort of harmony.

You did not part from each other for quite some time until you heard a knock at the door. “Give us a minute” Levi called, brow furrowing in annoyance. He pulled out of you, slowly. He dressed quickly and then helped you into your clothing before opening the door to the smiling attendant.

“I apologize, was I interrupting?” She asked.

Yes, Levi wanted to say. “What do you want?”

“Have you consummated?” God, she was straightforward wasn’t she?

“Yes, we fucked.” But Levi was just as deadpan.

“Excellent. Now I’ll need to inspect you.” She was referring to you, you had forgotten it was coming. “If you’d please undress the bottom half for me.” She pulled on a latex glove. God, she meant…

“I’ll need to ensure that you have properly consummated” She continued, unflinchingly somehow, with the same smile.

“What the fuck?” Levi exclaimed what you were thinking.

You shimmied out of your panties and spread your legs slightly. She pushed them open wider and pressed you onto your stomach over the bed, gently. You turned to gawk at her, shocked. You hadn’t known what the inspection would entail but it was certainly not whatever this was.

Levi frowned, stepping in closer and grasping her arm. “Oi, what do you think you’re doing?” Your thoughts exactly.

“I’m examining her, it’s easier in this position. It’s necessary for confirmation or else, I can’t flag the two of you as having completed your task. Please, this will only take a moment.” She stuck a finger inside you suddenly making you gasp, she pushed it far as it could go and twisted it around as if swabbing before pulling it out. A long. stretching string of sticky cum followed, stuck to her finger. The woman admired it for a moment. Levi watched, aghast even as his cock throbbed in his trousers against his will. What was wrong with him? The sex had surely gone to his head if he was getting turned on watching this. He hated that his body contradicted him, particularly now that it was contradicting the disgust he felt at learning the extent to which they’d go in order to ensure you’d done your ‘duty’.

“Very good, you two. I apologize for the inconvenience, it won’t need to continue on now that we have certainty.” You stood back up, pulling your trousers back on. “You two are free to continue until about eight.” She took her leave.

“Are you alright?” He asked, something was still stirring from the scene and it felt dishonest to you to ask something like that knowing what was on his mind. The way you avoided his gaze made him feel a tinge of guilt but he knew he deserved it.

“Yes, it was just…embarrassing. I didn’t know it’d be like that but I might’ve guessed, this is the stable after all.”

“Don’t remind me” He answered. “You can shower first, you’ve earned that much.”

You didn’t argue. You got into the near scalding water and tried not to think about having been bent over like that, inspected for the evidence of his cum before your captain. Let alone the fact that you had just fucked him. It was all too much to bear, maybe it wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t liked it so much, if even bent over before him, you hadn’t felt some glimmer of arousal spark back up. You were wrong when you thought the first time would be the hardest, it would be the second, having to see him again knowing you begged him to breed you, knowing you were practically fingered in front of a man who used to make you do drills. In the bathroom, luckily, there were changes of clothes and bags for the soiled ones. You knew you were taking your sweet time by military standards but you were stalling so that you didn’t have to look at him, he who had returned to being just your captain by now.

When you came out, Levi was sitting in the chair near the window, eyes closed and his expression weary. Had the day taken as much out of him as it had you?

“Goodnight, captain.” His eyes fluttered open, grey eyes fixing on you not with disgust but with vague curiosity for which you were relieved.

“Goodnight.” His voice was subdued, quiet. He did not stand and enter the washroom immediately as you thought he might, he seemed lost in thought. You supposed you would be too, when you were alone.

He was still sitting there bathed in the blue of early evening when you closed the door behind you, his face turned toward the window. In the light of the hallway, you could see a light blush dusted his cheeks.