#my favorite machines are the non-human ones

[h3lgertime]

The eroticism of the Machine

[tallulah477]

Feral

Survive The Night Day 2: Predator/Prey

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Dark!Neteyam, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Oral (female receiving), P in V, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Chasing, Primal Play (Predator/Prey Kink), Creampie, Hair Pulling, Knife Play, Restraining Holds (i.e pinning/holding reader down), Fear Kink (?), Alien Genitalia (not really the focus, but its there), Knotting, Belly Bulge

Word Count: 7.3K

A/N: Based off a dream I had where Neteyam chased me through my house and I was running for my fucking life. Why didn't I let him catch me, you ask? Cause dream Talie is stupid.

Summary: You never understood why the Na'vi don't use this particular plant in their healing practices. It's a miracle plant for the humans - cutting healing times nearly in half when used as a topical paste. You would think it would have some similar benefits to the Na'vi. You would be wrong.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Tawtute - Human

Kehe rikx - Don't move

Rutxe ftang - Please stop

Kehe - No

Even considering he’s a nine foot tall blue alien, Neteyam Sully still looks extremely out of place standing on the clean, white tiled floor of the lab. 

His siblings don’t look so out of place when they visit - comfortable and familiar enough within the confines of the lab to make themselves at home among the multitude of beakers, whirling machines, and thick observation glass that make up your day-to-day workplace. Their large bodies twisting and contorting with ease when necessary to accommodate for the smaller space. 

Neteyam isn’t so lucky. He doesn’t like the human facilities, opting to follow in his mother’s footsteps and stay as far away from the skypeople as he can. He’s only here because he was ordered to be, sent by his father to fix his broken throat comm before they head out with the hunting party on a three day hunting trip.

He looks uncomfortable as he stands behind you, back stiff and arms crossed across his broad chest as he watches you tinker with the comm. Repairing tech has never been your strong suit, so it’s taking you a bit longer to figure out than it probably should have, but since you're currently the only person left in this half of the base, the responsibility has unintentionally fallen to you. 

You should be out there too. The thought forms bitterly in your head as you poke at the small opened compartment of the comm with your tweezers. Your favorite part of research is going out into the world and finding the specimens. The lab is great, a fine place for breaking ground and learning new things, gathering knowledge and data about a flora and fauna in a way that no other humans had ever had the opportunity to do before. Pandora is your home, where you grew up and lived your whole life - and yet, it’s still a mystery, and you learn something new and beautiful about it everyday. 

But the real fun is outside the lab. It’s when you're out there, in the thick of it, stepping over breaching roots and feeling the moss of the ground between your toes when you take off your shoes during a rest break. It’s feeling the gentle breeze of air along your skin and hearing the trees rustle in the canopy above you as a result, and pretending that - just for a minute - you can feel the breeze of alien air brush against your face instead of your mask.

Usually one of the older scientists, Alice, offers to stay behind at the lab to run tests and be on call for the Omatikaya should human tech ever be needed. But she’s the most knowledgeable when it comes to locating the elusive and seasonally grown plant that’s come to be known as the Rust Plant. 

So, that leaves you here, on your ass and pouting while everyone else gets to go off and have their fun. 

As far as you know, the plant doesn’t have any special properties or spiritual significance to the Na’vi. But when the red dust-like powder is collected from the center and manipulated into a liquid, the result is a miracle paste that significantly reduces healing time with human injuries. You asked about it once - why the Na’vi don’t try to make the paste for themselves to see if it will work on them - but the only answer you got back was that it had some ‘unintended consequences’ when used by the clan, so they stay away from the plant altogether. 

You don’t think about that when Neteyam walks in. 

The plant mixture, once rust red, is now a beautiful glowing purple inside the beaker - a reaction from the solution added to the powder to form the liquid base. It’s been on the hot plate for a while now, but it’s only just starting to heat up enough to provide small spirals of smoke inside the clear glass. 

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear Neteyam sniff slightly behind you. You don’t turn around, ignoring the little puffs of air that somehow sound like bullet shots in the silence, but a part of you is instantly insecure. What is he smelling? It can't be the mixture in the beaker. Despite the smoke, it doesn’t give off any kind of smell. Subtly, you press your chin to your chest, trying to see if you can smell yourself to find out if maybe it’s you giving off some kind of stench that his overly sensitive nose is picking up on, but you don’t smell anything off about you either. 

The purple liquid is still thin inside the container, needing several more minutes of constant heat in order to bubble and thicken slightly before it can be considered a usable product, but you pause your tinkering on the comm to note the time for the smoke in a small notebook. 

Neteyam lets out a loud sigh when you drop the tweezers to grab a pencil, the annoyed huff nearly ear piercing in the quiet of the lab. This time you can’t help but glance towards the harsh noise, a slight tilt of your head towards the large Na’vi and your eyes meet amber for just a second before they drop again to the paper as you scribble. 

A part of you wants to be snobby, ask a prissy ‘can I help you?’ just because you feel like he’s being so unnecessarily rude when you're just trying to help, but you keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn’t. 

“Are you nearly done?” He grunts, accented tone pitched with agitation as his feet shuffle on the tile. 

“Yes, just a few more minutes,” You say, picking the tweezers back up. “Be patient.”

You think you’ve almost got the comm fixed, just a minor replacement to the tiny inside panel, and you're thankful that’s all it is. It shouldn’t take too long. You’ve nearly got the replacement piece in place now, so all you should have to do is solder it in and it should be fine. Which is good because the sooner you can get this fixed, the sooner you can get the huffy, oversized, unfortunately very handsome despite being an incredible dick of a Na’vi out of the lab so you don’t have to feel him breathing down your neck anymore. 

It only takes another couple minutes for the smoke to consume the rest of the empty space in the beaker, thick white wisps swirling inside of the glass and spiraling out of the top. You drop the tweezers again, cutting the power off to the hot plate and grab the pencil again to log the time. 

Neteyam sniffs again, this time audibly louder and longer, before it sounds like his breath gets caught in his lungs. 

Immediately, your head spins around to stare at him wide eyed, surprise and concern flooding your chest when you notice he’s backed up a few steps. He’s staring at the bubbling beaker, yellow eyes set with suspicion and what almost looks like distress. 

“Are you o–”

“What is that?” He interrupts, voice gruff as his three fingered hand points to the beaker. 

“It’s… the mixture for our healing paste,” You reply, confused. 

“No! What is it?”

“The Rust Plant? The one that grows on the sides of river b–”

You’re cut off again by a sharp hiss, and you have just a second to register Neteyam’s dagger-like teeth as he stalks forward, spitting out a frustrated “You stupid–” before he’s jerking back, hand immediately covering his nose as if to stop himself from breathing.

He looks wild, eyes frantic as he stares at the beaker, and every muscle in his body looks tense, stung up tight like a bow ready to shoot. You’re a scientist, you’re meant to be observant, so you don’t know why you didn’t see it before. But it’s clear as anything now. The smoke doesn’t have any kind of smell to you, but to him - with the way he’s backing away and covering his nose to keep from breathing it in - it must be horrible. 

His tail is trashing behind him, so upset that you think you can almost hear a swish from it cutting through the air like a whip. 

“I need to leave,” He says suddenly. Instinctively, you back up into the desk at the sight of the large and angry Na’vi coming at you again, but he just grabs the still broken comm and turns around to storm out. 

He’s big though, too much for the small space of the lab, and his frantic tail is still thrashing as he turns. The thin appendage accidentally snaps against the side of the still smoking beaker, sending it flying off the desk and onto the ground. 

The glass shatters against the tile, glowing purple spreading across the white floor in a large puddle as the smoke spirals up into the air. Neteyam’s hand instinctively drops from his nose to grip onto his tail, holding the end of it close to him as if to keep it from swinging and smacking into anything else. But you watch, shocked and frozen in your spot as he takes one shuddering breath, and then another, tense back muscles shifting under his cobalt skin with each inhale and exhale of air. 

“Neteyam?” You ask, timidly. Dread shoots through your chest and you have the feeling that something very serious just happened, but you don’t even know what. 

He’s just standing there now, back towards you, but he’s not moving towards the door anymore. It’s like something is keeping him from moving, some unseen force that exploded out of the glass container when it burst and wrapped its tendrils around him before he could take another step. 

Whatever he was smelling from the beaker wasn’t good for him, and now it's in the air, invisible signatures swirling through the small space of the lab, and it's affecting him - the ‘unintended consequences’ of the Rust Plant on the Na’vi.

Your every instinct is telling you to stay away from him, that he’s dangerous. But he’s one of the Omatikaya, and regardless of how he views humans, you know he would never hurt you and disobey his father like that. 

“Hey,” You say, gently. You force yourself away from the desk, slowly moving around him to try to not startle him as you attempt to make your way to the airlock door. “Just relax, okay? Let’s try to air this pl–”

His deep growl has you frozen again, cold ice shoots through your veins at the predatory sound. It’s not a normal growl - not a low, quick sound made in anger or frustration. It sounds dark, a deep dangerous rumbling that came from his chest. A warning. 

You watch in horror as he slowly tilts his head towards you, the pointed tips of his sharp teeth visible under the snarled curl of his lips, glittering in the bright fluorescent lights of the lab. Your brain screams at you to run - danger, danger, danger, it shouts, but you can’t move. The realization hits hard: he’s not Neteyam anymore. The Na’vi in front of you is not the same human-indifferent, scoffing, fearless warrior son of Toruk Makto.

He’s an animal. A predator. 

Feral. 

His golden eyes are now just a thin band of dark honey encircling two endless black holes. And in their reflection you see yourself - tiny and weak. Scared.

Prey.

His body shifts slightly, just the most minuscule movements as he angles himself towards you that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had your survival instincts not been ringing alarm bells in your brain. Without thinking, you grab the hot plate, gripping it tightly at its base and holding it in front of you as your only form of weapon.

“Neteyam Sully!” You shout, and you can’t even believe how out of your mind you are to try to use his full name like an upset mother. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you stop it right now!”

There’s not even a second after the words leave your mouth, not a beat or breath or anything before he’s coming at you. 

Your body registers his sudden movement before your brain does, the roaring snarl bouncing off the walls of the lab as he lunges at you. The hot plate is out of your hands in an instant, the hard base of the plate smacking into his face with a loud cuh-thunk. His snarl is interrupted with a grunt from the hit, body jerking back a step from the impact, and you don’t wait around to see the way his eyes zero in on your retreating form again in rage. 

You can’t think - your body is moving without your brain telling it what to do. Pure panic mixed with raw survival instincts is what drives you through the door behind you, nearly smacking into the wall as you barrel down the main hallway. You hear Neteyam’s footsteps close behind, bare feet smacking against the tile. 

It’s a sound you never thought you would find terrifying. You think of little Mae, the daughter of the staff nurse and one of the science guys, and how the sound of her tiny footsteps stomping on these same tiles floors always brought a smile to your face. You could always hear her coming before you saw her, just a few seconds before she rounded the corner with unsteady steps ready to cause havoc as she tries to run from her exhausted and overstimulated mother. 

These ones are louder though. Heavier, but somehow more quiet as they rush at you from across the unobstructed hall. Your body doesn’t wait for your mind to catch up, and that’s probably a good thing considering you have no idea how the fuck you knew to take the split second turn to your right the exact moment Neteyam tried to pounce. 

You hear his snarl of anger as he rights himself, loud and echoing through the hallway. You’ve managed to best him for a second, but he’s still on your ass - gaining ground on you with his long Na’vi legs despite the cramped human-sized halls. 

Your heart is racing in your chest, pounding with fear, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins is the only thing keeping you going. You can’t breathe - shallow, panicked, quick puffs of air rip from you as you run, your high pitched gasps sounding against the hall walls as a foil to Neteyam’s predatory growls. 

“HELP!” You scream, voice cracking with how loud you're trying to scream. The desperation and pure terror are evident in your voice and you know if someone were around they would hear you for sure. Someone has to be around. They have to be. “SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!”

No one responds. No one steps in to intervene. No one even opens their door to try to take a little bit of a peek. No one to run to for help even though it feels like you're about to get mauled to death by a Thanator. 

You’re truly alone. And that thought makes you somehow even more desperate. 

Most people have a tendency to close the doors of their bedrooms, trying to keep as much privacy as they can in the small base. Norm has no such desires, often too excited or too focused on getting to his studies that he outright forgets to close his door. 

It’s a god send now that you’re sprinting through the residency part of the outpost. Your room is one of the last down the hall. You won’t make it. Not with the way you’re shaking right now, body feeling like it's somehow both freezing over with ice and lighting on fire as the fear and adrenaline fight for dominance for your immediate attention. Neteyam’s right behind you, long stride more than twice the size of yours cutting any distance you gained through your miracle of a move back down to barely anything at all. 

He’s going to catch you. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

Throwing yourself at a random door is dangerous. Just the extra second it takes to turn the knob and push the door open could almost certainly be the difference between life and death if you even still have a chance at life at all. And even then you run the risk of it being locked. Your eye catches on Norm’s door - open and shining like a beacon of hope amongst the fluorescently lit hallway. 

You don’t have another choice. 

You turn. 

As soon as you make it through the threshold, you slam the door behind you as fast as you can. 

You don’t know what you expected, naively hoping that the door would somehow succeed in protecting you and keeping Neteyam out. It’s not even locked. 

You scream as the door explodes under Neteyam’s weight, the wood splintering as it bursts apart, smaller bits of fragmented wood spraying towards you as the feral Na’vi shoulders his way in. The bathroom to your left is the only option, and you lunge for it just as Neteyam lunges for you. The tears pouring down your cheeks burn your eyes and blur your vision, your loud hyperventilating cries make your throat raw. Another door just barely slammed in his face and your back presses against the opposite door, your panicked hand trying to jiggle the knob but your brain not reminding you how to twist it. This other door hasn’t been used in years - the bathroom that once connected these two rooms together is just used by Norm now since Mary had her baby and her and her husband moved into a larger room to accommodate the crib. It’s locked, and your fingers are struggling to twist the mechanism up to unlock it when Neteyam breaks through. 

Even through your blurred vision, you see it clearly. His arm reaches through the hole his shoulder has made, and the bathroom is too small, too fucking small because that arm looks like its reaching across the entire length of it, fingers splayed out like if he can just get one of the tips to brush you, he’ll snatch you up. 

“HELP!” You scream again. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re going to fucking die. “HELP ME!”

You watch the door in horror as Neteyam pulls his arm back, head dropping to glare at you through the opening, and your veins fill with ice. 

He looks murderous - pupils blown so wide you can’t see the golden ring wrapped around them at all. You want to drop to the ground under that stare, beg for mercy even though the look in his eyes makes it clear there won’t be any. 

“N-Neteyam,” You stutter. Your heart is pounding so fast, blood sounding like it’s rushing in your ears so fast you don’t know how you haven’t had a heart attack yet. “P-please s-stop. P-please.”

His eyes stay locked on yours through the hole in the door, dark and glaring but for some reason he’s paused his attacks. A part of you wonders if your begging is making it through to the non-animalistic part of his brain. Whatever the smoke from the mixture of the Rust Plant did to him, it has to be only temporary. He’s still Neteyam. Neteyam is still in there somewhere. 

“Please,” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re scaring me.”

He leans forward, one hand curling around the broken wood from the open hole in the door. When he speaks, you don’t know if you’re relieved to hear that he can despite the overwhelming feral actions, or if you’re horrified at how his voice comes out. 

He doesn’t sound like himself at all. His words are clipped, short words made sentences that you don’t understand as both the gravely and growled way he says them as well as overall meaning. 

“Tawtute,” He growls. “Mine.”

“Wha— I-I don’t understand,”

You scream when he hisses at you, long canines and sharp teeth on display through the damaged opening and you have a front row seat to the show as your back presses harder against the door behind you. The hand wrapped around the edge of the hole pulls back suddenly, taking with it a huge chunk of the center and the loud crack and snap of wood snaps your body back into gear. You twist the small lock on the door behind you, unlocking it and wrenching it open when Neteyam throws his body against the opposite door again. You’re out the door and into the next room, slamming the door shut behind you just as you hear the telltale crash of the wild Na’vi breaking through the other barrier. Without thinking, you round the side of the bookshelf that stands on the side of the doorframe. You push with all your might, tipping the bookshelf on its side so that it falls diagonally across the door. A dresser sits just on the opposite side of the door, the bookshelf catching on the edge of the dresser so that it blocks a good portion of the bathroom door. 

Any other time you’d be heartbroken to see the books that fall off the bookshelf in your mishandling scatter along the floor and at your feet like they were nothing more than trash. Today, though, you can’t give a shit about that. 

Your hands grip your hair in frustration as you hear Neteyam’s body barrel into the door, hot tears racing down your face as you waste valuable seconds staring at the bending wood behind the tipped bookcase. It won’t keep him back for long. He could probably easily push it out of his way, but it's something. Your only hope now is that it keeps him long enough for you to get away and that his instinct driven brain doesn’t realize he can just go back the way he came to get around the obstacle. 

Turning on your heel, you sprint out the bedroom door, heading back down the hallway towards the lab. The sound of the loud crash echoing through the empty hall makes you run impossibly faster. Was it the door finally giving way under his weight? Or was it the bookshelf being tossed to the side like it was nothing and he’s about to barrel down the hallway to finish the job that you’ve somehow managed to postpone until now?

You make it back to the lab, foot smacking against the forgotten hotplate still laying on the ground in your haste to get to the airlock. Your hand smacks against the button on the side wall, fingers practically choking the heavy handle as you go to yank it open. The oxygen masks lay forgotten on the shelf next to the door. You don’t care about them, don’t care about breathing right now because what’s good about breathing when Neteyam could end your need for it in just seconds if he catches you. 

The airlock door hisses as the seal breaks and for a split second you think you’ve done it - have somehow managed to survive this deadly game of cat and mouse you’ve inadvertently been forced to play. You can grab a mask and slip inside the airlock. Keep Neteyam locked up here in the lab while you sit safely outside until the others get back or he comes to his senses enough to remember how to open the airlock door himself. 

But no sooner than the thought crosses your mind, an arm wraps tightly around your waist and pulls you from your death grip on the thick metal door. 

You scream as you’re tossed to the floor, body pressed against the cold tile as Neteyam straddles you. His hips pin your legs down, leaving them useless and unable to buck or kick under his massive weight. You beat at his chest with your fists as hard as you can, trying to ignore how they hurt from your balled up fists trying to hit against pure solid muscle. 

Panic manifests in your desperate cries and you aim for his face too, trying to hit or slap or scratch - anything to get him off of you. You feel like an injured animal caught in a trap. And you suppose you are. 

“Get off!” You cry. “Get off me, Neteyam!”

He snarls as one of your hits lands too close next to his eye and he grabs your hands tightly in one of his, pinning them above your head.

Your screams stop, catching in your throat when the bright fluorescent lights of the lab catch on the knife on his hip. The light caresses the blade as he pulls it from its sheath, the sharp tip sparkling as he brings it to press against the base of your throat.

His face is in front of yours in an instant, so close you feel like you can barely breathe in the wake of the knife resting at your throat and the way his huge eyes feel like twin black holes threatening to suck you into their depths if you move even a single centimeter. 

“Kehe rikx,” His words are hardly more than a whispered breath against your face, but their translation rings loudly in your ears. 

Don’t move. 

The point of the knife drags against your neck, scratching lightly as he draws it down your collarbone. It pulls at the fabric at the neck of your t-shirt as he moves it down your chest, stretching and bunching it down as he scrapes the tip through the valley of your breasts. Your heart pounds under the deadly tip of the weapon and your body wants to fight, keep fighting for your life that you know could be taken from you with just a quick movement of his hand, but your fear keeps you frozen. 

Something hard presses against your trapped thighs and your eyes automatically rip themselves from the knife down to the space between your bodies, and your breathing catches in your throat again for a whole other reason. 

Neteyam’s cock is hard in his loincloth, having escaped its sheath and filling out under the thin material enough to raise a sizable tent inside it. 

He doesn’t give you time to react as his head bends down and latches onto the swell of your breast through your shirt, sharp teeth digging into it just enough for marks to surely be left even through the layers of shirt and bra. You yelp, back arching instinctively against the pain, and your body unfreezes as his teeth scrape against your breast before digging into the material of your shirt and ripping.

The loud sound of tearing fabric rips through the room and Neteyam releases the torn fabric from his mouth just to grip it with his hands instead, pulling up and out and exposing your bra clad torso to his darkened crazed eyes. The knife is still in his hand, but the blade is pointed sideways now as he uses the fingers around it to rip your shirt apart. It’s not smart, not a smart idea at all to try your hand at smacking at him again, but you have to do something. 

You don’t know what he wants anymore. What did that mixture do to him? He was chasing you through these halls, growling and snarling like a predator on the hunt for its next meal, and now he’s on top of you - hard and tearing your clothes off like he wants to fuck you. 

You only get a couple smacks in before the knife is back at your chest and you’re forced still again. Neteyam’s eyes are locked onto your chest, following the tip of the knife as he slides it under the band of your bra directly between your breasts. It cuts easily under the pressure of the sharp knife and the covering falls on either side of your chest, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. 

There’s a mark on your breast from where his teeth had dug into it and he pauses to stare at it greedily. 

“N-Netayam,” You say, slowly. He seems a little calmer now that he has you trapped under him. You need to talk him to his senses. He’s still in there somewhere. He has to be. He’s not all animal. He can be reasoned with. “You don’t wanna do this. Plea–”

Your plea is cut off as he rises off of you, crouching back just enough to give himself room to flip you roughly over on your stomach. You grunt as your bare chest hits the cold tile, arms splayed uselessly on either side of you as you try to get your bearings from the quick movement before he’s using his knife to cut through the denim of your shorts. 

“Neteyam! Rutxe ftang! Kehe!” 

You don’t know why you think pleading in Na’vi will be any different than English, but desperation punches the frantic words out of you before you can even think about deciding to say them. Your hands finally find purchase on the ground beneath you and you try to push yourself up in hopes of crawling away, but Neteyam’s dropping the knife and taking hold of your hips before you can. 

High pitched squeaking sounds hit your ears as he drags your body across the tile. Your hands scramble frantically against the floor as you’re pulled backwards, but there’s nothing to hold onto. They just slide uselessly, voicing their protest in the way the tile screams under your grasping fingertips as you’re hoisted up with your lower half in the air. 

Your back arches against Neteyam’s hold, legs kicking in the air but doing no harm despite their efforts. The hole he’s created in your shorts is enough to have your pussy on display for him, and you can feel his breath on it - hot puffs are the only warning you get before his mouth is on you. Your voice is raw from all the screaming you’ve done, the sound crackling and almost pained as you shout again - shout for him to stop and to let you go as you kick and squirm and beg. 

You want to cry more, any drying tears of fear you have still tracked on your cheeks are replaced with tears of humiliation. Your clit pulses under his relentless tongue, pussy subconsciously clenching around nothing as he licks and sucks over the puffy folds. 

You’re wet. 

You’re so wet already, body confusing the adrenaline caused by fear and desperation and flooding it with the adrenaline that comes with arousal instead. His textured tongue slips across your sticky cunt, licking up your wetness, and a reluctant moan escapes your lips at the rough feel on your sensitive parts. 

A gleam to your right catches your attention and a flicker of hope rushes through you at the sight. Neteyam’s knife is laying on the ground next to you, scattered just far enough when he dropped it that it's a stretch for you to grab it, but not impossible. He’s distracted by your cunt, chest rumbling in what you can only describe as a more aggressive type of purr and your face contorts in unwanted pleasure as the vibrations pulse against your clit. 

You reach for the knife, using one hand pressed against the tile to gain any kind of leverage you can while your other arm stretches out towards the forgotten blade. You're not even sure what you’re going to do with it when it’s in your hand. Would you just threaten him with it? Tell him to back off and that you’ll use it if he doesn’t? Would you cut him a little to show that you’re serious? 

Would you stab him if it came to it?

Your fingers graze along the hilt of the knife, fingertips brushing along the part that it can touch and curling in, trying to coax the knife just a bit closer so you can grab it. Neteyam growls into your cunt, and you let out a gasping curse when his foot lands on your wrist, pinning it to the tile before you can work your hand around the knife. 

“You son of a bitch!” You yell, anger burning through your desperation, but all Neteyam does is push his face deeper into your pussy. His large hands rip at the back of your shorts more, fingers digging into the exposed curves of your ass to spread you apart. 

The pressure in your belly intensifies as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves before wrapping his lips around it in what feels like an almost pleasured punishment. 

You’re going to cum. Fuck fuck you’re going to cum on the tongue of the practically feral Na’vi who just chased you through the halls of your own home and made you think he was going to rip you to shreds and leave you to die on the floor for your coworkers to find. It feels so good, so so good and you wail as your pussy spasms against his relentless tongue, contracting against the wet muscle as the coil in your belly bursts in an explosion of uncontrolled pleasure. 

Neteyam groans against your core, lapping up everything you have to offer as you whine and shake. Your legs, still suspended in the air, are becoming numb - the tingling sensation of your limbs losing their life combining with the dramatic pulsing over your oversensitive cunt. 

You grunt as he drops you to the ground, his foot lifting off your wrist as he crouches back up, and you pull it to your chest, cradling it there and quickly checking for any injury as your body automatically tries to curl up in a protective ball. 

His hands are back on your hips in an instant, pulling you back again across the floor until your ass is pressed up against his front. Your blood runs cold when your bare ass meets bare skin. The bulge that was once blocked by the thin layer of his loincloth is now free - large, dominant, and demanding of attention as it presses tightly against you. 

Demanding of your attention. 

The hand on the back of your neck is uncaring as it pushes you down, forcing your face against the white tiled floor as he lines himself up with your entrance. 

“Neteyam, no! Please!” You beg, even as your back is forced to arch from the exposed position he has you in.

And maybe if this was a different situation, a different circumstance, he would have used this opportunity to tease you. Tell you to stop fussing and stay still. To be a good girl for him while he fucks your tight cunt and maybe if you’re good enough, he would let you cum again. You would let him. Neteyam is beautiful, more handsome than any other Na’vi you’ve ever seen. If he would have been kind to you and shown interest in you like that, you would have agreed to fuck him in a heartbeat. 

But he’s not himself. Doesn’t even have his mind enough to acknowledge your pleas with anything more than agitated snarls and frustrated growls. 

His cock feels monstrous as he rubs it between your soaked folds. Thick and hard as the wetness of his own slick mixes with the sticky mess you have already between your thighs. The head of his cock rubs against your tender clit and you can feel how the sheer size of it forces your pussy lips apart.

You can’t take it inside you. Fuck. You can’t. You can’t. 

You whimper when the tip makes its way back to your entrance, nudging against it before the blunt tip presses forward. Your hands press into the tile on either side of your head, mouth falling open in a silent scream even as he presses your cheek further into the floor as he pushes his cock further into you. You feel every thick inch of it as it spears you open, and you expect it to hurt. It should hurt, especially with the way you’re clamping down around him, body automatically trying to keep it out even as it bullies its way deeper inside you.

There’s pressure, so much pressure. He’s too big, large alien cock way too much for your tiny human body to take, but somehow it is. Your brain is trying to tell you to panic, that the pressure is pain and you should scream and cry and try to wiggle away from it. But it's not. He’s stretching you so much, filling you up - but it doesn’t. hurt.

And that realization hurts you more than the cock currently rearranging your guts ever could.

You know it’s the slick. Despite never being with a Na’vi yourself, you know that the wetness that coats a male’s cock to aid it with slipping out of its protective sheath has something in it that eases the pain of penetration. It’s a good thing. Inherently helpful for any relationship, especially for those between a human and a Na’vi to curb the extra struggle of the size difference. 

You always thought it was sweet. A way for Eywa to reward the loyalty of the good sky people who are lucky enough to find everlasting bonds with her own children. 

Now, the idea of it leaves a bad taste in your mouth as the cock inside you pulls out only to thrust in harder. The texture on his cock scrapes against your slick walls as he starts to fuck you, the bumps and barbs rubbing and pressing against the sensitive spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had. 

A waterfall of moans and whines rip from your throat as he moves faster, your higher pitched pathetic sounds a stark contrast to his deep guttural grunts. His hand is off the back of your neck now, instead finding a place at the side of your face as he keeps you pinned to the floor. It’s so big compared to your head that it spans the entirety of it, thumb hooking just under the edge of your jaw while his fingers curl around the top of your head as he holds you down. 

Your thighs shake underneath you as he pounds into you, thick cock so far inside you that you know there has to be a bulge in your belly. There is, you can feel it. The way the head of his cock pushes against your lower abdomen roughly with each thrust and you know that if you could move your hands from the death grip press they have on the tile, you could feel it disappear and reappear under your palm. 

He adjusts behind you, both feet planted on the ground as he crouches behind you to try to push in deeper. Pleasure soaks into your brain as you subconsciously push back against him, pussy clenching and squeezing around him trying to suck him in. 

“N-Neteyam,” And you have more to say, you do. But you can’t form thoughts anymore. Nothing else will come out other than little punched out breathless gasps. 

It takes you a long time to realize that he’s speaking, and even longer for your fucked up and fucked out raddled brain to register what he’s saying. It’s not normal sentences, it’s not even English. His words are still animalistic, growled through gritted teeth as he spits out broken Na’vi between his groans of pleasure. You grew up with the language, but you’re so distracted, so overwhelmed by him and the cock inside you that your brain can’t seem to latch on to what he’s saying. 

You think you hear the word for ‘whore’, maybe ‘take it’, something ‘baby’ but you can’t be sure. 

And then he’s leaning forward, body curving overtop yours as he covers you completely. It’s only then you feel what you’ve been too distracted to notice. The thick knot at the base of his cock, fully engorged now as it prods at your entrance. 

Your hands finally leave their place pressed against the floor as you throw them behind you in newfound panic. One hand pushes against his abdomen as best as it can, trying to slow his thrusts while the other grabs at his wrist in an effort to pull his hand away from your face. The hand on his abdomen doesn’t do anything to slow his relentless pace, but the hand on the side of your head moves to tangle in your hair, gripping it in his fist close to your scalp just hard enough to burn a little as he yanks your head back. 

You gasp at the sharp sting and your gasp quickly turns into a whimper as his knot presses tighter against your soaking hole. He’s unforgiving as he digs it against you, holding your hair tight and forcing your back to arch as you stretch even further around it. You’re too wet, pussy too wet and almost greedy and it takes him in, determined despite the obscene size of the engorged ball of tissue.

“Please!” You squeal. Please stop. Please more. “Neteyam, fuck!”

Your eyes roll back into your head when the knot slips inside you, sheathing itself within your heat with another solid push of Neteyam’s hips against your ass. His cock hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars, your vision whiting out and there feels like there’s cotton in your ears as you cum around him, squeezing him tightly as you soak his length in your juices. Your breath catches in your lungs when you feel his cock pulse inside you, twitching and feeling like it’s expanding even bigger as his own orgasm hits him. 

He holds you close, keeping you pinned and still underneath him with the savage hand in your hair and the firm grip he has on your hip - fierce and unmoving as if to keep you from running away.

As if you even could with the knot locked inside you. 

His growl of pleasure reverberates off the walls as he paints yours. Long, thick ropes of release coating your insides and it's so much, so so much that you feel like you can’t fit anymore. Like if he cums anymore, you’ll burst. The knot is still lodged inside you, locked in and refusing to let you free, but there’s no space left inside you, no space, and you feel the excess cum seep out of your hole from around his knot to trail down the insides of your thighs. 

You don’t remember blacking out, and you’re not sure when Neteyam was able to pull free from you or when he passed out next to you either. But when you wake up next, it’s to voices.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Y/N!”

“What the fuck happened?”

The bright florescent lights of the lab are blinding when you try to open your eyes. Exhaustion seeps from every pore of your body and fuck, you feel so sore. 

Norm’s shocked face is looking down at you when your eyes finally adjust to the light, Max and a few of the other scientists are behind him, faces an equal mixture of shock and horror as they stare at you with wide eyes. 

It takes you a moment to remember what happened - why you’re here, waking up on the cold floor of the lab. Naked. You scramble up, hands clutching at your chest as you desperately try to cover yourself. A deep groan to your right steals your attention from your group of onlookers, and your eyes fall on Neteyam, just waking up from his own sleep.

His eyes are back to their normal gold as they open, groggy at first and then alert in a heartbeat as it registers where he is. He’s up in a crouch in an instant, looking ready to fight but not really sure what he’s supposed to be fighting. Those golden eyes catch on the group, confusion twisting on his face and you can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to figure out what’s going on. 

Then his eyes meet yours, taking in your torn clothes and near nakedness, and you sit in horror as it clicks for him what must have happened. 

And you watch as the horror in your eyes becomes mirrored in his. 

**Special thanks to @quicktosimp and @itchaboi-itchyboy for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @minnory @localjasmine @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @vampirefilmlover @aria-tempest @pocky444 @bambithewriter @xylianasblog @anemonelovesfiction @criticallybella

**Comment here to be added to/removed from my taglist!

[fanaticsnail]

Body Worship: Franky

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 3,100+

Themes: Franky x gn!reader, angst, self worth, Franky has a little bit of dysmorphia, affirmation, fluff, smut, thigh riding, confession, body worship, praise, love, porn with feelings, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+, non descript smut, grinding.

Notes: Massive shoutout to @thenotsofantasticlifestory for listening to my thoughts and aiding me with my time on this fic. I love this man, and I adore you. First time writing for Franky.

Cogs, wires, fizzes, and snaps of electrical circuits rang and shuddered within the chambers crafted by Franky’s own hands. There was never a silence to be held within him, not a calm moment where his body was not ticking like a clock wound by a coiled winch. He was constantly on, always on.

There was not a moment where man and machine were no longer merged as one, and Franky usually had no issue with being a self-made man in more ways than simple determination and gumption. But today, he just felt unnatural. He felt those cogs, wires, fizzes and snaps of electrical circuits overtake the humanity he so desperately attempted to preserve within himself.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t see the body he crafted as a work of mastery, but something foreign and tainted. He couldn’t look at himself without seeing the parts of his flesh, bone, and muscle he replaced, rendered, soldered, and attached. He was no longer himself, but just those parts he forged to keep himself alive.

A pile of scrap made into the shape of a man. Flesh from his prior life stretched over a frame of humanity pushed to its extremities.

Unsure as to when the first tear fell, or whether they were tears at all, his rounded eyes swelled and poured heavy drops down his cheeks and onto his chest within his workshop. Usually when he cried, he had the sensation of an almost sting in his nose: nostrils flaring and a saltiness within his nasal cavity. The lack of this feeling within his steel nose now only made him feel more like a machine and less of a man.

A soft knock at his workshop door was barely audible over the mechanical symphony rattling within his mind and skull. He scrunched his eyes shut and focussed finding a single sound to focus on within himself to no avail. It was just too much. Too noisy. Too intense. Too overwhelming. Too-.

“-Franky?” your voice shocks him out of his spiral, truly unaware of the opening and closing of the door to his workshop. He jolted back, beginning to panic a little while his body caught up to the way his mind was spiraling.

Keeping a safe distance away from the cyborg, you took him in. Noticing how his shoulders and hands were beginning to shake, you tilted your head and furrowed your brows while assessing him further. Franky’s eyes met with yours, a soft quiver of his lip atop his tri-pointed chin matching the forlorn expression blooming over his face.

As ships’ counselor, it was your job to advise and flesh out plans for your captain. It was also within your job title to unweave the troubled thoughts and matters of the head and heart for your crew.

Franky was a friend to you, and you adored the large cyborg wholeheartedly. If he ever gave you an opportunity to see him as more than just a friend or crewmate, you would take it before your heart could skip a beat.

There was no favorites on the Straw-Hat crew, but if there was, Franky would be it for you. You truly loved him for all that he was: man, machine, or otherwise.

It did not take much more than a soft sniffle from the larger man to usher you towards the larger man, opening your arms and taking him within your embrace. Pressing his head against your chest, you cradled his face within your hands and slowed your breathing for him to join with his own. His shoulders slouched, a single hand wrapping around your back and feeling the warmth your body had to offer him in the sensors within his palm and fingers.

Gently carding through his blue hair, you felt him relax into your touch while his ear pressed up against your heartbeat. His broad hands began to clutch at you and tug you into his lap, each thigh placed atop his own at the side while he pressed more of himself into you.

“Want to talk about it, big guy?” you asked softer than a murmur, but louder than a whisper, ���I’m always here to talk with you when you need it, just like you are with me. Open door, honesty policy, remember?”

Franky sniffed before a raspy chuckle rattled in his throat. Tugging you nearer to him and releasing a sigh, he moved his chin to rest on your chest while peering up into your face. Gazing down at him, you offered him a softness in your smile while peering into his unshrouded eyes.

“Just-...” he began, waiting for the words to find themselves in his throat, “...It's just… I can't quite put it to words, now you mention it.” His chuckle was more in a bid to rise one of your own, teetering off the more he drank in your smile.

Darting his dark eyes between your own, glancing briefly down at your lips, he drank in your appearance the closer he drew to your face. You and he were nothing more than exceptionally close friends, but the cogs churning in his stomach and heart desperately desired there be a moment. He leaned in just a touch more, his eyes rounded just a touch more while his jaw grew softly slack.

“Franky?” Your voice soothed him, a smile found in each syllable, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re wanting to kiss me.”

Franky’s eyes darted down to your lips, angling his tri-pointed chin up just a small shift more. His eyelids grew heavy, lashes heavy as his pupils focussed on the way your lips curved in your smile.

“Do you?” he whispered, his voice heavy and husky within his throat. His hands desperately clasped the small of your back, his receptors tingling in indicating your body heat growing warmer.

“Do I ‘what’, Franky?” you queeried, not shying away from his touch. You were curious to see how far he would take this action, enjoying the attention he was giving you and feeling secure within his embrace.

Franky’s outer hand slid down to your thigh, his other moving you closer to press yourself into his chest. The blue-haired cyborg moved his lips in a tone just above a whisper, his breath tingling against your mouth as he ascended them towards yours.

“Know any better.”

His lips immediately claimed your own, focussing his own existentialism on claiming your lips against his own. His skin felt your warmth as you opened yourself up to him. Each roll of his lips mouthing at yours was reciprocated with eager enthusiasm, and Franky began to feel just that little bit calmer.

Until he wondered if it was truly his skin touching your own, not what receptors told him it was. Was it his lips touching you, or the cogs behind him sending sparks to his mind and alerting his brain that it was truly you giving into him.

Did you even like him?

Were you attracted to the man that he made himself to be?

Did you even see him as a man, not just a creation marred with the injury of battle and reforged by his own mind?

You sensed his enthusiasm dwindle against your lips, prompting you to close off the embrace with a soft peck. As you pulled away your lips from his, you peered down at him with your eyes half-lidded and holding nothing but a slight amount of teasing pulled in a soft smirk.

“Franky?”

When you met his gaze once more, your smirk immediately fled your features.

His eyes were glassy, his expression the polar opposite of the manner he usually presented himself as. There was nothing of the boisterous, uplifting, passionate, and optimistic cyborg you had come to adore, and it's absence held you hostage.

“Franky,” you sighed, gently reaching up and cupping his cheek. “Please. There's something going on, and as your counselor, I need to know. I could leave the job at the door and just be-.”

“-What am I?” he answered suddenly, his lips toppling hurriedly over the words, “I need to know.”

Taken aback by his hasty questions, you furrow your brows at him and check him over. Darting your eyes over his face, noticing his posture becoming slightly slouched and his hands holding you in heaped fistfuls, you inhale a soft and steady breath before exhaling.

Your breathing inadvertently has him so the same, both inhaling and exhaling slowly and steadily. After a moment of you both dwelling in the silence, you answer him with a non-rehearsed speech from the heart.

“You are Franky,” you whisper, rolling the pad of your thumb against the apple of his cheek, “Shipwright to the Straw Hat Pirates, senior officer shepherding the Straw Hat Grand Fleet. Creator and master constructor of the Thousand Sunny. Former gang leader, who convinced those joining to switch from beer to cola, and-...”

Franky nodded you on, convincing you to continue to affirm him with your words. You could see it was not entirely the answer he was seeking, which spurred you on to change to how deeply remarkable you found him.

“...-You are so kind. An exceptionally intelligent person with your heart beating for others,” you nod to him, catching the hitch in his throat and paying it no mind. “The way your mind can see the mastery in machines, crafting it with your hands, and forging it into the best version of itself is a gift.” You draw your other hand up to his bare chest, feeling a fizz and beat beneath the skin while you speak.

“You don't just do this with your skilled labor, Franky.” You reassure him, glancing down to your knuckles on the back of your hand in his chest. “You see the potential in others, and coax them skillfully to bring it to the light.” A small laugh fled from your lips, prompting you to shake your head and whisper, “A remarkable skill, and I envy you for it.”

The dampness felt beneath the fingers on his cheek had you moving your eyes slowly back up to meet his own.

“You are, and will forever be, Franky: man, machine, both married as one and inseparable from the other,” you concluded, drawing your hand up on his cheek to slowly caress away his tears. “You are all of this, and you are so much more.”

Franky felt his chest soar, whichever fluid, whether cola or blood, pumped his heart and had him desperate to know more. Considering the fact you didn't pull away from the offerance of a kiss earlier, he drew his hand over your back and rested it on your hip while leaning in.

“What am I to you?”

Without skipping a beat, you spoke truthfully and from the chamber's within your own beating heart.

“And you are beautiful to me.”

Franky scoffed, rolling his eyes and almost pouting at your response. You sigh out with your brow arched high, gently perching your hands against his broad shoulders and grasping his muscles firmly.

“I mean it, Franky,” you reaffirm enthusiastically, “Everything about you is beautiful. Your heart, your soul, your mind, fuck,” you gasp, feeling the firmness of his shoulders beneath his hands.

A warm flush crept up your neck and swelled your cheeks with a vibrant fluster. Franky searched your eyes, darting down to your parted lips and back up to meet your gaze.

“What was that?” he chuckled, picking up your vocal inflection and teasing you with his smile.

“I just,” you halt yourself, slowly molding the joints beneath your palms and squeeze his muscles. “I usually… I usually focus on the mind and heart, but you're-...” Your fingers move down to his scarred pectorals, gently caressing a trail of timidity down towards his nipples.

“...-You're really attractive. Physically attractive,” you admit, pressing a little firmer against his muscles before dipping the pads of your index fingers over his pebbled buds. “Whether it was the kiss from a little earlier, confessing how I see your mind, my position currently on your lap, or the fact that there's a lot of tension between us right now…”

“Oh?” He taunts you a little more tilting his head to the side with a cheeky grin drawing up over his lips. Leaning forward, he pressed more of his pectorals against your hands and whispered coyly against the shell of your ear, “Tell me?”

“Shit,” you stutter past your lips. Eyes rolling a little, you suck your lips into your mouth to halt a moan from fleeing as you feel the tension only swell to a greater intensity.

Franky chuckles, his hands still running circles against your hips and gently ushering you in closer.

“Better yet,” he drew one hand away from your middle and drew it up to collect your chin in his grip. “Show me?”

Your breath hitched as you slowly drew your hand around in circles against his flesh. His skin felt warm to the touch, smooth and soft with coiled ringlets of cerulean fuzz shimmering against his pectorals. Moving your hands up and down his chest, your lips parted in surprise at feeling the buzz of circuitry beneath the stretch of flesh.

“Every nook you've notched into yourself is a work of art, Franky,” you exhale, rolling the pads of your thumbs against his abs and raking them towards his belly. “Each alteration and modification has just made you more you, you know?”

Franky felt his throat hitch at the admission parting from your lips. His body that he saw moments ago as a trap for his spirit, now being worshiped and praised for its mastery. As your hands ran over his skin, his receptors and skin both felt need and desire course through his circuits and veins.

Without any more prompting at your touch, he maneuvered you to straddle one of his thighs and held your pelvis flush against his own. Your hands automatically fled back up to the shoulders that held you captive as he pressed you firmly against himself.

“You like my body much?” The rasp in his voice tangibly reverberated within your chest and shot straight to your crotch, igniting it with need.

“Franky…” you gasp, his hands holding you against his thigh pressed harder, slowly rocking you over the hard muscle lurking beneath. “If you'd give me an opportunity, I'd drop to my knees and worship you like a devotee at an altar.”

Franky chuckles at the comment, using his large, metal hand gripping your waist to slowly rock you back and forward over his thigh. Your stomach bound in knots, your needs only growing higher and more incessant the more he puppetted you against his body and gazed into your eyes.

“No need for all that. I don't need it,” he laughed once more, moving forward and brushing his metal nose gently against yours, “But I do need this.”

His larger hand completely trapped your waist within his grip, knocking your knee against the bulge in his pants and grinding his clothed cock against your own body.

Manhandling you against his leg, bouncing you up to brush more of yourself against his cock, you felt trapped against him as he bore you fully against his body while holding your face gently. His metal thumb stroked your lip as you parted them to release a groan.

Soft whimpers and mewls left your throat as he held your gaze, his own gasps growing in need the longer he rocked you against himself. Your desire began to seep through your pants the longer he held you firmly and guided your motions.

“Show me,” he whispered, peering down his steel nose through half-hooded lashes. “Show me everything.” He worked you harder, his own cock leaking it's head and staining his red briefs with soft dewdrops of precum.

His abdomen tensed, feeling the need rise further in his stomach while his cogs, wires, flesh and bone felt more unified as one than ever. Humanity overtook his senses the longer his primal urge to feel more of you against himself.

You were no different, feeling your own release clench in the pit of your stomach and sizzle your eyes with the first sparks of euphoria. The need fogging your mind spurred you on to bare yourself down against him and begin rutting against him harder. As you found yourself falling over that edge, you clenched your eyes shut, earning you an immediate reprimand from the cyborg cariotting your bliss.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered firmly, “I said ‘show me’. I want to see you. Just you, baby. Gonna cum on my lap?” He rocked you harder, pinching your chin and giving it a soft shake to draw back your gaze on his own.

“Cum for me, baby.”

“Franky-!” you cried, feeling your eyes spring open as your vision blurred as your focus was marred by ecstasy. Your body flooded with endorphins, spurring within your chest and releasing the heavy knots in your belly. The damp patch below you deepened in intensity as your release seeped into his thighs.

Franky’s lips quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, finding in you that tether binding him to the mortal realm. With you anchored against him, he used your body rutting against his own to buck up his clothed cock and roll his hips against your thigh.

With a rough bark of your name, his cock began flooding his briefs with his own release. His eyes never left your face as he rode through his high while you came down from yours.

Two breaths, two hearts, two souls, two people: both enjoying their bodies while clinging to one another. That is where you found yourself, truly just intending to find his office to inform him your crew were about to make port in an island in two hours according to Nami.

As your body slouched against his chest, he cradled you in the same manner you did moments ago while reassuring him of his own body. He had never felt so secure as he did just now with his own body.

“Franky?” you whispered softly, turning your head and pressing your forehead against the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, baby?” He nuzzled against the crown of your head, “What's up?”

“We'll be making port in about forty-five minutes,” you gasp against his skin, pressing a shy kiss against his neck before hiding your gaze in his shoulder to cringe away your giddiness. Franky chuckles, reaching down and collecting your chin in his grip and turning you back to meet his eyes once more.

“Stay with me until then?” he asked softly, blinking slowly and and almost unsure of himself as you seemed to be. You found yourself drowning in his eyes, raw emotion swelling between you as you feel the chemistry fizzing up to a ruptuous tumble.

“After all that?” you scoff playfully, your smile painted over your lips and causing him to mirror it himself, “I'll remain by your side always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

🎶 Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[kathrahender]

I was seeing posts of one of my favorite ships (It was Swanqueen btw) and I almost started crying when I saw a gif of them and other LGBT ships from different shows because why can't we win, not even once?

Like seriously- they always make canon straight ships even if they have zero chemistry or development, and every time there's an LGBT ship with good chemistry and good development the writers go like "Haha no they're not lovers, they're just friends/family/rivals/enemies lol" or they kill one of them not to make it canon. And it's so freaking unfair. And it hurts. It freaking hurts. It's always the same story: there's two women/two men who share a lot of scenes together, looking at each other with heart-eyes, showing how deeply they care about each other, and the writers decide to pair one of those characters with another character of the opposite gender because then the ship would be straight and not LGBT.

And It hurts so much seeing the writers not making a ship canon just because it's LGBT. And for what? For who? For homophobic people? For queerphobic people who don't know nothing better? For queerphobic people who are the worst for not accepting someone dating a person of the same gender? They seriously make canon straight ships just for them? For that kind of people?

The LGBT colective are humans too. The LGBT colective are people. They're not machines. We are not machines without emotions. We are not inhumans. We deserve to be loved as much as a straight person deserves to be loved. We deserve to be represented in the media as much as a straight person does. And we deserve to be treated as people. As equals. As human beings. We don't deserve to be treated as freaks. We don't deserve to be treated as ill people. We don't deserve to be treated as some kind of monster. For the love of God, we are humans like you. Like everyone else. Loving someone of the same gender doesn't change that. Not wanting to love/not wanting to have sex with someone doesn't change that. And being trans or non-binary doesn't change that neither.

We don't deserve to be afraid of telling our parents we are LGBT. We don't deserve to go to conversion therapy because we're "ill". We don't deserve to cry because the world doesn't accept us. We don't deserve to be treated as criminals for being LGBT. We don't deserve to beg for representation in media. (Most of these things didn't happen to me -and I have to thank God for that- but I know it happened to people in other countries, so I wanted to say it)

And if you (the writer of those shows with queerbating) are okay with people suffering because you don't show the world LGBT people are normal people too (and not freaks), then I think you're not better than the queerphobic people. As someone said, "If you are in a class with a bully and you do nothing, you're not better than the bully". And if you live in a world with queerphobic people, and you do nothing to make them a minority, then you're not better than them. And no, don't come crying at us. "But I-" No, don't make excuses. If you don't make an LGBT ship canon because "the world will judge you for it" then you're not really an ally. So don't you dare try to act like one.

ND Stevenson is a real ally. Dana Terrace is a real ally. You know why? Because they didn't make a straight ship canon just because it was straight. They made a LGBT canon because they had chemistry. And we saw the chemistry in that canon LGBT couple. So unless you're like them and you make an LGBT ship canon, you're not an ally like they are. (And yes, the LGBT canon ship of their shows are good representation, so don't come at me saying it's bad representation. Just say you don't like lgbt couples and leave it there)

[starcurtain]

While We're on the Topic... A SethoScara Fic I Want to Read:

"That I time I almost caused a calamity because I asked a cat a question."

Or, more precisely:

Sethos, being incurably curious, is convinced that the Akademiya's favorite aloof "Hat Guy" isn't quite the average Inazuman student studying abroad that most people take him for--and, in fact, Sethos is pretty sure he isn't quite human at all. But how do you research non-human entities from a foreign country you've never even visited? Well, well, well, how remarkably convenient it is to have a known non-human Inazuman who visits Sumeru every couple of weeks!

When Sethos stops Kirara mid-delivery, it's supposed to be an innocuous question: "Is Hat Guy a youkai like you?"

But Kirara's equally innocuous answer somehow threatens to up-end 500 years of accepted history: "A youkai like me? I don't think so. If you're asking me to use my nekomata senses, unfortunately all I can really say is that he doesn't smell like anything 'alive' at all... Oh, but I have smelled that exact same scent one time before--when I met the electro archon!"

Pulling on one thread is enough to unwind it all, and Sethos's mostly-innocent curiosity brings to light a tale of suffering, murder, gods, and political machinations five hundred years in the making, awakening truths which should have been long wiped from Irminsul--and putting his tentative friendship with the mysterious Wanderer (not, to mention, you know, the fate of all of Sumeru) in gravest danger.

Don't worryyyy. Sethos has got this.

[violetasteracademic]

What does it take for regifted jewelry to be romantic?

Rambling crap post that will literally only make sense of you have seen the movie The Family Stone but let's do it.

Sometimes I genuinely try to understand other ships. I actually really mean that, in a deeply authentic and non sarcastic way. If this shipwar wasn't so nasty, I'd engage with other people the way I do with my real, human, offline friends- some of whom are E/lucien's and G/wynriels. They are genuinely wonderful people who are not chronically online like we are (and we are, there's no point throwing that around as an insult) and they don't actually care that much. They are just going off vibes - but would be absolutely disgusted to see the violent misogyny and bullying that takes place here. We enjoy talking to each other about the ships, even when we don't agree.

Typically, when I am trying to understand something, I seek out more of it. I've asked my friends for fated mate book recommendations that match E/Lucien's story (meeting your mate, then genuinely falling for another person that is absolutely right for you in every way except for the fact that he is not your mate, and somehow the plot leads to falling in love with your mate that you don't like anyways because fate is always right and never makes mistakes, even if everyone is questioning it because you have feelings for someone else) and I haven't been able to find anything. The closest I can get is meeting your mate when you are possibly already in love/engaged/what have you to someone else and then you find out that person you are already with is actually the worst (aka Graysen) and then you wind up falling in love naturally and authentically with your mate. This is what makes it work. The person who isn't your mate showing his true colors and realizing you were wrong about them.

I think this is why Azriel's character has been rewritten to create a moment of the male Elain is actually into showing his true colors. Otherwise, her moving on to her mate that she isn't interested in just because the guy she likes rejected her literally doesn't make any sense. It can't be political machinations and the threat of violence and exterior motives and interference keeping Azriel and Elain apart. It has to be Azriel's personality and personhood, or the fated mates typical structure that I assume everyone is basing their thought process on falls apart.

I've actually been wracking my brain for years to find a piece of art or story that represents a piece of jewelry being regifted symbolizing the transference of a relationship and I FINALLY realized- my favorite holiday movie- The Family Stone! My God, the movie is literally named for the piece of jewelry, his mother's ring.

Finally having a piece to work with and pick apart allowed me to understand what elements are required to really pull off "regifting" to show that the gift is symbolically landing where it needs to go in a moving and romantic way.

1: The jewelry must not have been picked out and purchased for a specific woman, with deep and thoughtful insights as to why the man saw this piece of jewelry and thought of the woman he loves. In The Family Stone, the ring is an heirloom. It is no one's ring but his mother's. And the journey of this stone landing on the hand of the woman that is right for Emmet is deep, complicated, and heart breaking.

This is not the case for Azriel, who saw the rose necklace (very widely agreed to symbolically represent Elain on all sides) and saw something that the full depth and color was revealed when held to the light, a thing of secret, lovely beauty. And he knew it was meant for Elain. My God. Jfc. That's poetry.

2: The original recipient of the gift must actively show displeasure or disappointment in the jewelry- further revealing that this is the wrong woman.

In The Family Stone, Meredith (Sarah Jessica Parker), the "first" and "wrong" woman sees the ring on her little sister Julie's finger (Claire Danes) and while there is some drama (the ring symbolically gets stuck on Julie's finger lolol) Meredith looks at the ring and hilariously goes- "That's it?" because the diamond is so small. She doesn't like it. She wouldn't want to wear it. Meanwhile Julie was stunned. She lost her breath over its beauty and was overwhelmed.

Elain was also stunned and breathless at how beautiful her gift was. She wants to wear it immediately, and she wants him to put it on her. The act of this beautiful, thoughtful gift emboldens Elain to do something she has never done before: Blatant, unrestricted touching. Even while the man she is supposed to be with, the man whose gifts do disappoint her, sleeps upstairs. So the classic holiday romance trope of one gift is right and one gift is wrong is already playing out. From Elain's perspective, the woman who will demand a say in who she chooses and is the only confirmed FMC, she's been getting disappointing gifts from her mate for years. When she finally sees a gift that steals the air from her lungs and lights up her eyes, a gift she wants to wear and use immediately after years of lukewarm responses to the man she is "meant" to be with, it's romantic as fuck. Unless you don't like her and don't want her with Azriel, in which case it isn't romantic to you personally. However, personal opinion on Elain doesn't actually change the fact that after years of many of us already assuming Az and Elain were into each other, they had an extremely classic holiday romance reveal.

4: The act of changing your mind about who will receive this gift, in order for it to be romantic, must be an act of hope. An act of joy and dreams and revelation. Realizing that there is more out there for you, and after years of playing it safe, of trying to make it work for the wrong reasons with the wrong woman, you are ready to be brave and break your character patterns to act on that dream of happiness.

Near the climax of The Family Stone, we discover that Emmet's mother, the keeper of this ring, has had her breast cancer return. It is already clear she is not going to make it this time.

We learn that Emmet has been acting out of trauma, grief, and loss. He cannot wrap his mind around the thought of getting married without his mother being there. In a heart breaking scene, Sybil finally gives Emmet the ring she has been refusing the entire movie and lets him know it is his decision. But she also frees him from the horrible pressure he has placed on himself to get married while she is still alive. She wishes passion, joy, and happiness for him. She helps him cope with the loss of her, helps him heal the wound and burdens he carries of trying to be the Perfect Son and do everything right. All she wants for him is happiness and love. But ultimately, the decision is his.

In a rush of hope and healing, Emmet asks Julie to try the ring on. He wants to see it on her. It is a culmination. It is powerful, emotional, and restorative. In this story of brothers and sisters coping with the loss of their mother and trying to find their personal happiness, they all wind up together in the end. Meredith winds up telling Emmet she can't marry him, before he even reveals he decided not to ask her, because they both knew it wasn't right. It was so clear that they weren't in love with each other, but just trying to fit this ideal picture for reasons that had nothing to do with love. Still, Meredith isn't a villain, and winds up falling in love with his brother. The next year, everyone but Sybil gathers as a family, the first Christmas without her. The grief is palpable, but so is the love. The image of Sybil smiling at her gathered family through last year's gifted photograph of her ends the movie.

Azriel's regifting of Elaine's necklace was not a culmination. It was not an act of hope, it was not Azriel releasing Elain because he realized his love for her was not genuine and there was real and true happiness to be found in G/wyn. He did not even care to give it to her directly. He gave it to Clotho, who absolutely read the vibes and noted his sadness. He didn't even care if it wound up with Gwyn or literally any other priestess. He needed to relieve himself of the necklace because of the pain of not being able to be with Elain, just like Cassian yeeted his first Solstice gift to Nesta into the Sidra after her rejection. Regifted or getting rid of gifts as an act of pain is not romance. It is not even symbolic of a change. It only reflects a man who is hurting because he has nowhere to channel his love and longing.

What I find odd is that most people do agree that Az regifting the necklace via Clotho is absolutely not romantic, thus Azriel incel fuckboy (which literally makes no sense) was born. For the necklace regift to hold the symbolism that G/wynriels want it to hold (a sort of passing of the torch of Azriel's affection and attention) they agree that this is icky and gross behavior but G/wyn will fix him and he'll stop being icky and gross. I'd ask for recommendations on romances like that to try to understand that thought process as well, but frankly I am not interested.

Azriel getting rid of the necklace was not an act of hope, it was an act of pain. It was lot an act of love, it was an act of loss.

A change in who a gift belongs to can be romantic, with the right elements. The great ACOSF bonus chapter necklacegate has none of them. And yet somehow, even though everyone agrees it wasn't romantic, people are still out here arguing that it clearly symbolizes a new romance.

I assure you, romance symbolizes romance. It shouldn't be tricky or leave you feeling icky or like the MMC is flaky and entitled. I cannot think of a single romance author who thinks it's a good idea to sit down and write toxic fuckbois as MMC's. Even if they were toxic fuckbois in the past, they IMMEDIATELY simp for their women. As of now, Azriel still hasn't noticed G/wyn, his supposed mate, and is hurting and heartbroken over another woman that he would kill for if asked to. He is not coping with it by raking about town and looking for a new girl to fall in love with since he was ordered away from the one he wanted. He's just training, not sleeping, and putting rocks in snowballs.

When trying to determine what is being foreshadowed as romance, if we have to stretch beyond asking the simple question what is romantic, I fear we have lost the plot.

[sehtoast]

That episode was insane. I’m getting tired of Firecracker’s ass she needs to get on somewhere. The racism the human centipede references the SA jokes like wtf..? I think that was one of the worst ones in the show.

Yeah, i’m… not entirely sure what the point of that episode even was beyond trying to expand their shock factor?  Hands down my least favorite episode to date, and i didn’t think i’d ever have an episode that stood out like that bc i’m honestly a pretty easy-to-please viewer. Hell, till now i’ve felt like s4 has been pretty strong with just a little bit of wavering in ep 5, but this was just… straight up bad. Sure, it feels like a season of pure filler, but the filler was at least strong– especially episode 4 since it gave us such incredible background on homelander.  Anyway, spoilers for s4e6, talks of SA, etc. following under the cut:

I haven’t been a fan of firecracker’s since she walked on screen, and i don’t think that’s going to change. Her character is incitement for the sake of it, which, given the state of the US irl, isn’t unwelcome commentary.  There was a flicker of hope when she did her little “i say this stuff because this is what the people who have nothing else in life need to unite.” For a fraction of an episode, she was interesting!�� She was a strong show of how political grifters prey upon ignorance with outrage to turn otherwise normal, lonely people who are desperately seeking unity into the just… trainwrecks they’ve become today.  And then they dropped it. It’s like she lost the awareness of it just as much as the writers did.  She could’ve been really neat, but she’s nothing more than your average outrage manufacturing machine.  I mean… “jewish space lasers?” C’mon man.  Combine it all with the anti-trans rhetoric and it just is… overall sour (i have many thoughts on the anti-trans and other shit they’ve had homelander say insofar as how little he even believes in the shit he parrots [and i do mean parrots, because he has no idea what to do or say when it doesn't work, which we saw again very clearly in today's episode] for the sake of preserving his demos and appealing to politicians, but that’s for another time– maybe?)

As far as the racism and anti-trans stuff (hell, even the word for word parody of that politician who said “legitimate r*pes can’t become pregnancies because the body has ways of shutting it down,” or whatever it was verbatim)-- i think we’re to the point where the writers and kripke have begun to forget that these are things done and said to real people in real time. I understand the point is to show the audience how foul these things are, but there comes a point where it crosses a line and ricochets back to hurting the audience.  For myself, i’m trans. Every other episode containing a line that directly correlates to the real world dehumanization of us for political points is a stomach dropping moment because we’re being actively reminded that our rights are under constant attack. All three times have had like… non existent context relation to anything going on in the show and just feels… baffling? And then it feels bad.  And then it hurts.  The show has done this a couple times where they try to make commentary on the oppressive and cruel shit said about marginalized people (race, gender, etc) and it falls flat and just becomes a slap in the face to the viewer who it was perhaps trying to represent.

The human centipede deal with splinter, i could cope with. I actually laughed, because i can see people with cloning powers doing wild shit like that.  It didn’t seem far off from the context of the show that superhumans with superpowers will do wacky shit with said superpowers.  What we got in today’s episode was… not that. And it wasn’t good.  What we got today was an episode riddled with sexual abuse via CNC that was played as a joke the whole way through.  No, tek and ashley did not know that hughie was in that suit. However, hughie started yelling random words at one point. I’m not versed in kink culture particularly well, but i would think anyone partaking in that sort of act would recognize that as perhaps the sub has forgotten their safe word and they would call it off. That they’re yelling out random, out of context words would be a major, major red flag to cease. But they didn’t. So what we got was extremely unsettling, especially as it settled in more, and it gets played as a joke until hughie cracks at the very end.  Maybe the goal is to make people understand the gravity of sexual abuse toward men since society does tend to treat it as a joke. Maybe, and that’s strong if so! But i’m finding it difficult to understand how a show that put school sh**ting warnings in Gen V, warned of b*astiality during the Deep’s shit, and even just, y’know, hinted at what herogasm would be, could somehow not manage to warn that viewers were about to see someone sexually abused to such an extent.  I have an extremely strong stomach for media. I’ve seen a lot of fucked up shit online that i wish i could unsee, but it’s never made my gut churn like it did after this episode.

I have… a lot of feelings about this episode. I could even probably go into detail on why i think the whole breast milk thing at the end was less than stellar as well (which i'm almost positive i'm standing alone on), but i don’t want to stray too far off the ask content.  I’m just… yeah. This was hands down the worst episode i think the show has, with like two exceptions for a-train's scene with the kid and how hard i laughed at the webweaver shit (but the thing is, WW WANTED help boofing that stuff!!!! difference!!!). Based off critic reviews, i think the next two will be floating around the same degree of bad as well.  Given the last few episodes set the aftertaste of everything, i think the reviews being so negative are probably based upon eps 6-8 being awful.

As usual, we’ll fix it in fanon.

edit: i also need to know what the fixation is this season in making important things happen off screen. starlight gets pregnant off screen, has an abortion. it is central to the plot of starlight v. firecracker, but we're not shown a lick of that exposition. homelander and sage are plotting internment camps??? but we're TOLD, not shown-- which is the ultimate sin in storytelling. like... what is this season actually trying to do beyond just compound shock value?

[deppiet]

About the yassification of GO2.

Warning: the following text is highly critical of the second season of Good Omens. If you enjoyed it, I am happy for you, and a non-negligible amount of jealous as well. Please scroll past before I inevitably rain on your fandom parade.

So, I did the thing. I binged the entire second season of what was, up to now, my favorite show ever, in one sitting. And I have a great deal of things to say, but hardly any of them is positive.

Let me start by saying that I don't mind the cliffhanger or the melancholy ending, like at all. In our era of Marvel apologists and the instant gratification culture, it is necessary for media to persevere and add nuance to romantic relationships. That said, what transpired during the six hours leading up to this sort of unearned climax hardly contains anything remotely close to nuance.

Who are these people? I don't mean the new characters, all of them written as cardboard-cut anthropomorphic personifications of stereotypes, yassified to the point of representation losing its purpose and getting in the way of, you know, actual writing. I mean the protagonists themselves, Aziraphale and Crowley, up to now my favorite characters in the entire world and -up to now- tangled in a love story so beautiful I had, for better or for worse, devoted a large part of my creative output on it, making art, songs, and metas on why what those two entities had was as close to perfect as anyone can hope to find for themselves.

These are not the characters I knew. The characters I knew spent hundreds of human lifetimes revolving around each other in a treacherous yet familiar dance- they both knew the love was there, it was comfortable like an armchair that has taken the shape of the body using it for years. They argued the way old couples do, and of course, like all fictional beings that are counterparts of one another, had differences to settle, but what stood in their way wasn't misunderstanding or miscommunication, in was their fear of Heaven and Hell, and their fundamentally different approaches on how to keep each other safe.

What is all this teen angst? This will-they-won't-they silliness that lacks any nuance, thematic coherence, or literally even trace amounts of understanding of the source material? Where is the dark humor, the quotability, the chaotic overarching plot, the self conscious camp? The season is so cynically written to cater specifically to a certain part of fandom, that I am losing respect for the original work- because if Neil Gaiman doesn't care for these fictional beings, and he evidently doesn't, why should I?

The thematic core of what made Good Omens what it was, had always been the "Love in unexpected places" trope Sir Terry Pratchett knew how to write so well. It had never been about the fantasy, because Sir Terry wrote satire wrapped up in a supernatural package, it had never been about the romance, because when the ship becomes the end instead of the means, the love rings hollow, like artificial light trying to pass as sunshine. The beating heart of GO lies in its philosophy, in the beautiful notion that the agents of two oppressive systems at war have more in common with one another than with their respective oppressors. That being a nobody, a mere cog in a larger machine, says more about said machine than it does about you, and that you can try to break free and build a life for yourself, where a happy ending looks like a dinner at the Ritz with the one you love most.

Shoehorning an underdeveloped "romance" between Beelzebub and Gabriel not only feels like bad fanfic (disclaimer: I like the ship and feel like it could have worked if developed in any capacity, and presented in a more humorous and character-appropriate way. I hate with passion how much they watered down Beelzebub in order to make them stereotypically romanceable, adding the Ineffable Bureaucracy to the ever-expanding list of characters I don't care about anymore.) but also, it muddles and grossly undermines the thematic raison d'être of Ineffable Husbands. If the ramifications for defecting and fucking off with the enemy were a slap on the wrist for the respective leaders of both sides, well surely the system can't be that oppressive after all. And if fear of the oppressive system wasn't, after all, what kept these beings apart, surely these two entities don't like each other as much as we thought. Or rather, one is reduced to a lovesick puppy and the other to a brainless husk of a character, a plot device, a means to go from place A to place B without spending much brainpower on the logistics.

And if these two new people got to kiss I care not, for they are not the same people I rooted for (props, though, to the actors, who gave, somehow, an almost Shakespearean gravitas to their love affair, underwritten and dumbed down as it was. They both love the characters, and it shows in the minuscule yet brilliant ways in which they added nuance where the script had none.)

What was that thing with the lesbians about? Though straight passing, I have always known myself to be attracted to women as well as men, and I am always highly suspicious when an "ally" writer (see: straight, no shade to straight people among which I live because they are, like, the majority) decides to make all characters queer, in the face of real-world statistics and despite NOT being queer themselves. When a person like Nate Stevenson does it they get a pass because writers self-insert and because, when done well, it can carry a message of equality. But when the ally writer does it, unless it is pitch-perfect, I am forced to examine the possibility of them being calculating about it and trying to score representation points, often because they need the rep as a fig leaf to cry homophobia behind when people start complaining about the atrocious plot.

Nina and Maggie were boring. They had no personalities, no cohesive backstories, nothing to make us understand what they are to one another and to the overarching plot ("plot" is used loosely here, for there was no plot: the series ended where it should have started, with six hours of -progressively more offensive to my intelligence- fanfic tropes in a trenchcoat serving as the, well, "plot"). I didn't care whether or not they'd end up together, because I have no idea who they are. The blandness of the dialogue had the actresses, both very talented as evidenced in the first season, grasping at straws with what little characterization they were left to work with, and the "ball" was so unbelievably bad a plot device no amount of suspension of disbelief was ever going to make it right.

The minisodes, though at parts clever and philosophical, felt out of place. This was another narrative choice I had to raise my eyebrows at, because it felt like a bunch of executives sat around a table and watched Neil Gaiman's powerpoint presentation of what made Season 1 financially successful. They were shoehorned in, largely irrelevant to the, eh, "plot", and most of them lasted far more than I personally deemed welcome, or necessary.

What else is there to say? The wink-winks and nudge-nudges to the Tumblr nation? The in-your-face Doctor Who reference? The narratively myopic choice to make Crowley a former archangel? The cheese dialogue, not one bit of which was quotable?

I am distraught. I am grieving an old friend, and a part of my fandom life I cannot, in good faith, return back to after this gross betrayal. I am happy for those who don't see it, because I wish I could love this season past its flaws. However, the writing isn't simply mediocre, it is irrevocably, immeasurably, undescribably bad, so bad I am shocked to my very core, so bad I find it offensive to Sir Terry's memory and everything his own creative output was lovingly filled with.

I am passing all five stages of grief and very much doubt I will return to this fandom. I loved the original story and the characters with all my heart- now the aforementioned heart is broken, not by the breakup or anything as pedestrian as cheap romantic tropes. But because my old friends, my family of fictional beings, are no longer the ones I loved and could relate to.

Deppie out.

[niofo]

jaws of hakkon might be my favorite dlc just bcos of how much of a mirror it serves to everything what happens in the inquisition. what happened to ameridan mirrors what will happen to the inquisitor who is non-human, non-andrastian or mage (or if it won't happen, the chantry will at least attempt it, we know it will. and metatextually what happened to hawke if they're a blood mage or romancing anders). but how insincere the chantry (and the inquisition) is about their leaders is only amplified by another mirror - what the jaws of hakkon doing with hakkon is what the chantry is doing with andraste. whatever she had wanted or fought for in her time doesn't really matter anymore from the moment her teachings were taken and interpreted by the colonialist machine of the orlesian chantry. similarly, hakkon was a god that helped to defend one's home (hakkon's honor), avenge great wrongs (hakkon's wrath) and sent visions to augurs (hakkon's wisdom) - but hakkonites made him into just a deity of conquest, and destroyed him in the process.

[thatdisasterauthor]

So what the hell is a hopeful apocalypse story?

I've been pushing this book as a hopeful apocalypse story, so I wanted to talk a little bit more about what that means!

We're all familiar with the usual doom and gloom we see in apocalypse stories. The world ends and everything devolves into an anarchy full of punky outfits, armored vehicles, and everyone for themselves. There's usually (but not always) a fair amount of death, gore, abuse, and fear.

These stories can be great! And exiting, and fun to read, and important in a cathartic way. Except, in real life disasters, a lot of that just doesn't happen. Studies have shown over and over that, when real disaster strikes, people tend to behave much better than the typical Hollywood disaster story would like you to believe.

That was the story I wanted to tell with Camp Daze. It is a disaster story. It is an apocalypse story. But it tires to approach those things in a more realistic way. The characters do go through hard and dangerous things. They do suffer losses. But they keep their heads and reach out to one another and just figure it out. And, in doing so, they just might realize that the apocalypse wasn't quite as apocalyptic as they first thought.

As important as the catharsis of just going wild is, I think the catharsis of seeing things go right is equally important.

Here's a quote from one of my favorite (non-fiction) books on the subject of how people behave in disasters:

“These remarkable [post-disaster] societies suggest that, just as many machines reset themselves to their original settings after a power outage, so human beings reset themselves to something altruistic, communitarian, resourceful, and imaginative after a disaster, that we revert to something we already know how to do. The possibility of a paradise is already within us as a default setting.” -A Paradise Built in Hell by Rebecca Solnit

So yes! That's what I mean when I call Camp Daze a "hopeful apocalypse story." It's a story where things do go very, very wrong, but they also go very, very right.

You can learn more about the book on the Kickstarter page!

[somefanficrecomendations]

2023 BEST READS

A few days late but hey, better late than never! This is a non-comprehensive list of my favorite fics that I’ve read in 2023! Criteria for a fic to be included on this list are:

I read the fic in 2023

I reread the fic at least once

I can rate 5/5 stars without hesitation

The fics are organized by fandom but otherwise are in no particular order.

BATMAN

New Wave by yellow_caballero Batman (gen), 103k, Reverse Robins, Stephanie Brown is Robin Some lunatic in a bat costume is running around Gotham clowning on fools, but local delinquent Stephanie Brown has way bigger problems. When her father and friends start joining mob wars Steph knows she has to do something about it before Gotham collapses. If that means joining up with rich dudes playing dress up, pasty nerds with hacking and photography habits, and throwing on a costume herself, then that’s just what she’ll have to do. Even if Batman works alone. She’s convincing. In which Stephanie Brown rocks the radical nineties and becomes the first Robin, ruining Batman’s life and giving Tim Drake a hobby.

birdsong by ScarlettSwordMoon Nightwing (gen), 22k, Dick Grayson-Centric After getting a face full of Scarecrow’s newest toxin, Dick isn’t haunted by his typical nightmares. No. This one has little green pixie boots. AKA Batman: Ego but make it Robin. Nightwing 60th Anniversary Bingo: Drugs & Toxins

Keep Your Head, Your Backbone, and Your Heart by MrMich Batman (gen) 54k, Dimension Travel, Duke Thomas-centric The last thing that Duke expected on what was supposed to be just a regular patrol was being suddenly thrown five years into the past, coming face to face with a darker, more violent Batman than the one he knew, a broken family, and a Tim who was a foot shorter than Duke, and not even Robin yet.

Loading and Aspect Ratio by JUBE514 Batman (Superbat), 45k, Wings AU A world where nobody has wings, but people think they do, and that changes everything.

Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines by SilverSkiesAtMidnight Batman (gen), 13k, Starvation He has never argued with a punishment, not since he was a toddler, if then. Surely she’ll listen, surely she’ll see this is too harsh, that he wouldn’t be disrespecting her like this if he was simply sulking over not getting his way. He needs that food, needs to be able to eat enough if he wants to be Robin. He’s been hungry before, but back then, it never mattered if he was a little weak or dizzy. It never risked his life or the life of his partner when he was a kid. She turns, sighing softly and pursing her lips. She reaches out to pat his cheek, and for a moment his heart soars hopefully, and he barely restrains himself from leaning into the rare bit of contact and soaking up his mother’s touch. “Oh, Timothy,” she tuts. “This is for the best. And honestly, I think it’s wise for you to cut down a bit on the snacks. I’d hate to have to listen to anyone tittering at the next gala that you’re getting chubby.” And without another backwards glance, she turns and heads upstairs, leaving Tim alone and frozen at the bottom of the steps.

You, Me, and the Humanity in Between by JUBE514 Batman (gen), 65k, Non-Human Robins Bruce is trying his best to protect the city that he loves. He doesn't know how exactly his Robins came to be- they're not fully human, not even at all. All he knows is that he wants to keep them safe.

Little Red by destiny919 Batman: Under the Red Hood (gen), 39k, Series, Jason is Tim’s Parent AU where Tim is younger and has been illegally adopted by his hero, the Red Hood.

A Different Game by Hinn_Raven Batman (multi), 62k, Red Hood!Stephanie Brown, Role Reversal Stephanie Brown died with a mouth full of blood and her eyes wide open, staring at the locked door, hoping still for a miracle, for a rescue. She died in a hidden place, still hanging from the ceiling by her wrists, bleeding out from a wound in her stomach, and no one was with her when her heart gave its last beat. AU where Stephanie Brown dies as Robin and becomes the Red Hood.

bad news, this place is magic as fuck by mikkal Batman (gen), 28k, All-Caste Jason Todd, Magic Jason Jason's on the trail of a killer who's targeting kids in Crime Alley for an unknown magical ritual. Between that and his family who insists on butting in, he's got his work cut out for him. But, as they say, nothing is as it seems.

Wings over Gotham by icarus_chained Batman, DC (gen), 190k, No Man’s Land, Independent Gotham An AU where an altered version of No Man’s Land happened while Bruce was in his late teens/early twenties, and Batman was born in the hellish crucible of a trapped city that was left for dead and then violently retaken. Gotham may pretend to run by mainlander rules for the sake of those who would have died otherwise, but under the surface, Bruce, Jim, Leslie, Ivy and Oswald and their pack keep their own council, and look with jaundiced eyes on the mainland.

A Meditation on Railroading by eggmacguffin Batman (gen), 24k, Hurt/Comfort When he ends up ditched in Atlanta after a fight with his dad, Tim decides to do the only sensible thing: Tell no one and make the 800 mile journey back to Gotham on his own. Because the "call Batman when you're in trouble" rule only applies when he's Robin, right?

THE BATMAN (2022)

I’m a Good Pretender by shipNslash The Batman (2022) (gen), 40k, Dick Grayson-Centric Dick’s mother raised her son to be a star. Dick’s father raised his son to be an athlete. Bruce's new ward is charming (manipulative), dedicated (obsessive), and way, way too smart for either of their own good.

In This or Any Other Universe by wildsofmarch The Batman (2022) (gen), 33k, Dimension Travel There was a new vigilante in his city: a man who smiled too much and talked too loud and knew his way around a fight a little too well. Bruce wasn't bothered by his antics. Except the man also seemed to know a little too much about him. Who was this Nightwing, anyway? OR: Dick Grayson (DCU) accidentally lands himself in Battinson’s Gotham.

DC LEGENDS OF TOMORRW

Countless Roads by nirejseki Arrowverse, DC Legends of Tomorrow (Mick Rory/Leonard Snart), 231k, Medium Leonard Snart, AU-Ghosts Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him. Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

Straight On Till Morning by nirejeski Arrowverse, DC Legends of Tomorrow (Sara Lance/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart), 17k, Time Pirates Left alone in the Refuge, Mick and Sara decide they're going to be proactive about their fate. They end up becoming time pirates. Because of course they do.

THE WITCHER

A Beginners Guide to Exploiting the Kaedweni Tax Code For Fun and Profit by Heronfem The Witcher (Aiden/Lambert), 190k, WIP, AU-Modern Setting, AU-College/University Aiden Kett and Lambert Wilkson accidentally get married, and this is honestly probably the least of their problems.

By the Broken Lock That Freed Me by inexplicifics The Witcher, (muti), 46k, AU-Daemons, Accidental Warlord Series Aiden takes a contract on the Duke of Velen. He's not expecting the most interesting part of the whole affair to be meeting the duke's betrothed. His daemon thinks they should keep her. Aiden's not sure how that will work, given that he's already got a Wolf and doesn't know how Lambert and his daemon might feel about adding someone else to their little pack, but it's awfully tempting. And Cats aren't very good at resisting temptation.

Intent by tnico The Witcher (Aiden/Lambert), 18k, Non-Traditional A/B/O, 5+1 "You think I don't know what you're after?" Lambert accuses. "Well, I'd certainly hope you do, by this point in the evening," Aiden (so he says) agrees in a convincingly genial tone. It'd probably be enough to fool someone else on the matter of genuine interest.

SPIDERVERSE

gonna crack a rib (when i get home) by eneliii Spiderverse (gen), 40k, Cannon Divergence Miles Morales, recently landed in Earth 42, has had enough of everyone’s shit and he’s going to save his dad or so help him he’ll lose his mind. Miles Morales 42, just wants to know what the /hell/ is up with his doppelgänger.

MCU

The Hero's Journey; or: What Jasper Sitwell Did Last Summer by pagination MCU, Welcome to Night Vale (multi), 23k, Crossover The thing is, when an agent reaches clearance level five, it’s because they’re valuable, capable of something an exponentially diminishing few can offer in the ranks of SHIELD. Clint Barton, his personal issues notwithstanding, is unstoppable behind a scope. Jim Woo is an analyst and extractor par excellence. Melinda May has infiltrated half the presidential offices of Asia, and Phil Coulson has an instinct for the unusual that could be the basis of an entire TV show. Jasper’s less certain what he brings to the party.

If I Knew You Were Coming I'd've Baked a Cake by OddityBoddity MCU, Hawkeye (gen), 27k, Baking They’re the broken ones. That’s what Clint figures the rest think about him and Barnes. Clint with his eardrums trashed, Barnes with a regiment’s worth of trauma and a psychotic cybernetic arm, put in the same room and told to make nice while the others get to go on missions and do important things and save the world. Well they're not broken. So of course they got bored and tired of being sidelined and decided to entertain themselves. And of course they ended up wanted, running through the streets of Paris with bananas down their pants and gendarmes in pursuit. Of course they did.

[lions-and-men-musical]

very rough act 1 patrochilles

Patroklos & Achilles are the main relationship in L&M, and I find their dynamic very fun to explore:

A major internal conflict in L&M is Achilles’ struggle with being a demigod. He feels isolated from his peers and abused by his commanders due to his skill in combat. Achilles is constantly fighting to preserve the little part of him that is human, while characters like Agamemnon or Odysseus are trying to make him into a complete war machine by embracing his god/machine side.

Patroklos is one of the only characters who sees him for more than just the fact that he was born a cyborg. Pat also has an interesting take on Achilles’ “violence or no violence” dilemma because of his backstory.

Before Pat met Achilles he was pretty much considered a “problem child” by everyone around him, and eventually was banished after he nearly* killed another boy, Clysonymus, after he was taunting Patroklos over a game they were playing.

*in the original mythology, he does actually kill Clysonymus but I thought that was too harsh/dramatic for what I was going for

due to this, Patroklos is more cautious than the other soldiers when it comes to violence. He’s also the main thing tethering Achilles to his humanity, serving as an opposing force to Agamemnon (as well as many others).

One way this is shown is where characters may touch Achilles. Patroklos’s hands are only ever on Achilles’s non-cyborg parts, whereas Agamemnon, Menelaus, and Odysseus only ever touch Achilles on the parts of his body made of metal.

One of my favorite little details is Patroklos playing w Achilles’ hair. The reason Achilles keeps his hair long is because it’s one part of him that is fully human that he can grow, and often in the background of scenes or while other characters are talking, Patroklos is always braiding or otherwise playing with Achilles’ hair.

When Patroklos dies, Achilles finally lets go of trying to be human, symbolized by him cutting his hair. in “No Oaths”, Achilles explicitly states “He was my everything, my empathy, my sympathy/when you killed him you killed that part of me”

I have so many thoughts on these two, these are just the bigger/more interesting parts to me

[ultimateloserboy]

ok you know what im gonna say it with my full chest. literally nobody talks about bendy (the character) like who he actually is and ive been tired of it since the old game ended. i think hes genuinely one of the most incorrectly fanonized characters like ever at this point. and i genuinely believe it changed the actual canon and it bothers me a lot.

as for the physical version of him/ the ink demon— in the original batim game there was literally a whole plot point about bendy being non-human and how he came out of the machine physically and mentally sloppy compared to the other creations. hes not a fully fledged-out person and that’s LITERALLY an entire section of the original game. he has no human soul or mind, hes sentient but about as much as a gorilla. he attacks like a zombie or an animal with instinct and not like an angry human being. he cant speak because his mouth is fake and he cant walk properly because his limbs are liquid sludge— hes literally an abomination— a mockery of actual human life. its crazy to even call him the “villain” of the story because he doesnt have the thinking ability to genuinely be malicious. its like calling zombies the villains of zombie movies, they cant be because they dont have the brain function to be.

a lot of people ignored the obvious fact that he isnt human-like so they could sexualize him, which isnt as bad as sexualizing an actual animal— im not claiming that— but what bothers me is how the creators made him MORE HUMAN to lean towards these people and ill never think otherwise. yall can argue with me or call me chronically online, but bendy WASNT able to speak or was human-like at all until the dark revival, which was so obviously fan service its not even funny.

im not claiming that people who sexualize bendy are zoos or something— thats too far. what im claiming tho is that this genuinely interesting character was given consciousness and the ability to speak after previously not ever having those things JUST so booktok ass teenagers could swoon over him like they do venom, taking away the interest of his original character. he wasnt fully sentient until it made money for the creators and then suddenly hes speaking poetry in a deep sexy man voice with a fucking 8 pack. how does that not bother anyone? im not even trying to say its morally weird— im just saying its bad writing in general!!! like why do yall let these games ruin characters for fan service and not even give a fuck, and then have the balls to ask why newer ones are so poorly written?? no fucking shot EVERY one of yall was ok with them retconning his entire existence like HES THE MAIN CHARACTER???? DO YALL REALLY WANNA SEXUALIZE EVERYTHING //THAT// BAD TO THE POINT ITS OK TO REWRITE THE ENTIRE MAIN CHARACTER AS LONG AS IT MEANS YOU CAN FINALLY SEXUALIZE HIM CANONICALLY??????

and before people say anything— no i dont think its wrong for bendy to develop a voice or to become more human over time— BUT COME ON DUDE ARE YALL DENSE?? IVE SEEN LESS FAN-SERVICE STARING AT MY GOD DAMN AIR CONDITIONER!!!! they didnt “develop” bendy more— they retconned him to please freaks online!!! surely ONE of yall had to have noticed like… when tdr dropped the sexualization was so bad i genuinely didnt have fun with the series anymore. and I CANT because its justified now! the creators retconned him to be more sexyman so now you cant even argue against it!! literally why cant we have ONE thing online without people wanting to pound every single fucking character??

im sorry if this sounds mean but ive been upset about this for YEARS!! bendy was my favorite character as a kid and NOBODY gives him justice NOT EVEN HIS OWN CREATORS. it would be one thing if there was just a small portion that treated him like this but now its literally everyone and the games lean into it and i just want to explode and die at this point fr.

it genuinely makes me a little ill knowing he was once just a confused, soulless being fighting and killing out of the confusion, rage and fear that his cruel existence caused him to feel, but now hes just a deep voiced venom-ripoff villain whose just a big meanie and hunts you for sport or some stupid shit.

[tondisus]

can i get some dbh ao3 recs :0! i prefer canon compliant stuff (im a huge "he would not fucking say that!!!!" person) and any/no ships

Oh I've waited *years* for someone to ask me fic recs and I shall deliver.

Ik you technically asked for canon compliant stuff but honestly I'm the complete opposite about characters, like I look at two completely different characterizations and I'll go "oh maybe he would say both of those," I'm just generally a massive AU enjoyer.

So instead of trying to sort and struggle and figure out what to recommend, I'll just throw a bunch of stuff your way and hope at least something works!

Also I'm getting all the recs from my downloads so they're likely complete, my favorite character that I'm hopelessly hyperfixated on is Connor, I generally love a lot of angst & hurt/comfort, I'm not really into shipping and romance-focused fics that much and longer fics >> shorter fics, so my recommendations are gonna show those traits

I recommend literally any dbh fic by WayWardWonderer: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayWardWonderer/pseuds/WayWardWonderer

They have genuinely carried my fandom experience, if I think I have nothing to read I just go back to their fics, i am so impressed how someone can write SO much great content

Accident prone: becoming human https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727149

Is a long fic post-pacifist best ending full of whump, angst, hurt/comfort, character development, just everything good. And when I say long, I mean 1.8mil words long.

Torn alliances https://archiveofourown.org/works/25009789 in which it's also a post-pacifist ending fic, except deviated Connor was shot by Markus in the church,  came back on the rooftop scene as a machine, and deviated there thanks to Hank. From there it explores what happens after in about a million words.

Sanction https://archiveofourown.org/series/2226099 is a series that also features the Markus-killed-Connor-in-church-but-he-survived-what-happens-now type story, the prequel has Connor & Carl interaction which while rare, is very precious to me in this fandom, and the sequel has some awesome angst about the Amanda takeover and it's potential consequences/meanings

Detroit 07 https://archiveofourown.org/series/1473497

Is a series that really focuses on the dpd police department and their interactions post-pacifist ending, the characters are basically built from nothing by the author so this could be a non-canon-compliant type of fic but I listed it anyway cuz it's an awesome series what can I say

Cutting ties https://archiveofourown.org/series/2738356 is a series of fics more about Connor and his struggle with deviancy and android kind, I honestly started reading this for the Connor & North friendship cuz damn i love those two and their interactions

Deviating and Solving Crime with 100% Human Detective Connor https://archiveofourown.org/works/29270769 is abt Connor being deviant the entire time but staying undercover as a detective in the DPD, super hilarious imo, loved the characterization of basically everyone, probably the longest 5 + 1 type fic I've read

File not found https://archiveofourown.org/works/32842771

Is an au fic of the game timeline where Connor is simultaneously deviant and machine, he has to delete memories of himself letting deviants go to hide his actions from cyberlife, and Hank is hostile at first, which is a fun part.

Reset https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118730/chapters/35054933 is a classic time-travel fix-it trope, 8 months after a failed revolution, Connor goes back in time thanks to Kamski and, well, fixes stuff. Sassy Connor is my beloved fr he's so awesome.

I'd probably have more recs (seeing as I have over 350+ downloaded detroit fics) and would know more specifically which ones were the more canon-compliant ones but the hyperfixation is sporadic and comes back every few years and it just came back very recently again, so I don't remember completely what all fics were about and how much I liked them (why did I not make summaries and list thoughts why past me why were you DUMB) but the ones I listed are hopefully very readable 👍

Hope you find something here you like / haven't read yet :D

[internetgiraffekid1673]

Whattup people who read my Batman posts! Brainrot's still rotting, I just had junk to do, so I didn't draw for a while! Anyhoodle, time for another character, Duke Thomas, a.k.a The Signal (and also Robin depending on how you're counting it!)

You know the drill by now, initial trace with my lazy backdrop! I liked drawing Duke, but BOY HOWDY HEY, he was hard. Like, I'm just gonna come out and say it, I am BAD at drawing armor and buildings and machines and anything non-organic. Which means Signal is probably one of the hardest costumes to get right. This was just the trace, so it wasn't too bad, but trying to understand how his costume worked was quite the game for this whole process. I will say, he's got one of my favorite color schemes out of any of the Batfamily. The light dark contrast works really well in a way that is only seen elsewhere on the Robin cape, and the fact that this is actually the Signal's whole costume makes it feel more cohesive and effective than that. And, you know, it's also really cool thematically, considering light is kinda Duke's whole thing.

Freehanded drawing with referenced trace! This was a ROUGH time. I had to redraw Duke three separate times before I got a result I was satisfied with.

So, remember how I said that I struggled to understand how his costume actually works? Yeah, that's because I have a decent grasp how armor is actually supposed to work, and this ain't it fellas. Like, not knocking the design, it looks cool and is certainly easier to draw once you get the hang of it, but it makes less intuitive sense to me. What is happening on his neck? Is that like pure metal molded to his skin or something? That's not how physics work. Why are his pauldrons not actually covering his shoulders, and also where and how exactly are the attached to anything? It was confusing, but definitely a good exercise for me.

Again, the stuff they did was actually pretty smart, since it's comic books and they don't have to move realistically, and this makes it easier to pose his head, chest, and shoulders. It was just difficult for me to wrap my head around. Ignoring all the physics defying stuff,

Signal probably has one of the smartest/most practical costumes of the Batfam too. For one, he actually has a helmet and protects his head. Two, he has armored all of his vital organs like his lungs and heart and stuff. Three, he doesn't have a cape, which means he can't be grabbed or snagged as easily, and doesn't have to fight working around that. This is sad for me though, because I love drawing capes : (

Pose for characterization. I'mma be straight with ya'll, I don't know much about Duke. Like, I've read all of the We Are Robin/Robin Wars comics, but that doesn't actually give me much of a handle on Duke as a person, or how he behaves because it has to split the focus between so many protagonists, and also because there's a bunch of other stuff happening, so Duke doesn't get as much focus as you'd suspect. I haven't read anything else where he appears (except for Wayne Family Adventures, but I don't think that counts).

The general vibe I got from We Are Robin and from other comic readers is that Duke is probably the most approachable member of the Batfamily. He wasn't raised as an assassin from birth, he hasn't been Robin since he was like 9, he didn't die and come back to life---his life experience, while far from normal, is still much closer to the average human being, so he can relate and react better. (The only other member who really gets close is Steph, but she's been around longer and has had time to get into more whacky life or death scenarios, so she's a bit nuttier. Duke'll get there in time, I'm sure).

I tried to convey this approachability by giving him an open expression and more relaxed body language, even though he is a pretty mistrusting and high strung person. Comes with the territory of being a vigilante I guess.

As always, the text for his hero name is traced off a comics cover. To indicate the duality of Duke being both a pretty chill kid and also absolutely insane, I felt the need to put his civilian name in two fonts. I also tried to make his civvies call back to his We Are Robin uniform without being an exact one to one. I'm positive that Duke'll take any excuse to wear Robin colors, even after the ban was lifted, just because it pisses off the cops.

Can you guys guess who comes next based off the order so far? (You won't, it only makes sense to me).

Other Batfamily Members:

Nightwing Edition

Red Hood Edition

Robin (Carrie Kelley) Edition

Red Robin Edition

Spoiler Edition

Robin (Damian Wayne) Edition

[imkillerbae]

Heya! Thank you for adding some fanfictions to the thread, it's so empty recently.

How about something with Sova? Could be anything of your choice.

Heyooo!!!! THanks for requesting and sorry if this took so long to make.

And you're welcome! I'm glad I could contribute to the simping.

I LOVED writing this and had so many ideas. But I settled for something fluffy ehehe self indulgent stuff. anyway, here's Sova being a simp, cool reader, God mi heart. This is my most favorite one that i've wrote probably. Enjooy!!!

Say So (Valorant Sova x Fem!Reader)

Summary:

Sova’s artificial eye is acting up, and he needs help with it. Sage knows nothing about biocomponents, and the two young engineers were too experimental, so he approaches Y/N, also someone with artificial parts, for help.

Words: 2k

CW: Slow burn, FLUFF, lots of blushing, Sova the Shy bear, lots of inner monologue from him. just lots of fluffiness.

(Please listen to Avenue Beat's cover of Say So, originally by Doja Cat, while reading this.)

----------------------------------

🎶 Why don’t you say so? 🎶

Sova held this eye pain in for a while now. He didn’t like the idea of anyone tinkering with his artificial eye, but this was getting too painful.

He was reading ‘We’ by Zamyatin when it just busted on him, giving him a small jolt of electricity in the head. He felt that the thing was in some sort of disrepair, but he didn’t like asking for help with something so sensitive. Clearly, he made a mistake. Since this thing is so close to the brain, he might just deal with a lot more than a nonfunctioning eye. He sighs. He should’ve just asked for help.

Another hindrance was who to ask for help.

His choices were Sage, Raze and KJ, or Y/N.

He respected Sage for her skills in the healing arts but he couldn’t expect too much from her when it comes to eyes made of metal and wires. Plus his history with her? A can of worms he’d never want to open again. As for the two—Raze and KJ—he tried asking for their opinions and he was met with crazy ideas for modification and improvements, things he didn’t necessarily need. Plus, he’s not too fond of the idea of them fiddling with his eye for their own scientific curiosity.

That leaves Y/N.

Y/N was the obvious choice. She really was. She was skilled with biocomponents, she was easy to talk to, kind, generous, perfect. But there was a huge problem.

Sova has a crush on her. Was it called a crush? Do crushes even apply at their age? Point was, he liked her. And he was shy about it.

Y/N was an agent in the protocol who was similar to him, in a sense that she also had some robotic parts to her, namely her arm. The robotic components started from her shoulder, all the way to her fingertips. She was skilled with repairs of that nature. Along with Sage, she was also a medic for the team, both human and non-human. She was the obvious choice.

🎶 It’s been a long time since you, fell in love~ You ain’t coming out your shell, you ain’t really been yourself~ 🎶

Sova was just very shy, it was pathetic. Normally, he never really had any problem telling people what he felt. He openly says I love you all for god’s sakes. But whenever he was with her, he can pretend to play it cool but sometimes he’d zone out staring at her or just stutter on his words. His brain would just be filled with her, in scenarios he’d made in his head. Like how he would take care of her, marry her, take her to his Babushka, all that cheesy stuff. He wasn’t like this normally but his heart just beats faster than a machine gun could fire. He blushed at the thought every time he imagined spending the rest of his life with her. It didn’t help that he looked extremely serious whenever he was thinking.

He sighed. He needed to gain some confidence with her if he ever wanted a chance. Or at the very least, get this eye of his in proper order.

Getting to her door was easy peasy. Knocking was another deal. He stood there quietly with his fist raised, ready to knock, but no sound was emitted. Usually he rehearsed what he needed to say beforehand, but it seems like he couldn’t get his head straight this time.

It’s not that complicated to ask for repairs Sasha. Stop hesitating, he scolded himself. You’re not asking her to a date, you’re asking her to fix your eye. Stop overthinking, it’s not going to happen.

As he was about to knock, his thoughts were interrupted by Breach who was on the other side of the door as it opened. “Oh! Sova! Aye, great to see ya! But I gotta bolt! Thanks Y/N for the advice, haha!” He said immediately, waving at Y/N then at a confused Sova, although you would never be able to tell from his face. As he moved past Sova, Breach muttered “g’luck pal”, but neither Y/N or Sova heard it.

Sova stood outside the door, unblinking at Y/N who had her protection glasses on. “Hello,” she greets, gracefully placing the screwdriver on her desk. She smiles gently, her heels tapping lightly on the floor as she walked closer. The entire room was humming with electricity and the steady air from the vents, but he could hear his heartbeat clearly.

🎶 If you want it, scream it, shout it babe~ 🎶

He clears his throat, dusting his shoulders off. “It seems that I would’ve interrupted something had I knocked a little too early,” he starts, looking at the door, and then at her. He looked at her as discreetly as he could. She was in a white coat, casual clothes underneath. She adjusted the coat to her shoulders before speaking. “Not necessarily, Breach and I were just talking about his arms. He thought I’d be the best at tinkering with that.”

Concentrate Sova. Speak. Speak.

“I concur.” He replies, looking around the room, just anywhere other than her. He was sweating under his shirt, thank God he was wearing white. “So, what brings the big Russian teddy bear into my humble cave?” She teases with a laugh, pulling on his sleeve, beckoning him to walk closer to her walk table. She was professional most of the time, which he appreciated greatly, but it seems that she enjoys making him blush.

He blushes at the nickname, but he holds his breath to deafen the beating of his heart. “I-I’d like to ask for help with my eye. I can’t see anything from it right now, and it hurts.” He explains, leaning on her work table. She pauses for a moment, staring at him, then her expression changes to that of annoyance. “It’s not supposed to hurt. Since when has this been going on?”

“More or less a week. I thought of fixing it myself, which was a mistake.” He admits, ashamed, and she sighs. A hand lands on her hips and she leans on one side giving him an unsatisfied look. “Sova you don’t fiddle with your own eye, artificial or not. You know this. And for a week? This could be serious.” Her shoes tap impatiently against the floor.

Sova scratches the back of his head sheepishly then gives a meek smile. “It was foolish of me to think that it would pass. I’m sorry.” And with that, her expression softens to that of concern. She then reaches for latex gloves on the table pulling it over each hand. “Sit on the table so you’re on my eye level. I need to take a look at that before I pull it out of your eye socket.”

He looked at himself from the distant mirror. He was wearing a white shirt that fit snug enough to show his bulky shape, and dark green combat pants with lots of pockets on them. He fixed his blonde hair, combing it back. Y/N was watching as he did this, and she giggles to herself. She didn’t take him for someone who’s very concerned with his appearance.

“Alright big man. Lean in and let’s see what’s happening here,” she advices to him as she placed herself between his legs, holding a small flashlight with one hand. Sova furrows his brows but hesitantly complies. “Closer,” she says sharply, and he could feel her minty breath on his lips right now. He was looking to the side as she spread his eyelid open, his eye shaking.

“Look at me,” she whispers, too focused to care about him turning into a tomato, at the mercy of her hands. He then looks into her eyes, saying nothing but feeling everything in his chest.

When they first met, they easily got along. He was generally supportive of everyone, but he always found himself speaking positively about her more than anyone else. She was a team player like him, making use of his intel to clear areas as he watches her back. She’d saved him in the battlefield countless times, he knows he can depend on her with no fail. And his most favorite thing about her is her kindness and positivity. It was something he and the rest of the team needed.

As he thought about all of these things, Y/N repeated her question. He didn’t hear it the second time. “Huh?” He asked again, and Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, chuckling. “I asked if it hurt when I touch this,” she pressed on the side of his sclera, and he finally winces. “Slightly,” he whispered, looking away again and blinking.

🎶 Boy stop playin’ 🎶

“Why are you acting like you’re shy?” She smiles at him, tilting her head to one side, biting her lip. His breath became shallow as they stared at each other’s eyes, in comfortable silence. It felt like a moment was forever before she cleared her throat. “I’ll take that eye from you now, Sova.” She chuckles again.

Getting the eye off of him was not as painful as he would’ve thought, the numbing cream helped. Apparently static electricity damaged it. It was designed to be impervious to static electricity but alas, accidents happen. The inside of his eye looked fine minus the minor bruising, and she reassured him that seeing his eye like this didn’t bother her at all. “Sova I’ve dug out bullets from your shoulders with my fingers, don’t act like seeing your healed eye is something I’m not used to.”

As she worked, they talked about anything and everything that came to mind. How their day had been going, how was work, how was home. The conversation never seemed to end with the both of them.

“So, here’s what I’m advising. Take these anti-biotics every 6 hours, make sure you’ve eaten before though. I’m out of stock on the eyedrops but I’ll let you know when I have them again. In the meantime, stop touching it and make sure your hands are clean,” she slaps on his hand playfully, and he just huffs, the corner of his lips tugging slightly upward. “Thank you, Y/N. You are… wonderful.” He breathes out the compliment, smiling to himself.

🎶 Why you beatin’ round the bushn’~ 🎶

She returned his smile and crossed her arms. “You always say that. But thanks,” she shrugged, leaning on the wall, standing across him as he remained sitting on the table. He grits his teeth.

“I mean it. You are.”

“Yes. I know you mean it.”

“Y-you’re very wonderful. Kind, and beautiful. You smell great.”

“Uhuh? Thanks… haha.”

God what was this sudden urge to… to speak up? He didn’t know why but he needed to close this distance. It was gnawing at him. He couldn’t let this moment, this chance slip by him. He had to seize it. He internally fought the urge to chicken out and took a deep breath.

🎶 Knowin’ you want all this woman, never knock it till you try~ 🎶

He suddenly stood up and walked towards her, and she jolted upward out of instinct, one hand on her chest. He was a hunter after all, he could be intimidating. But everyone who knew him would say otherwise.

“I was wondering if you’d want to… come with me sometimes. I know a good place for coffee, we could come by after you take inventory of supplies. I think I could be of use in that department.” He asked spontaneously, his mouth stuck in a half smile as he realized what he’d said.

Y/N’s mouth was open, her eyebrow raised in shock. She was fighting the urge to laugh at his proposal. That was sudden, she thought. “W-wait, wait, are you asking me out? For coffee?” She asked, eyebrows furrowed and smile suppressed. He cleared his throat and looked around.

“Yes, I thought it would be a great idea to repay you for all of the help you’ve given me, digging out bullets from my flesh and all.” And with that, her room was filed with laughter, her laughter, a sound he’d come to love. “Yes, of course, I’ll take that offer. And maybe you’d like to show me some of the photographs you’ve taken of Russia? I’d love to see them.” She giggled, holding on his arm and squeezing gently.

His eyes widened. He was elated that she said yes that he almost didn’t hear her request. “When we both have free time, I’d like to take you there myself. My babushka makes great pastries.” He chuckles, his cheeks dusted with pink. Her hand trailed upwards from his elbow to his shoulder, then it settles on his cheek. Caressing it slightly, she then pinches it between her fingers, tugging. He winces.

“Let’s do the coffee thing first. Then we’ll talk about the second date.” She rolls her eyes teasingly. God he was on cloud 9 right now. He was confident that she’d say yes, but he was overthinking things. He should’ve just done this way earlier. “I’ve been meaning to ask you out for a long time now…” he admits, scratching his cheek with his finger. She then chuckles back.

“I’d let you had I known it. Why don’t you say so?”