#life with the bone brigade | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlightsolo · 1 year

Text

beauty of all things.

summary: joining the military was never on your bucket list. mostly just a fantasy that your parents couldn’t live out themselves. somehow, you snagged a job to study the native people of pandora and were sent to space. after slowly figuring out that the organization you work for is crooked, you decide to escape into the pandoran forest to seek out the omaticaya clan. on the way, you take quite a tumble, and a certain na’vi boy saves your life.

pairing: neteyam sully x human!fem reader

warnings: smut 18+, vvvv descriptive, unprotected sex i'm sorry, slight size kink, squint for breath play, mentions of animals dy!ng, violence, guns (sorry but the reader is a badass), brief uses of y/n, also non-accurate na'vi language but i tried my best.

word count: 8.5k+

note: hello i havent written smut in so long so if its terrible just tell me i did good and scroll !!! thanks ily <3

the year is two-thousand, one-hundred seventy, and you’ve finally arrived on pandora at the rda base, now named bridgehead.

the feeling of waking up after six years in cryosleep is indescribable. your brain feels like jelly bouncing around in your skull, the organ thumps in sync with every beat of your heart.

even a slight movement of your finger feels as if your bones will shatter up your arm.

“calm down. everything will be fine. just breathe.” someone speaks to you. the sound of their voice echoes in your head, making your ears ring as if they screamed directly into your ear drum.

but fuck, you can’t breathe.

something covering your mouth and nose is flush against your face, making it hard to take in a full breath. one of your arms lift up, sending a shockwave of pain throughout your body.

you grunt as you rip the oxygen mask off of your face, taking a deep breath of fresh air. your lungs burn from the feeling, making tears spill from your waterline. your eyes finally flutter open, welcomed by a bright white light above your head.

maybe you’re dead. wouldn’t that be something.

“calm down, private.” a nurse dressed in blue scrubs shines another bright light in your eyes. “reflexes look good.” she talks to another person on the other side of your bed.

“where am i?” your hoarse voice croaks out, making pain sizzle in your esophagus.

“you’re on pandora.”

the nurses don’t waste time to get you ready for your first mission. your bones and muscles are still sore, but you’re required to join some fellow colleagues on a tour on the outskirts of the forest.

well, what’s left of it.

your first step outside made you realize that the people you’re working for are making the same mistakes as they did on earth. stripping the planet to its bones, and killing anything in their path just to pocket a dollar.

the destruction of the environment around you makes your heart ache for the na’vi and the native animals. the area is barren and dry from the wildfire they caused when the first group of ships arrived last year.

you couldn’t help but feel slightly emotional, completely regretting letting your parents make this decision for you.

you reluctantly follow the group, the trees and vegetation growing thicker as you trek farther into it.

you didn’t know there could be this much green on a planet. the exotic flora fascinates you, how it glows and interacts with the world around it.

“hold up.” the guide of the brigade raises his hand, all of the soldiers halt in their steps. an animal that resembles a much larger deer strolls from behind a large tree, grazing on the grass.

from your studies, you recognize it as a hexapede. you go to step forward to admire the creature, but you can’t help but notice your lieutenant move his hand to his gun.

he snickers and lifts his gun to aim at the animal, “watch this.” he cockily smirks at the other male comrades next to him, who grin excitedly at the mention of a hunt.

before he could pull the trigger, you turn your back and cover your ears. the ring of the bullet being fired makes you jump. tears instantly burn in your eyes, seeping from your eyes and trailing down your cheeks.

your breath shudders in your chest, heart breaking for the animal that just lost its life for some sort of game.

“look at her.” some of them chuckle as they pass you.

another soldiers walks by, hitting you with his hip which causes you to fall to the ground directly on your ass. the wet dirt seeps into your uniform, soiling your pants with a mud stain.

“get a grip. you need to toughen up, princess. it’s not going to be castles and rainbows out here.” the lieutenant spits out at you from above, face red with anger.

you flinch, shoulders rising higher to your shoulders with every insult thrown at you. the laughter from your comrades makes your anger and embarrassment grow stronger by the second.

you slowly stand to your feet to follow them, facing screwing up in pain with every step. you decide to walk farther behind them since you would rather be eaten by a predator then have a conversation with any of them.

the rest of the day was filled with indoor training, lectures, and meetings with the big guys. all they yell about is reprimanding the na’vi, and if we see them, we shoot to kill.

somehow, every single person in the room seems to be too excited to go out and hunt them- everyone except you.

the thought makes you queasy, like you could vomit at the thought of using violence against them.

back on earth, you studied the omaticaya people for years. the last thing you want to do is to hurt them.

every day is the same. training, lectures, and numerous meetings. the rda somehow created their own avatars, and are using them against the omaticaya people to take down jake sully.

it’s already your fifty-seventh night on pandora, and it feels as if you’ve been here for months. every day, the heavy feeling of wanting to leave grows heavier in your chest.

the thought looms above your head like a dark storm cloud, following you around everywhere you go.

tonight is the night you decide it’s time to leave. you’ve seen and studied enough of the forest to know how to survive for a few days.

all you know is that you need to find this jake sully everyone is talking about to warn him about everything.

you’ve already packed a bag full of non-perishable food and water, a fresh pair of clothes, ammo, and a poncho for the rain. the pistol you stole from training is tucked in the waistband of your pants. you would rather not use it, but if it came to surviving you would have to.

taking a deep breath, you crack open the door to your quarters. you look down the long corridor of the dormitory, seeing that the coast is clear.

you flip your hood onto your head before stepping into the hallway. you keep your head angled down so the cameras can’t get a glimpse of your face.

you truly can’t believe you’re about to do this. you’re honestly stupid. how will you ever get past the guards? you mentally battle yourself to go back to bed and plan this out more, but you’ve already gotten this far.

once you get outside, you pull the full-face oxygen mask up from where it was hanging loosely around your neck. you truly start to believe you actually might get away with this.

you take another deep breath, “you got this. you can do this.” you give yourself a little pep talk, before scurrying behind a wall.

you peek your head out to scope out the area. there’s the gate that leads to the outside and it’s guarded by one guy. it’s only one guy- well, one big guy.

you press your back against the wall you’re hiding behind, looking up at the dark sky that sparkles with stars. you take another deep shaky breath before stepping out and heading straight towards him.

your eyes dart around the area to make sure nobody else is coming. you slyly bring out your knife that sits in a sheath connected to your belt.

“hey! you’re not supposed to be out here.” he shouts loudly at you, forcing you to pick up your pace towards him.

“hey! what’re you doing?!” he goes to grab his gun, but before he could, you lift your heavy boot up to kick in his knee. a loud crunch sounds from his leg, making the man fall to ground with a loud yelp of pain.

before he could cry for help, the blade of your weapon is pressed against his jugular.

“scream, and i’ll kill you.” you hiss at him quietly, eyes still looking to the side to make sure nobody is coming.

“give me your keycard…now!” you tighten your grip on him, pressing the blade into his neck. he grunts as his hands scurry to unhook it and reach it up to you. “you sick fucking bitch.” he seethes out through his teeth.

before you grab it from him, you land a blow to his temple with the handle of the knife. sending the man to the ground unconscious, “douchebag.” you grumble as you bend down to swipe the card off the ground, pressing the plastic key to the scanner.

the gate beeps green, and slowly clicks open as the multiple bolts unlock. you push through the gate, slamming it shut behind you before you break out in a sprint down the steps and into the dirt.

the buildings behind you begin to blare sirens, red lights flashing into the sky. they must’ve found him. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” you whisper to yourself, picking up your pace as you dash to the tree line.

the forest in front of you is dark with no sign of life nor light. you continue sprinting, jumping over logs and hopping over puddles. before you know it, you’re surrounded by vast darkness and the base is no where in sight.

you slow down, leaning against a tree to take a breath. you can’t believe you did it- you actually escaped from that hell hole.

your eyes squeeze shut as you breathe slowly, attempting to slow down your heart rate. “eywa, if you’re there. please don’t let me die.” you speak out into the air desperately.

when you reopen your eyes, you can see absolutely nothing in front of you. that cues you to grab your flashlight from your pack and to begin your hike.

you have no idea where you are going, but from all the intel you overheard in all those meetings you know that their base is somewhere in the hallelujah mountains.

you fish through one of your pockets in your cargo pants, finding the map of the surrounding area. your eyes locate bridgehead, the coastal rda city, and then the mountains.

“holy shit. that’s a long way.” you grumble to yourself as you continue walking forward.

crack!

you stop in your tracks to spin around in a three-sixty, shining your flashlight every which way. another loud crack sounds from behind you that seems even closer than before.

“fuck this shit.” you spit out and take off in a run again. you weave and bob between large tree trunks and leap over fallen ones. you need to find shelter and wait for the sun to come up for the last two hours of nighttime.

you’re thankful that training helped build your stamina because if you couldn’t run for more than five minutes, you’d probably be dead already.

once you slow down, you realize there’s a clearing to your right. as you grow closer, you realize it’s an old hut- specifically an rda scientist pod. your eyes scan the area for any possible danger before stepping out into the open. you keep mind to where you step, making sure to make as little noise as possible.

you notice the pod is overridden with vines, and the windows are shattered. as you step inside, grass cracks under the sole of your boots. you wince from the noise, peeking behind your back to make sure you’re still alone.

you decide to sit down in one of the non-smashed-in avatar capsules, taking a deep breath.

wow, you really did it. you’re now a fugitive of the government.

unbeknownst to yourself, your mind is more exhausted than you thought. you take a few gulps of water, before leaning back to finally (sort of) relax. before you know it, you’re fast asleep.

a few hours later, you’re awoken by a loud screech of some sort of animal. gasping and automatically reaching for your gun, you pull it out and aim it in front of you through the broken window.

the sun has already risen, streaming through the numerous trees surrounding the opening. you take another deep breath to slow your breathing, realizing there’s nothing to worry about.

you decide it’s time to get up and eat something, but you would rather begin your very long trek to the mountains instead. so you grab a granola bar and start heading north.

you pull out the map and your compass, following the directions and hoping you’re going the right way. “god. i’m so stupid.” you whisper to yourself as your head lifts up to see where you're going.

you didn’t realize where you were walking since you were too busy paying attention to the map. suddenly, your feet are taken out from under you and you’re tumbling down a rocky hill.

unfortunately, you land in a large pool of mud at the bottom. sticky, heavy mud that gives off heat.

the air in your lungs feels like fire, oxygen fuels the embers deep in your chest. your throat constricts as you wheeze, the wind is knocked out of you, and it feels as if you’re suffocating.

mud splashes up on your face, the feeling of the thick dirt sucking you under makes you panic even more. another wheeze punches your chest as you attempt to climb out of the pit, but to no avail. the mud continues to suck you under the surface as your nails dig into the grass in attempt to keep your head afloat.

you let out a loud cry once some oxygen returns to your lungs, but you can feel the mud compressing the tube connected to your backpack. some of the air from outside is slowly leaking into your headpiece, making you feel extremely lightheaded.

“please..” you squeak out, eyes squeezing shut as you slowly start coming to terms with your death.

unsure if you’re hallucinating or not, you hear muffled commotion in front of you. your eyes flutter open, vision blurry and unable to make out the large figures. “help.. me.” you softly call out, lungs compressed by the weight of the mud.

suddenly, hands are gripping any part of your exposed body they can get to and you’re being pulled from the pit and laid on the plush grass. you instantly gasp for air as the oxygen returns back into your mask, chest heaving as it alleviates your dizziness.

a coarse cough pummels your chest and you roll over on your side, sucking in fast deep breaths.

“hey, hey… it’s okay.” an accented voice speaks to you before going back to speaking in a foreign language. seemingly, talking to someone else who responds in the same language.

your eyes finally open to see your rescuer, praying to every supernatural god that it’s not the rda.

to your surprise, a very blurry na’vi is crouched in front of you. his golden eyes are wide with fear that glance between you and the person behind you.

your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight of him. a very beautiful one, at that. he’s adorned in handmade beaded and weaved garb. his head is covered in very tight knit braids with various decorations tied in them.

you can tell that he’s arguing with the person behind you in their language, almost making out a few words.

dangerous… human… girl… listen to… dad…?

before you could say anything to him, one of his arms slide under your head and the other slides behind your knees. “don’t worry. we are going to help you.”

his warm skin gives you a sense of relief as he holds you close to his chest while he starts to run. blinking through your blurry vision, you notice another blue figure following closely behind you.

you float in and out of consciousness, every breath you take squeaks as if you have an instrument in your lungs. your head is sitting in the crook of his elbow, now watching mountains flash by. beside you, is another boy flying a banshee.

are you in the fucking air right now?

“please don’t die. stay awake for me.” the one holding you mumbles, making eye contact with you before your eyes flutter shut again.

something burns your nostrils, sending signals to your brain to wake up. “ah!” you yelp, going to sit up but the pain in your body causes you to fall back down in a crying mess.

once your watery eyes finally open, you’re greeted by another pair of yellow eyes, but this time it’s a girl- not the boy who saved you. “hi, i’m kiri.” she smiles wide. her face looks quite familiar.

“don’t tell her your name, skxawng.” someone scolds from somewhere around you, which just makes her roll her eyes. it’s another boy, but not the one who saved you.

“where am i?” you rasp out, looking around at the room you’re in. it’s almost like a makeshift hut with a strong smell of herbs and smoke.

“i can’t tell you that, but just know that you are safe.” her hand gently runs down your hair, making you tense up before relaxing. her entire presence calms you down, there’s just something about her.

“i think you might’ve broken one of your ribs, and you definitely have a concussion.” she sits back on her heels to grab medicine that’s laid out next to her.

“i still think we should get mom and dad.” she chirps, eyeing someone out of the corner of her eye as she crushes something in a mortar.

“if we tell dad, he will kill us for bringing her back here, and then mom will skin us afterwards.” the same voice sounds from the corner of the room.

you can’t help but attempt to lift your head, but kiri’s hand presses on your oxygen mask to keep you down. “stay.” she reprimands you as if you are a dog.

you groan in annoyance, but continue to stay put as she scoops up the medicinal paste she was grinding and swipes it on your forehead and temples. “to relieve your pain.” she smiles at you and nods.

wooden beads clink together as someone enters the room, “is she okay?”

there he is.

“yes and no. she’s in a lot pain but she will live.” kiri speaks to him as she continues rubbing the paste on different points of your body. like your neck, wrists, and numerous pulse points.

the paste gives off a cooling sensation, almost making your pain go away instantaneously. this time, you refuse to listen to the girl. you swiftly sit up to look at the boy, teeth gritting together from your aching muscles.

your movements makes him take a step back, almost like a scared puppy.

“look, i’m not going to hurt you.” you glance at all three of them before continuing, “i’m here to warn your people about what’s coming- what the rda is planning next. i need to talk to jake sully.”

once you mention that name, they all pause and look between each other with an ‘oh shit’ gleam in their eyes.

“what do you know about jake sully?” the older boy stands up straight with his shoulders back, his height towering over you intimidatingly.

“i know he’s your eytukan, and your toruk macto. so that means he’s in charge, right?”

“why do you need to warn him?” the younger boy stands up from behind him, walking forward to face you and await your response.

“the rda. you know, the mercenaries. they brought in avatars, but they want to kill him and everyone that comes in between them.“ your voice is strong as you lay out the facts, but on the inside you’re nervous as hell.

“how do you know you weren’t sent here to spy on us?” the older one speaks again.

“neteyam. i don’t think she—.” kiri gets cut off by his hand raising for her to be quiet.

neteyam… so that’s his name.

he sighs at his name being mentioned. obviously bothered by it as one of his hands come up to rub the bridge of his nose.

“i promise i wasn’t sent here. i came here looking for jake because i just… couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. trust me, please.” he takes a second, almost as if he’s deep in thought.

“i’ll relay the information to him, but i can’t let you be seen by our people. they won’t react well.” he mumbles, “they don’t trust humans that come from where you’re from.”

“lo’ak, why don’t you go get her some food?” neteyam looks back at his brother who throws his hands up in annoyance, “and kiri, why don’t you clean this up so nobody wonders where you are?”

kiri grumbles under her breath as she packs up her medicine and herbs into a pack to leave alongside lo’ak.

and then there were two…

thankfully, neteyam sits down in front of you with his legs crossed- instead of intimidatingly towering over you from above. your eyes travel over his body, admiring the color of his skin and the stripes that adorn him, “so what’s your name?”

“i’m y/n.” you respond with a smile, “i’m guessing you’re neteyam?” you almost let out a laugh, which makes his lips quirk up a bit.

“that’s me.” he shrugs with a shy grin. his fingers tap gently on his knees as he looks around awkwardly.

“how do you know english so well?” you question, making his pointed ears perk up. you watch how his tail curiously flicks behind his body.

“some of the scientists that work here. they’re humans… the good ones.” he quickly adds, his glowing eyes watch your every move.

“thanks for saving me back there. ya know, like in the mud and stuff. i probably would have died if you weren’t there.” you breathe out, almost as if you’re slightly embarrassed by the situation you got yourself into.

“i will be honest, i was kind of scared of you. i didn’t know if you were one of the 'good ones', but i couldn’t just leave you there. i’m a gentleman, you know.” a cocky little grin tugs up on the corner of his mouth.

a deep shiver runs through your body from his words, feeling heat rush onto the apples of your cheeks. for some reason, this na’vi boy is way too charming for his own good.

something stirs in your belly, a gut feeling to keep prying at him slowly. maybe you’ll get to know him better.

“so how old are you?” you ask out of pure curiosity, not for any other reasons…

neteyam slightly stiffens at the question, eyes squinting at you for a brief moment before softening. almost as if he was deciding what to say, “i’m twenty.” he states simply with a blank face.

“i’m nineteen.” you blurt it out, even if he didn’t reciprocate the question.

neteyam smiles and goes to answer, but lo’ak bursts through the beaded doorway with various foods in his hands. he dumps it on the bed in front of you, bowing like a servant.

“bon appetite.” he grumbles sarcastically before turning around and heading back out of the room- but not without purposely bumping into neteyam with his hip.

“what’s up with him?” you almost laugh as you rummage through the exotic fruits in front of you.

“that’s my brother, lo’ak. he’s an ass.” he shakes his head with a laugh, his braids swing on his head as he does so.

you go to pick up a bright pink fruit to bite into it, “wait! don’t bite it. you cannot eat the skin.” he crawls toward you, unsheathing his knife from his waistband.

“what’re you gonna do? stab me?” you ask playfully which makes the boy smirk at you, “yeah, i might as well. it’ll keep you from asking anymore questions.”

his response makes you laugh and shake your head. his large hand wraps around the fruit to take it from you, slicing around the center to follow the seed in the middle. almost like a giant pink avocado.

he lifts the top off, and there sticks out the oblong seed sitting inside yellow pulp that looks disgustingly delicious. “so all you have to do is suck on the seed…” he trails off, bringing the fruit to your lips. you pull the oxygen mask off your face, holding your breath.

“and pull it out with your teeth, then you can drink the inside.” his voice is breathy as he watches your lips wrap around the seed to lick off the extra pulp stuck to it. you can’t help but tease the boy by looking up at him through your eyelashes, which makes his breath evidently hitch.

neteyam gulps as he watches you pull the seed out with your teeth, before you take the fruit from his hand to tip the fruit back to drink the inside.

you pull the mask back over your face, looking up at him with a little smile. “that was delicious, thank you. it kind of tasted like vanilla pudding.”

his eyebrows furrow, “pudding?” he questions.

“oh yeah. it’s from earth. like a sweet, thick textured milk. it’s yummy, but not good for you.” you lean back in the bed you’re laying in, stretching your arms above your head.

neteyam‘s heart beats a little faster as he watches your shirt slowly hike up to reveal your belly.

“so who’s bed am i in?” you smile softly up at him from where he’s sitting the end of the bed, shaking him out of his trance.

“mine. this is my… erm- kelku.”

“oh, your room?” you smile at him and he nods, “yeah, m'sorry i didn’t know the english word.”

“don’t be sorry.” you shake your head at him, still smiling away, “does your kelku have a bathroom i can use?”

neteyam grins at your use of a na’vi word, “ah no, but… i can take you to get cleaned up. you just might have to wait until sunset.”

you overly exaggerate a loud sigh, making the glass fog up but you can’t help but still smile at him so he knows you’re not really upset. “okay fine..” you grumble sarcastically as you sit back up with your legs crossed.

“they really made more avatars, huh?” neteyam asks.

“and they’re dangerous and were created solely for combat. i don’t want to see you and your family get hurt. all of you have already gone through so much.” you mumble, eyes falling down to your hands sitting in your lap.

neteyam reaches out to lay one of his hands on yours, completely engulfing your lap with it. the soft touch makes your eyes raise to look at him, “you… are brave.” he nods his head along with his words.

you couldn’t help but beam, a sense of accomplishment filling your chest. “thank you.” you turn your hands up so your palms were against his. you carefully wrap your hands around his, holding his one hand with both of your own.

“you put your own life at risk to help us… to let us know we’re in danger. so i thank you.” his fingers curl in to hold onto your hands with a soft smile curling onto his lips.

something in you urges you to leap forward, to rip this goddamn mask off and kiss this boy to show your appreciation for his kindness.

it seems as if he’s feeling the same way by how he is looking at you. his big round eyes glance over your lips before returning back to your eyes, his chest is picking up pace from his rapid breathing.

the sound of beads rustling snaps both of you out of your mutual fascination with each other. “just coming to check on her.” kiri walks forward with her hands on her hips.

“and what are you two doing?” she looks down at your hands wrapped around each other, making neteyam jump back and stand swiftly to his feet. you can’t help but notice his braids swing wildly with every move.

“i- um…” he points at you then scratches his head, “i’ll be right back.” he bolts out the doorway, leaving you silent and shocked.

“boys.” kiri sticks out her tongue in disgust as she bends down to your level to check the paste she smeared on you. “seems like your body is reacting to it well. are you feeling okay?” she looks up at you.

“yeah. i actually feel completely fine. a little sore, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.” you laugh, which makes your ribs ache.

“then you didn’t break a rib, but just bruised yourself.” she hums as she stands up to her feet.

“you need to get cleaned up. you’re covered in mud.” she looks over your body, her nose scrunching up at the sight.

“oh yeah.. um neteyam said he would take me during sunset.” you awkwardly laugh as you gnaw on your lip.

kiri slightly side-eyes you, before shrugging. “okay... then. get some rest, i’ll have neteyam come to you when he’s ready.” she comfortingly rubs your shoulder before walking out.

you let out a groan before falling back against the cot, rolling onto your side with a slight wince from the dull pain.

your body refuses to fall asleep, unable to get comfortable from the curiosity of wanting to see what’s outside of your room. you decide to just peek, it won’t harm anyone, right?

you quietly slide out of the bed and tip toe to the beaded doorway. your hands move them to the side so you could get a good look. it’s nothing but rocky wall and the backside of another hut, which is disappointing.

you slowly creep out from behind the beads, looking around to make sure nobody can see you.

you press your back to the outside of the hut, sliding across it to the front to look on the other side. before you could step out, a very large hand presses against your mouth and an arm wraps around your waist to hoist you up.

you let out a yelp into the palm of your captor, kicking your legs once they leave the safety of being on the ground. “shh, shh… it’s just me.” neteyams voice whispers next to your ear.

your body relaxes as he turns around to walk back inside of his room to put you down. you turn on your heel to scold him for scaring you, but he starts first, “i was coming to get you so i could bring you to get cleaned up, but you decided you would like to escape now, huh?” the tone of his voice seems agitated, and his breathing is quite fast.

“anybody could have seen you! my parents could have seen you! they would have tried to hurt you. you’re not trying to leave, are you?” he slightly whisper-yells at you, now obviously frustrated.

you’re a bit taken aback by his demeanor, “look, i’m sorry. i wasn’t trying to leave, i just wanted to look around. ya know… see what it looked like.” you sheepishly speak out. you can feel your heart rate starting to pick up.

“i don’t believe it. are you trying to spy on us?” his eyes are slightly squinted, now starting to pace in front of you. “i don’t want to keep you here, if you’re the one putting us in danger.”

your eyes blow wide in shock, heart dropping to your feet. “no, no! neteyam, believe me, please!” he stops in his tracks to watch you, “i wasn’t trying to spy or anything, i swear! i’m just a curious person and i’ve studied the omaticaya clan for years. i just wanted to see what it looked it. i wasn’t trying to spy, i promise you!” your voice gets higher as your emotions start to take over.

neteyam notices your watery eyes and shaky hands, slowly coming to terms that you’re actually telling the truth. “don’t cry.” he mutters out, running a stressed hand through his braids.

he takes a hesitant step towards you, head angled down to look at you from above. one of his hands cradle your head, tip of his thumb rubbing over your forehead and down the bridge of your tiny nose. “i don’t want to make you cry.”

“i just don’t want…” you sniffle, “you to think of me that…” another sniffle, “…way.” your bottom lip quivers, as all the horrible memories of the rda come rushing back into your brain.

“i don’t, i don’t. i am sorry.” he bends down slightly, eyes darting over your face in attempt to search for a way to help you. he wishes he could kiss you, to make you feel better.

“would you like to go get cleaned up? i found woman’s clothing in the scientist’s shack.” he mumbles, gesturing to the pack on his back.

“oh really?” you brighten up slightly at the sound of getting clean clothes.

“follow me.” neteyam motions with his hand for you to walk with him.

he parts the beads for you to walk through with him, bringing you down the rocky hallway with numerous huts filled with other na’vi. “i may have told my dad about you. he wants to meet you after i get you clean.” he nonchalantly speaks as if you know who his dad is.

“and who’s your dad and why do i want to talk to him?” you question with a laugh.

“oh… well my dad is jake sully.” he mumbles, “i didn't tell you because i didn’t trust you at first.”

“hm.. that’s reasonable. i can’t believe he’s your dad though that’s crazy. the big and bad toruk macto.” you giggle softly, covering your mouth with your very dirty hand.

neteyam can’t help but laugh along, “yeah… big and bad, sure…” he grumbles sarcastically as he walks you up to a clearing.

there’s a few banshees laying on the rock next to an opening in the floor, and a giant hut in the middle next to the science pods. you can see the tops of a few na’vi’s heads but they don’t notice you thankfully. you can't help but feel excited to finally see one of these in real life, let alone ride on one.

“let’s go.” he jogs toward his ikran, bringing his braid forward to make his bond with it. he easily climbs onto the large animal before he reaches out to you to help you climb on. “we’ve got to hurry. hold on to me tight, okay?”

your arms wrap around his waist tightly, one of his hands reach back to pull you closer by your thigh. “wrap your legs around me. this is gonna be a wild ride.” he chuckles. you can’t help but feel nervous as your legs wrap around his hips, making your body quite literally flush with his back.

the banshee squawks loudly before nosediving off of the landing, making your stomach do somersaults in your stomach. “neteyaaaaaam!” you squeal loudly as the wind rushes by your ears and your arms hold him in a deadly grip.

he finally levels out, cackling loudly and throwing his head back. “the way you screamed my name!” he belly laughs as he continues to fly forward.

“you can’t just drop us into the sky with no warning!” you can’t help but laugh along, arms and legs still wrapped around him tightly like a vise.

neteyam slightly descends into the forest below, dodging numerous trees and taking turns until he finds where he needs to land. “finally.” you breathe out once you slide off the animal, “i’ve never been so happy to see the ground!” you exclaim which makes him laugh.

neteyam pulls the pack off of the side of the bird, swinging it over his shoulder and walking forward. you take it as a cue to follow him, hopping over a few rocks that he easily steps over.

the sound of running water grows louder as you keep walking, eyes searching the area for where the sound is coming from. “just up here.” he calls back at you, picking up his pace.

you can’t help but start running, since his speed walk is like a sprint for you. “god, neteyam. i’m tinier than you. slow down!”

before you know it, he stops in his tracks right in front of a clearing. “here it is.” he breathes out with a wide smile.

you duck under his arm, a gasp leaving your mouth from the view in front of you.

natural pools cascade down a mountain, spilling into each other like a domino effect, creating multiple spouts of water that pour into a lake. the color of the water is cerulean, sparkling in the sunlight.

“the best thing about this place. is that humans can naturally breathe here.” neteyam states as he admires the small waterfalls.

“what?!” you shriek in excitement, tugging on his arm happily, “how?!”

“the mix of gases in the air and in the water create the perfect recipe for humans to breathe, but only for a little bit.” he grabs your hand to pull you forward down the little hill towards the lake.

“you can get cleaned up here.” he drops the bag onto the ground before bending down to rummage through it. “stole this.” he hands you a plastic bottle of old spice body wash from earth, “and this.” he hands you another bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.

obviously the stash of a man, but you couldn’t be happier to see soap. you know that you have to smell terrible.

“thank you very much, kind sir.” you hold the soaps to your chest and dance around happily like a kid in a candy shop.

“what… are you doing?” he stares up at you in awe, his pearly whites on show.

“dancing cause i’m happy. now close your eyes so i can get undressed.” you cheekily smirk at him, making his eyes go wide and turn his head away from you.

you place the soaps on the ground, using your hands to finally take the mask off your face. you take a deep breath of fresh air, the natural smell of dirt and plants filling your senses.

you swiftly pull your shirt over your head and your pants down your legs, along with your underwear and sports bra.

you keep your eyes on the back of neteyams head, grabbing the soaps and taking a few hesitant steps into the water.

“oh my god! it’s warm!” you cheer with a surprised laugh, continuing to walk farther into the lake until you reached one of the spouts of falling water.

you can’t help but put the soap down on a ledge, ducking your head under the natural faucet. you almost moan from the feeling of the caked mud washing out of your hair, “neteyam! this is amazing!” you glance back at him, seeing his back is now towards you.

aw, what a gentleman.

neteyam can’t help but turn around slightly to glance at you. you’re waist deep in the lake, standing under the water as you wash your hair.

he admires your back, watching how the brown water turns to clear as it flows down your skin in little streams. he wishes he could reach out and touch your soft body.

he feels terrible for looking, but he can’t help himself- you’re just so beautiful. he wants to admire your body like a form of art, not for an object of his own personal pleasure.

some ways that you move, he can catch an glimpse of the swell of your breast. making his head around turn to stop looking, but something deep in his belly urges him to go in there with you.

the sound of moving water behind you makes your heart skip a beat. something wants you to turn around, to look and confirm what your gut is telling you.

neteyam is in here with you.

before you could turn around, a tall shadow looms over you from behind. your hands drop to your side, breathing picking up in pace from his proximity.

“can i… touch you?” his voice is low, deeper than normal.

“please.” you desperately respond into the air.

neteyam’s fingers dance over your sides, sending shivers down your spine. his thumbs gently press into the dimples of your lower back as he bends down.

you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your shoulder and onto the next one before he finally lays a kiss against your damp skin. “you are so beautiful.” he whispers, which makes you smile.

“i shouldn’t be doing this.” his voice murmurs in your ear, making your head lull back against his abdomen. “you’re right, but it’ll feel so good.” you look up at him, watching how his face screws up in shock from your words.

“bad influence.” he snickers, nose scrunching up cutely. his hands quickly take dominance over you, twirling you around so your back was pressed against the cool surface of the damp rock.

he leans down just enough, lips barely pressing against yours with a featherlight touch. your breath mixes with his, making you lean forward to attempt to kiss him but he pulls back.

“are you sure?” he asks, which just makes you roll your eyes. your arms swoop around his neck to pull him down to you- finally kissing those damn lips you’ve been dying for.

neteyam smiles into the kiss as his hands slither up your sides, making you giggle from the soft touches. “does that tickle?” he hums into your mouth, making you nod fervently.

your lips move in sync, tongues wiggling against each other as he deepens the kiss by turning his head to the side. his giant hands cup your breasts, the tips of his fingers reaching just above your collarbones.

his hands move to your back, snaking downwards under the water to cup your butt with his hands. “your body is amazing.” he groans against your lips which makes your face flush.

neteyam can feel his back aching from bending down to your level so he lifts you up from your ass, making you squeal as your back is pressed against the wall behind the waterfall.

“backs hurtin’… can’t bend down.” he breathes out against you, moving his lips away from yours to slowly kiss down your neck. he spends time ravishing your skin with kisses and tiny love bites.

you gasp and wriggle in his arms, shivers wrack your body from his teeth running over your sweet spots.

neteyam slowly backs away from the wall, shuffling directly under the water which spills over both of your heads but neither of you could care. you’re both completely enamored with each other.

he shuffles back over to the rocky bank where your clothes are piled up. he gently lays you down on the flat surface, standing tall to admire your nude body from above.

suddenly, you feel overexposed and you go to cover yourself but he stops you, “don’t do that, tìlor.”

the little nickname makes you smile, even if you have no idea what it means.

neteyam leans over you, lips hovering over yours before kissing you softly. so delicate as if you would shatter from the slightest touch.

“means beauty of all things.” he mumbles against your lips before dragging his lips down your chin. he presses wet kisses down your neck, between your breasts and down to your navel.

his hands cup under your ass to push your legs up, shins resting on his shoulders. “gonna make you feel so good, ma tìlor.” he repeats the same word that makes you go crazy.

the feeling of his breath puffing over your core makes you wiggle in anticipation, “please, ‘teyam…” you whine.

he smiles at your begging before dipping down, swiping his tongue through your dripping folds. “oooh my god.” you gasp out.

neteyam smirks as he dives deeper with his tongue, keeping his eyes on you the entire time to watch how you writhe under his touch.

his entire mouth fits over your cunt, his tongue flattens against your clit before his lips wrap around the bud to create suction.

you cry out in surprise, hands flying to his head to grip it as your back arches off of the ground. one of his arms wrap around your hips, right above your pelvis to hold you in place.

he chuckles against you, which sends another shockwave of pleasure to course through your entire body.

he can tell by your body language, and the heartbeat he can feel that you’re already so close to release, so he reluctantly pulls off with a pop.

a string of saliva and your juices connects his lips to your core, a giddy smile pulls up on his face. your eyes glance over his wet chin, the look on his face makes you want to push his head back down between your legs. your chest bounces with every sharp breath, now starting to feel the effects of the toxic gas getting to your head.

neteyam kisses his way back up your body, tongue licking random stripes on your skin. your hands attempt to reach down to untie his loincloth, but they aren’t long enough.

“so tiny.” he mumbles against your skin before pulling back. he presses one forearm against the rock to hold himself up on top of you, while his other one is working on pulling the thin cloth off.

your eyes can’t help but bulge out of your head once he throws the cloth to the side. his cock sits heavy between your bodies, blue and striped like the rest of his body. the pink tip is oozing pre-cum, just begging to be licked up. it's almost as if he could read your mind...

“not now, later… wanna be inside of you first.” he swiftly kisses you before he grips the base of his cock to line it up at your entrance. your legs absentmindedly wrap around his slender waist.

nervousness bubbles in your chest from his size, because how is that going to fit inside of your body...?

“i’ll be gentle with you, ‘promise.” he reassures you, eyes looking over you before leaning down to pepper kisses all over your face.

he slowly thrusts forward, letting it run through your folds to soak up your wetness. he breathily moans into your mouth from the feeling. the sound could quite literally make you cum without being touched.

“ready?” one of his arms are above your head as he looks down at you, while the other holds his cock.

you nod and bring your bottom lip between your teeth, glancing up at him and in between your bodies to watch. your hands rise to rest on his sides, right on top of his rib cage.

he tantalizingly presses his tip against your entrance, making you suck in a sharp breath. your eyes are wide as you look up at him, but his gaze is too focused watching himself push into you.

god, he stretches you out. it burns, and you feel so full- overly full. the tip gets sucked in by your entrance, making his face screw up in pleasure. his plump lips part in awe before his eyes look down at your face in attempt to read your expression.

“good?” he asks softly with a shaky voice, and all you can do is nod.

his hips push forward after letting you adjust for a moment, your nails dig deep into his skin as a mewl falls from your lips.

you throw your head back against the rock, face screwing up as his cock completely splits you open.

he gets about half way before he pulls back out, and thrusts back in to the same depth. “ngh!” you whine, hands desperately clinging onto his body.

neteyam digs his head into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, biting down on your skin. almost hard enough to draw blood with his sharpened canines.

“oh yes, ‘teyam...” you moan out as the pain of the stretch slowly succumbs to the pleasure sparking in your lower belly.

“you feel so good, my girl.” he chokes out, one of his hands cups the side of your head to pull you in for another kiss.

it was barely a kiss though, mostly just moans and breaths spilling into each others mouths.

neteyam uses your sounds as a suggestion to slightly pick up his pace, his cock going even deeper inside of you than before.

your body bounces with every thrust, drunken hiccups and gasps bubble from your lips as your nails scratch over his ribs.

“pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.” your words slur together as you feel the tightness building up in your lower belly.

neteyam starts rambling in his language, the tone of his voice shows how desperate he is for release. his tail absentmindedly twitches and wraps around your ankles, locking them into place around his back.

you couldn’t even care at this moment if he would cum in you. the feeling of him inside you has you hypnotized.

your head feels dizzy, and you can see stars in your vision whenever you blink. the lack of oxygen is getting to your brain, making you feel lightheaded and even more sensitive to his cock ramming into you.

“gooooonna cuuum.” your voice is high and your words are drawn out.

“mmmm sran, ma tìlor.” he moans out, his teeth bite down on your shoulder. definitely drawing blood this time by the pain that sparks up your neck.

one last thrust, he pushes almost the full length of his cock inside of you as he releases. you swear you can feel it in your throat.

he lets out a guttural groan against your skin, his back quivering as he thrusts every last bit of his seed into you.

you cry out in pain and euphoria, eyes rolling back inside of your head. your body arches off of the ground as you climax in unison with him, thighs gripping his sides tightly and chest pressing into his.

neteyam uses this moment to kiss you as if he would never kiss you again. his lips move intensely against yours, savoring the taste of your lips before pulling his head back to shove the oxygen mask back on your face.

you instantly suck in a deep breath, chest heaving as your foggy head begins to clear from finally being able to breathe clean air.

neteyam gently rolls over onto his side next to you on the rock, his hand still holding your mask on your face as he attempts to catch his own breath.

he gently presses soft kisses along your arm, and uses his other hand to touch the bruised puncture wounds on your shoulder.

“m’sorry. got carried away.” he breathes out heavily, resting his head on your shoulder.

you take a moment to pull the mask onto your face fully so he didn’t have to hold it for you.

“don’t ever… be sorry. that was fucking amazing.” you laugh in shock as you look down at him. a big smile is on his face as he stares up at you from his place on your chest.

you both lay there in silence, the only sounds being your heavy breathing and birds in the distance. “we should probably get dressed and head back since my dad wants to talk to you.” he mumbles a bit sadly.

you huff a breath out, but nod in agreement. “you’re right.” you mumble, sitting up along with him.

he ties his loincloth back on himself before grabbing the pack to fetch the clothes for you. he hands them to you with a little smile.

you hold out the shirt, seeing it’s a very old rda employee shirt and some sweatpants. you stand to your feet to pull the clothes onto your body, and thankfully they fit.

“oh…” neteyam breathes out disappointedly, “your neck… i’m sorry.” he reaches out to run his thumb over the hickeys and teeth marks he left behind.

“nobody will notice, right?” you attempt to look down at the damage, but from the angle you can’t see what he is talking about.

“uhm.. right.” he agrees with a nervous little laugh.

the ride back was full of laughter and light-hearted remarks coming from neteyam about his dad. mostly just preparing you to talk to him, on what and what not to do.

once the ikran lands on the rocky floor of the cave, you can’t help but take notice to a very tall na’vi man waiting directly in front of you.

“and that’s my dad.” he whispers quietly enough to you as he helps you off the animal. he lets off a little sigh as you duck under his arms to walk up to jake. rule number one was to let neteyam introduce you first, but you didn't listen.

“hi, sir.” you clear your throat, reaching a hand out for him to shake. jake uncrosses his arms to shake your hand, and you can’t help but notice that he has five fingers. unlike four, like his son.

“i know this is terrible timing, but i promise the information i have is worth while.” you give him a curt nod, standing tall with your shoulders back so you wouldn’t look weak.

jake let’s out a little breath and his eyes glance over your body before raising to stare at his son, “and do you think whatever you did to her neck was worth while?”

you freeze in your spot, body instantly heating with embarrassment. you slowly turn your head to look up at neteyam. his eyes are wide like saucers as he stares at his dad, his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps.

when the boys eyes trail over to you, humor bubbles in your chest when you make eye contact. it seems like he’s feeling the same by the way he’s trying to force the smile away that’s slowly creeping onto his face.

almost like a ticking time bomb, the two of you burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, stumbling into the space between your bodies to lean on each other for support.

oh my eywa, you’re both really in trouble now.

tags: @supernerdycookietrashblr @fireflystoughts @eddieslvt @bluealiensimp @aliseaaah

#avatar #avatar twow #avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar x you #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully x you #neteyam sully #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x you #avatar x y/n #neteyam smut #neteyam sully smut

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bluespiritshonour · 4 months

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Why is it always Robin has to prove himself to Batman? Be it any Robin. And no, I'm not talking about characters, because Bruce—Bruce is like “Everyone must prove themselves to me but I'm not answerable to anyone” that motherfucker. Very IC.

I'm talking about stories, about narratives—why does every Robin-centric narrative has a “prove themselves to Batman” arc—but Bruce's arc never involves proving himself to anyone?

Why, after the events of the Tower of Babel, Bruce didn't have to work to gain the Justice League's approval? Why didn't he have to work to redeem himself, dammit!

Yes. He had to reveal his identity. But then, it wasn't his idea. It was Clark's. It's fundamentally different from Dick unmasking in front of the Titans: Dick feels in his bones that it isn't fair that he's the only one masked and the Titans are up for mutiny, so he made an executive decision.

It didn't even occur to Bruce to do it. Dammit, the fucker wasn't even trying to get back into Justice League. Clark had to persuade him. And no, I don't mean he should have gone and begged them to let him in. He doesn't need them.

But let's be honest: none of the Leaguers need the League. But humanity does. That's why they put their differences aside and band together.

Bruce is selfless when it comes to sacrificing his family a la Batman : Ego. Oh!—it's Bruce's children that are dying in Batman's mission. Isn't he so noble?—the picture of tragedy? The greiving father? The man who can't even have a steady romantic relationship because Batman wouldn't let him? So selfless—until he isn't. Until the JL—in other words, a planet full of people—need him to swallow his pride. Then, he isn't selfless anymore.

He's selfless when he's a father sending his children to war for the greater good—but he's not selfless when it's time to swallow his pride, to take the risk of trusting someone even after being traumatised and betrayed—for the greater good. (And honestly his trust issues seem narcissistic when surrounded by people like Dick, Alfred and freaking Commissioner Gordon!)

You know who does it? Dick Grayson. That's who. The “trust no one” maxim has been drilled into him by Bruce, but even then he chooses to trust. Not because he's stupid, but because it's a requirement. He totally expects to be stabbed in the back; he isn't naïve. But he'd rather be betrayed than have someone be barred from help because they seemed suspicious. It's canon in Titans. He says it in words, look it up. To Brother Blood, I guess.

Bruce didn't have to work to get on the League's good side. He just had to reveal his ID to regain trust and that, too, was Clark's idea.

And that's not an attempt at redemption, because if it was, then why did Clark have to do it too? Clark didn't do anything to deserve it. But Bruce forces him to and Clark agrees: for the greater good that the League trusting each other would ensure.

Clark Kent, who chooses to forego a mask so that people trust him. Literally, it comes down to that. Who has to built his whole civilian life around the fact that he shows his bare fucking face to the whole world.

And honestly, if I were to throw genre convention aside and read the text the hard way, Bruce doesn't seem really all that bothered with keeping his ID a secret. He's nothing compared to Clark. I mean. Come on, look at the number of people who know Bruce's ID and the number that know Clark's and tell me. Fucking tell me who's more serious about that stuff.

Bruce's entire existence hinges on other characters’ kindness, in and out of universe. In-universe there's this massive brigade of people who know his ID and keep it a secret. Out of universe, writers who show him to be the best even though Clark, Diana, Dick are all more worthy than him.

This is what you get when you let little incels run creative industries.

What did Bruce ever have to do to redeem himself to anyone? Literally anyone? Bruce would let Gotham burn if it meant he keeps his colossal pride intact. But oh, send his children to die: woe is him, this greiving father, so tragique—would absolutely do that.

He isn't even a hero. You know the impact of Batman: Ego and BtAS pales when put next to his very selfish acts when it comes to himself.

Because always—ALWAYS—the uwu factor in Bruce's stories aren't personal.

Not like it's in Clark's who has to face xenophobia because he's an alien. He's natural existence—his powers that are a part of him existing—being called a threat. He still helps.

Not like Diana who comes to the Man's World and decides to stay behind despite it being, well, a Man's World. That would never really respect her as much as it respects a man, any man, even though she's a literal Goddess. Coming and staying in Man's World for her means loneliness. Being immortal and watching every friend she ever made become a memory. But she chose to do it. Because at the end of the day, it's not about her. It's about helping people.

But for Bruce, in true male-is-default fashion, it's about losing people. People he loves.

His parents' death, Jason's death and so on and so forth. I'm not saying losing someone is not painful. I'm just saying it's always about his manpain.

Making the victim's pain his.

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hourglassfish · 8 months

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On Season 1, Episode 7 Part Three : Risottogate

OK look,

Go and get yourself an ecto cooler or something, cus this is long, OK? This is long.

You comfortable?

Alright, let’s go.

don't forget the Xanax!

Elevated Beef (stock)

There’s a connection drawn between Sydney and veal stock in the Bear. She spills it all over herself during Brigade. Claire interrupts Carmy purchasing veal stock for menu testing her bone broth idea at the end of 2:2. It’s an interesting ingredient to align her with: a staple of French cuisine, something you’ll find in a professional high end kitchen but not necessarily at home, a distinctive, practical component which provides a subtle, solid umami base for a range of dishes.

The first time this connection is drawn is during one of my favourite interactions: the ‘plum haribo’ story in Brigade. Marcus has decorated his work station (I love him), and despite the fact that Carmy says he’s having flashbacks (eeeeeeek), I think he is happy to see this coming together of his two worlds.

They start talking about this fancy plum dish, and a gelee component (which will reappear in Honeydew!) that had to have a very specific texture. Carmy has been talking about the dedication needed to make this dish work with pride, presenting the texture of the gelee as a huge challenge, something it took someone a year to figure out. Sydney cracks it in less than a minute. Veal fat. She knows what’s needed, and she knows why: it congeals when it’s cold. Boom!

Carmy’s response to this always amuses me. He is not…dismayed exactly. Not quite. After all, it’s a reminder of her brilliance, and also that that world is not so far away. That being said, she cuts across a punchline here; and what was a mystery to the best chefs in the world for a year is immediately obvious to her, to the extent that it’s not even really a flex on her part: she states it quite diffidently. Marcus’s gleeful ‘Mission Accomplished’ is very different from Carmy’s, which is a bit more ‘…oh.’.

On rewatches where I feel charitable, Carmy then implements the brigade cus he's been reminded that he has someone close by from that world, he has an ally that speaks his language, who is talented. On days when I feel less charitable, I combine this with him later talking her through the differences between stock/jus/demi-glace in front of Tina like an asshole, and see him handing the brigade over at that specific moment, in the specific way that he does as passive aggressive. Most days I’m with the former! Still…we’re back in the grey areas of Syd and Carmy’s dynamic. Where all the good shit is!

He's so glad she figured that out so quickly, absolutely not feeling a type of way about it, nope, not at all

I wanted to start with this story cus it opens up three things for me:

a) just a frisson, a hint, a delicious drop (!) of competition between Syd and Carmy

b) the question, beloved by fanfic writers everywhere, of what the dynamic between these two might have been if they had met in a different context.

c) a third, messier thing, about Carmy going away, tooling up, coming back and it needing to be worth something, that going way. As far as he knows at this point, It didn’t achieve what it was meant to achieve, it didn’t get Mikey’s attention. Maybe he didn’t need to leave Chicago to do it. Sydney's talent tickles that tension, as does Marcus's (trios, trios!). So what was it for? What were the past few years of his life for, if a bunch of this stuff was in Chicago all along?

Who was Carmy away from Chicago? Who is he without his family? We’ve only seen one flashback so far, very much from inside Carmy’s head. The way he tells it is very different from what we see. At Al Anon, he describes himself like this:

‘when somebody new came into the restaurant to stage, I’d look at them like they were competition, like I’m gonna smoke this motherfucker’.

But you're tall and sexy, so don't worry about it babes

Gosh. Yes Chef!

I don’t think Carmy holds anything like this level of aggression towards any of the original staff of the Beef: it would be absurd: they don’t have his training or experience. For the most part we see doing the work of pulling a team together, which explicitly involves putting that kind of competitiveness to the side.

I don’t think he has this energy for Sydney.

Not quite.

I do think it’s an important thing for us to learn about his character. I do think that we are told it at the beginning of Episode 8, after Sydney has quit, because there are ugly feelings around the risotto dish. I do think that those feelings drive a lot of how Review goes down, and that Carmy knows this.

This ferocious comparison and competition, used as a driving force, is a part of who Carmy is, and a part of the kitchens that he has come from. In another context, Sydney would have just been competition. And he’d have been trying to smoke her.

Let’s follow a humble bowl of risotto through THREE EPISODES, and about 5000 words, good GOD.

Tracing the Journey of the Risotto: Unanticipated

I tried to find appetising pics of her cooking the risotto but mostly it doesn't look very aesthetic, so here is Syd in my fave of her scarves.

A Risotto, playing on ‘tongue in cheek’ is first tentatively pitched in Sheridan, as an idea for a new menu that they have ‘spoken about’. Carmy is… noncommittal. He’s not into it, but he doesn’t say that, he just doesn’t really engage. I think there are a bunch of valid reasons to not be into it, tbh. I’ve ordered risotto to go. It’s always kind of gluey and disappointing. Sydney isn’t given a clear no, so she decides to cook it: it becomes something she has to convince him on.

He doesn’t get to try it in this episode as there are drugs to sell and about a million different fires to fight. We know that she dreams about this dish though. In this episode she talks about how thinking about her mistakes with Sheridan Road keep her up at night, but the last images of the episode are of her dreaming: beef… raspberries… cola… fire: there it is. Cola braised short rib. We’re back in the realm of deeply personal creative expression that I spoke about in part two. That anxious energy around failing with Sheridan Road? Is going somewhere else, is being transformed. This is important, and has the potential to be profoundly healing. This dish has meaning for her.

The dish returns in Ceres. Syd is an unstoppable force with the dish, and having said she wants to be listened to, is not listening to several requests from Carmy for more time. Stressful! He deals with it well, at first. He is calm, and polite and asks her to hold on. Which is not a no. But then -

‘I know everybody you used to work for, I called them before hiring you’

oooooh weeee.

There is nothing wrong with him seeking out references. His reasons are logical, and he’s transparent about them. Personally? I think it’s sensible to let employees know you’re seeking out references to avoid paranoia, but it’s not a legal requirement. People do it informally via whisper networks all the time, both purposefully and by accident. Gotta say though, the phrasing and the timing of this ‘reveal’ made me wince.

There are a million different theories of feedback, of how to give and receive it well. One argues that feedback must be asked for, accurate and measurable. If it’s not measurable, then you are nitpicking. If it’s not accurate, you’re hating. If it’s not asked for, or at least delivered in an environment where it’s anticipated, it is unlikely to be received well. Carmy, unfortunately, delivers a whopper of unanticipated feedback here: ‘me and all your old bosses (I know EVERYONE YOU USED TO WORK WITH)have been talking about you and they all agree on this flaw’.

YIKES

Would I let Syd stab me for a bowl of this? Maaaaybe. Maybe.

My reading is that he wanted to ask for her patience, and to say that his decision to pace out the changes is coming from experience, but he’s being backed into a corner, so he summons up the spectre of her old bosses for back up. Syd had opened up last episode, and is still very vulnerable about Sheridan, so he unintentionally wounds her here. We can read this in her response. He says her employers said she was smart, talented, green and impatient, she hears ‘me and everyone you’ve worked for think your business failed because you were green and impatient, that’s why you’re here, and why this dish can’t go on the menu’. This dish is getting entangled in so many other things about where they’ve come from.

He does take the time to reframe it: outlines his practical concerns, and starts to articulate that he wants to maintain calm before they make more changes -

And then Sugar is banging on the door, demonstrating his point.

At this point, Carmy is trying to build a parachute. They don’t have one when Jimmy comes to visit in Hands, but they do have one that becomes Richie’s bail by Braciole. Reserve building takes steady, dull consistency, but this isn’t communicated, and they don’t agree on a timeframe for the menu development, or even to come back to this conversation. This is small stuff, I know I sound nitpicky! But in my experience managing people, tension builds in the unknowns, in the places where there aren’t specifics, especially when you have a team member like Sydney who is ambitious and dynamic.

Sydney is firmly in the realm of the job that Carmy specified here. He is dialling business, she is doing everything else. If you’re a nerd and you zoom in on her CV, she has done menu development before. She is green, but not that green. She is impatient, but she also doesn’t have the same complicated relationship with change at the Beef that pretty much everyone else but Marcus does. The risotto is the first unofficial test of the impact of strain on their (messy ass) working dynamic, to Review’s much more official gauntlet.

Why would they write a proper CV and film it if they didn't want me to spend 5 minutes hitting pause repeatedly until I'd read it?

*squints* designed daily specials with complete creative control! At Alinea! A THREE STAR MICHELIN RESTAURANT! At the time they wrote this, it had held and retained those stars for twelve years! She is not new to this!

Tracing the Journey of the Risotto Two: Unmeasurable

They try again with the risotto later. She is a little more patient, initially. She makes the effort and he thanks her for it. He tries it, which she really wanted (surely that will convince him!), and she has modified her request, from to-gos, to trying it as a special. Her equivalent of baby steps. She listened. She’s trying. Lovely Angel and my main man Ebra come by, taste and support Carmy’s ‘tremendous’.

But here Carmy gives feedback that isn’t measurable. It’s not perfect, but he doesn’t say why, even though he knows, and it’s an easy fix! He’s nitpicking, because he doesn’t, for a bunch of practical reasons, want to put risotto on the menu, but doesn’t want to shoot her down. He asks her if she understands after she has explicitly said that she doesn’t (cus he’s not being up front), and then doesn‘t explain himself. He’s not really asking if she understands, he’s telling her to stop. It’s not really the dish that’s not ready, not really, it’s him, he’s not ready to make a new raft of changes, to think through the gap between the Michelin star excellence he has come from, and the budgetary, practical restrains of where he’s at.

I think this is really fair. Or at least understandable. Carmy just wants to catch a breath, and he has to have oversight on so many different things at once, adding something else to that must feel terrifying. But the way he communicates this shuts down and restricts: he switches the dynamic from one where they listen to each other (which requires that they both explain themselves) to one where he tells and she does. It doesn’t really give her anywhere to go, so her frustration is inevitable and also understandable. Measurable feedback! Clarity. If you don’t want risotto on the menu Carmy, rip the band-aid, and say it, and say why. Get her to work on something that is going to fit with the menu in a different way, in the way that you want, and be clear about the way in which you want to shape it!

He knows he’s not been great here. Carmy apologises for ‘being shitty’ later in the episode (as others have noted, it’s a shit apology) and he also starts his apology with ‘needs acid’ in 1:8. He knows that a lot of Review is to do with this dish.

When Carmy apologises about being shitty later in Ceres, she doesn’t mention that she put the dish out earlier. It’s framed as a little moment of.. if not revenge, then a little something for herself. I think she knows it’s not OK, not really, or she’d have mentioned it, and her face says a lot when she says it’s cool. I’m not a chef, I only ever worked FOH, but my instinct is that its dodgy and it fills me with unease. A grey area. A pop of tension.

Tracing the Journey of the Risotto Three: Hating

Whenever I think about the strikes, I think about the broader ensemble in this show.

The next time the risotto turns up, it’s being mentioned in a review. A lot happens here, so I’m gonna bullet point out all the references, then analyse some of them afterwards. I’m also gonna jump a whole bunch, cus I want to stay tightly focused on the risotto itself, and the dynamic between Syd and Carmy as relates to it:

Ebra reads the review out!

Syd has a lovely, gentle smile for Ebra as he reads it, her whole body relaxes as she taps at the tablet. This validation clearly means a lot to her. Ebra’s dynamic with both Sydney and Marcus is consistently a joy to behold. When he tells her in Dogs that she’s given Marcus a lot of confidence, she glows, and I think it’s something she really needed to hear. He’s subtle about it, but he never makes her life difficult when she implements the brigade. There’s something about the oldest member of the team, reading the review out, a little haltingly cus English isn’t his first language, that doubles down on the love that can be present in the Beef, making it all the more jarring when –

Carmy cuts across this and starts talking about the day’s opening with a ‘stop reading that shit’

Fam ‘that shit’ just described your food as elevated and elegant! In the foodie heaven that is Chicago! In your restaurant which is kind of failing! It’s your team’s first review since you’ve been there! So straight away you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, because what has got his knickers in a twist?

Carmy is justified in being pissed off about Syd’s actions here. What he is not justified in, is not finding a way to celebrate the review itself with his team, who deserve to have this moment. It’s a milestone for them to get some external validation, and the restaurant, quite frankly, needs it. A five star review! Tina squeals with delight when she hears it. Before a new program and a busy shift is the perfect moment to read this out, and go into the work feeling good. A united, gassed up team? Would have killed those to gos.

Sydney is also responsible for this messiness though. In going rogue the episode before, something which could have been about the team becomes about her in a way that is sticky, and it becomes harder to celebrate. It was not her intention, but this is the outcome.

Ebra ignores Carmy

(cus he’s redundant and white JK JK don’t cancel me)

There is a double edged shout out to the team

‘the staff moves are next level’: this is such brilliant, important feedback from a team that has had to weather so much change! Also calls back to Richie: ‘Uh oh, Sydney making moves!’ in the car in Hands.

‘The sandwiches are so delicious as ever, but the standout dish that... that, that encapsulates all, this was the risotto with braised beef. The rice was luscious with a surprising ribbon of brine running through the sauce. The chef obviously knew what she was doing’

THAT REVIEWER IS A SNITCH

Did Syd know that reviewer was a reviewer? I dunno man. Maybe! She’s Chicago born and bred, knows the food scene well. It’s not outside of the realm of possibility that she’d recognise him. Maybe she just wanted some good immediate feedback, while she was feeling shitty! Maybe all she wanted was him to send a message back to the kitchen that’s like tell Syd the risotto was great: the impact of his Review but on a much smaller, less disruptive scale.

I think it’s genuine coincidence, which unfortunately looks… not like that. The thing is: the reviewer being a reviewer isn’t what the issue is. The issue is giving food not signed off by her boss to a customer. She'd have never gotten away with that at the places where she was before. Putting the dish out is going rogue, regardless of who she gives it to. It’s not a team move. If Carmy called in her old bosses for back up, she calls in his potential new customers. Eek. EEK.

Sydney desperately tries to get Ebra to shush, to no avail

(extremely funny work from Ayo, but also he’s pissed, and she either already knows it, or already antipates it – it’s hard to get a read on how long they’ve been in and when they learnt about the review)

‘river of brine, huh?’

Carmy, you little snark!!! This is very much his wheelhouse of expressing displeasure, he loves a little jab to the emotional solar plexus. My reading of his line is that what the reviewer tried and what Carmy tried are different, because if it had a ribbon of brine in it, I think that means that there was enough acid. Syd has two dishes, and she’s specific about Carmy trying one and not the other, so my reading here is that Carmy’s POV is not only did a dish go out of my kitchen without my sign off, but it was different from the dish I was given to try. Wince. Wince, wince, wince.

Sydney and Carmy have a fucking excruciating conversation.

Just the worst.

Carmy is not happy, but feels unable to voice this in a way that seems reasonable: he’s busy and stressed about to-gos, he hasn’t moved past the unreasonable feelings of resentment and annoyance to the clarity which enables you to articulate how you feel and why, and because Syd’s gamble paid off! It’s a net positive for the restaurant so it feels counterintuitive to reprimand her, but there is a conversation they need to have. He really does not want to have this conflict, because it’s complicated, and is, like most big blow outs over something small, about so much more than a plate of risotto. He breezes over the conversation, but you can’t start with that ribbon of brine opener and then tell me shit’s not weird.

Compare this to Brigade, when Sydney is asked what’s up, and she is brave enough and vulnerable enough to be like – here are the things that weren’t OK, here are my expectations, here are my boundaries.

On the other side of the conversation, Sydney knows that she has slipped across a slightly odd boundary, but doesn’t acknowledge this. It’s good he liked it! All’s well that ends well. Right? RIGHT? But if he hadn’t? Very different conversation. It doesn’t matter who he is! He could have been anyone - someone that left a weird Instagram comment later, or someone who didn’t finish the meal and complained. Whatever the case may be, giving it to him unofficially was not an act of partnership, or listening, even if the initial communication was shitty.

She knows she’s overstepped, but she doesn’t apologise and doesn’t acknowledge the specifics of what she’s done wrong, because she does not want to have the conflict that could come out of this either. She seeks affirmations that they are OK rather than trying to actually find out how Carmy feels and why, because at this point she doesn’t really want to hear it. She is seeking this conversation out 20 minutes before open! It’s not the time for a thorny, complex discussion.

Compare this to Brigade. Carmy knows Sydney is pissed, and makes the effort to speak to her, in private, armed with the peace offering of Ebra’s Suqaar. He is very careful in that conversation to ask open questions (‘what’s going on with you? Say more?’) that enable her to respond honestly. He persists despite her having her walls up around the fact that she’s pissed. Sydney does not do this. The power dynamic makes it hard, but still. If she wants the connection needed to power reconciliation, that bravery needs to be in play.

are you sure we can't just power through this with sexual tension?

Sweeps congratulates her and tells her she’ll have to tell her dad

Hope Mr Adamu got a newspaper clipping!

Carmy says the sandwiches are totally different and the reviewer is a fucking hack. Syd looks sad.

This moment is why I opened this essay talking about veal stock. We are back in a moment with a gap between what has been said, and what has been heard. The reviewer said the sandwiches were delicious as ever. That’s not a criticism at all! These are not words that justify being called a hack! Carmy is pissed because the reviewer says they are delicious and they always have been, that Carmy has not improved on the staple that was there before him.

And that shit hurts his ego!

His whole thing was going off to learn ‘how to be better than mom and dad’s piece of shit’. We know he’s changed a bunch of things about the sandwiches. In Hands, Sydney mentions that they’ve switched to market produce, which I’m sure is not unrelated to Richie’s ‘You’ve been here for two weeks and we’ve had money problems for two weeks’ in System. In Carmy’s time there, the bread’s changed, the method for cooking the beef has changed, the way they braise onions has changed.

To that customer? Delicious as ever.It’s not a dismissal, or an insult. It is a reminder that Carmy didn’t have to leave, and go through all he went through, that there was delicious food and skills to be learned and refined without it. We know Michael was a talented chef. Even now, with all of where he’s been, Carmy cannot surpass him or his memory.

The person that does surpass that? Is Sydney. With food his palate did not deem good enough! Sydney who has not had to leave Chicago and her family. Sydney who has found a way to be creatively free, even at The Beef, in ways that Carmy has not really been able to, because his primary concern has to be money. There is understandable resentment here. But there is competition to the way Carmy cooks, something to prove, someone to smoke. There are reasonable feelings here, but some of them are really ugly, too.

Tina describes Syd as Jeff’s friend

This is a strange little line – because we know that Tina respects Syd as a chef at this point, and she doubles down on it later when she asks Syd to teach Louis skills, like she herself has been taught. So why’s it there? My feeling is that it’s there to remind the audience of what Syd and Carmy’s relationship is usually like. I wouldn’t call it friendship, I think they operate in a weird place that defies labels, but they have this synergy which drives the business. Tina evoking that in this moment draws attention to the fact that they are not in that space right now.

He's just got a very sweet face, it's hard for me to believe he's in trouble at school

Richie has a loud, performative conversation with Carmy about many things, but for the purpose of this section, he states that they don’t do risotto, asks if they’re going to, and Carmy definitively states that ‘no, they’re not going to do that’ he also repeats Syd’s phrasing that it was ‘an accident’

She stabbed the wrong ass if you ask me!

Nah, but for real, this is nasty work. I’m gonna come back to it in the next (penultimate!) bit of writing about the Beef, the Bear, Richie & Michael, Syd & Carmy. For now, I will simply say that Carmy is doing up major pass agg here, and it’s nasty to watch. He’s really, really unhappy with her, and he’s struggling to hold it in, so it’s coming out in unhelpful and unpleasant ways that feel like humiliations in front of the whole team, and punishment.

There are really valid reasons for Carmy to be annoyed and to not want to talk about it right now. The problem is that If you don’t create a pressure valve you take responsibility for, you will end up a) exploding instead (lol) and/or b) releasing that frustration in unhelpful and harmful ways.

They move towards this with their ASL sorry in Season Two. But here, Carmy says and implies a bunch of things to Richie that he needed to say explicitly to Syd two episodes ago, and two minutes ago: that he has no intention of putting risotto on the menu, and that he thinks her saying it was an accident was bullshit. He wants Syd to know it’s not OK without the hard, painful work of having to engage in conflict with her. It’s shitty.

Sweet Louis asks what a ribbon of brine is

He seems like a good boy, bring him back!

A BUNCH OF STUFF THAT I WILL WRITE ABOUT NEXT TIME HAPPENS

Richie, Syd and Carmy, it’s delicious (a nightmare).

Syd attempts a second conversation with Carmy – having vented some frustration at Richie, and seeing how her workload is piling up and becoming untenable, she is much more open here. Carmy is not.

She’s blunt – we’re not on the same page. Carmy lies and deflects – we’re good, let’s get through the shift. He has his hands on his hips, with as much of his body turned away from her as possible, during this conversation, and walks off half way through it. Even if everything had gone right, this shift would have been a nightmare for Syd.

Everything is awesome!

The penultimate mention of the risotto is here. There is very little I can say that has not been brilliantly said by eatandsleepwell here - https://www.tumblr.com/hourglassfish/726487509540962304/eatandsleepwell-melonatures-this-one-second?source=share so I’m gonna link it.

That’s the last we hear of risotto for now, other than a quick reference to Syd as an arrogant and condescending ribbon of brine from Richie later. It doesn’t turn up on the tasting menu at the Bear, where it defo feels like a riff on risotto could have replaced one of their pasta dishes. That switch from rice to pasta feels pointed.

Spaghetti

Let’s treat The Beef as a character. If Sydney’s ingredient motif is veal stock, then The Beef’s is that family spaghetti.

Cheap and simple. Fucking delicious. Makes no sense and shouldn’t work, but was somehow the best seller on the menu. Distinctively Italian. Stuffed full of drug money(!). Always, always presented at the table with love, like a gift. You can elevate it if you want, but the fact of the matter is that even at its very best, it’s only gonna hit so hard cus it reminds you of simpler times, like the ratatouille (that is not a ratatouille!) from the movie Ratatouille.

Carmy rejects that meal at the top of the series. It ‘doesn’t make sense on the menu’, so he doesn’t care that people loved it. So far, so EMP. When he starts to cook it in episode one, it feels like a relenting to Richie’s bullying, and him throwing WHAT WE NOW KNOW WAS PROBABLY A FEW THOUSAND DOLLARS in the bin at the end of the episode feels like this exhilarating rejection of mediocrity. They change the lines for System, but in the pilot, Carmy literally cannot make the spaghetti, that last lesson from Michael is a real missing puzzle piece.

In Braciole, when he gets the recipe, he goes to cook it, for family. It’s really nice, that scene, feels comparable to Sydney making omelette. It’s quiet, and Carmy seems content, if wistful. The pork instead of beef panic of earlier is put to the side for now. The previous day, Carmy has gone to Al-Anon and confessed, unburdened himself. Then followed two quiet days and a blue hued night of atonement: he reaffirmed his commitment to Richie, paying his bail and keeping watch all night, gave Tina the night off, apologised to Marcus and acknowledged that his behaviour towards Sydney wasn’t acceptable, as well as speaking to her about her dish, like an adult. Carmy has to do all of this before he finds the money, before he gets the validation that he’s really longing for from his brother.

JAW getting his Emmy, his Golden Globe, his SAG Award, his Bafta, his future Oscar Winning role.

If The Bear at its core is about grief, and the void that Michael’s death leaves, then one of the big journeys of Season One is the subsequent death of the Beef, ready for its rebirth as The Bear in the following season. Review is the short sharp stab to the gut, of Sydney leaving, and taking any hope that it can be reformed as is, with her work. I don’t think the nature of a puncture wound, and the shortness of that episode are unrelated.

Braciole is more of a death rattle: Jimmy’s debt keeping them trapped in shitty work they don’t want to do, situations that spiral out of control and descend into violence, their parachute turned to bail money. But Michael wanted more for his brother than that, and he has left him a foundation. He does not have to burn the place down, there need not be smoke and hellfire. There’s another avenue for rebirth, one where ‘set this place on fire’ does not have to mean an insurance scam, but instead can mean an ignition of all their ambition and dreams.

To get there there has to be an ego death first, a moment of hubris that gets our protagonists fresh, and clean, so they can move to the new. Sydney sees and experiences the worst of herself (more on this in the final part!). Richie gets stabbed (more on this in the next part).

Carmy? Carmy has to encountera crisis where not only could his training not save him but many of the lessons he learnt while he was away and his reasons for going in the first place actively made the situation worse, and those that had faith in him and his preferred system turned away from him, deeply hurt. His ego gets in the way of connection, and it shatters the partnership that he needs to make it all work. He is clinging to old ways of being that has not served him, but he needs to move forward into what is new. And he does.

Well.

He tries.

SMDH

WHEW

Another long one, sorry fam. I’m almost there though. Am I sorry? No, I’m grateful if you read it, and I hope you enjoyed it.

I hope I’m pulling this together coherently, that I’m showing a sort of throughline to the way I view Episode 7. I don’t think Sydney is perfect! I do think her walking out is narratively and politically (the show wants better for the workplaces its drawn from) necessary, and I hate, hate, hate the simplification of that decision to ‘he shouted at her so she bailed’. Please, you can’t think this show is well written and think her decision is as simple as that, it doesn’t make sense. That exit is crafted so that it is inevitable, there is a movie’s worth of build up to it.

We’re looking at Richie, Syd and Carmy next time, fam. I am trying so hard to cut it down cus it’s currently sat at 15,000 words, but I’m gonna try really hard to edit down, OK? I’m gonna try really hard.

I can’t respond but I value reblogs and comments so much!

This is part of a five part series! You can find the rest here:

Expect More: Syd and Carmy's relationship,

I know you'll be listening: Marcus, McDonald's and Freedom

Risottogate

Hiring New Fucking Broads: Syd, Richie and conflict;

"That's Not You" The Moment Syd Walks Out

#the bear #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #the bear meta

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thefisherqueen · 4 months

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The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines. Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost in sending me back to England.

This is a touching look back at the severity of the injury and infection that Watson sustained in his army time. I'm no expert on traumatic injury and infection, but I think it is safe to assume that a shattered bone will never fully heal, and that a months-long hospital stay, in a barely concious state, will leave chronic damage to for example lung and muscle tissue, perhaps would have led to a certain amount of organ failure and reduced/over-active immunity as well. Some life long amount of chronic pain and exertion fatigue, at least, is surely to be expected.

Holmes, living together with Watson, would of course know. It's easy to imagine Watson coming into the living room at an impossible time in the night because his shoulder just feels wrong and he can't sleep anymore, only to find Holmes similary awake. Or to imagine those two investigating a murder and Watson having to stop for few minutes to rest because he just can't get enough air. I'd like to imagine Holmes treating Watson not with pity or pressure, but with understanding and sympathy, similary as to how Watson treats Holmes' mental health problems

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #a study in scarlet #disability

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battlemaiden13 · 4 months

Note

do you have any other harem fics youd recommend? reverse or anti or whatever !

Yes! All of these can be found on AO3 but most aren't complete. I also haven't read some of these in a while so this is by memory.

Making a Monster by @absurdmageart It's incredible written and the flow to it is wonderful! Absurdmage is one of my favourite writers and I literally squeal whenever they update. Making a monster is a harem where MC was turned into a skeleton monster, her name is Lissa and she's cute (although sometimes slightly annoying, I still like her though!!(Chip is my fav though))

Bones, Picked Clean by lulu-writes (luluwrites) @skelezbian here on tumblr I'm a bit behind on the story myself but MC meets the horror skeletons first and it is so good! It does have that troupe that I'm not to fond of of Sans not feeding the horrorbros but thats a personal thing. The writing is really good and I loved the story development.

House of Nightmares by Sephypsycologist Is a harem with the more horrific boys who don't get a lot of screen time. There's only 10 chapters but it was so cool seeing some of these skeletons and the horror and suspense in it was such an interesting take. I liked Needle a lot.

OtomeTale by Teddy_Feathers It only has 3 chapters which IS A CRIME! It's such a good concept and I wish there was more but I adore this mystery and romance. I wish there was more, alas I doubt there will be but everyone should read this.

Life With the Bone Brigade by ValkyrieOfSmut It's a spicy one with some good smut but I very much enjoy how Orange, Black and Mutt are written in it although I have some different head cannons myself. The pacing a bit fast for me but I mean, I took 100 chapters to make Mc drunk kiss a skeleton so this is probably better XD

Raccoons Like Bones by @starbellbunny There's only a few chapters at the moment and it's only San's but it's off to a real interesting start! Be warned it's slightly darker in themes so read the tags but I am very much enjoying it.

I was reading: (The Last of the) Real Ones by Vesperchan Reader in it is very cool and a magic user, the concept is awesome! Loved a good magic fight between MC and Sans and the writing is really good but I only got up to chapter 9 before needing a break.

I've enjoyed a few reverse harems but they all followed really similar plots and tropes so none really stood out to much and it doesn't look like I bookmarked any. If I remember them I'll add. Also I'm sure there's heaps more good harems that I can't think of them right now. Hope these manage to hold you over in the mean time.

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seineko · 6 months

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i had no idea about the journey that i was about to get aboard on when i started attack on titan after literally going in blind.

i admit, i was one of those who taught that it was another mindless shounen anime which is all about flashy fights and over the top ass whopping. and i'm glad i gave season 3 another chance after my friend begged me to watch it.

and yea, i'm probably writing this with very emotional head after all the videos youtube recommended to me.

this show was with me when my life was at it's lowest and also at some of the highest. i can't thank it enough for the memories both in anime and out in the real world.

regardless of what you feel about the ending, be it love or hate or a complicated mess of emotions, no one can deny the fact that it had one if not the biggest impact in the anime industry. something that isn't easy to forget.

to annie leonhardt, to reiner braun and to bertolt hoover, thank you for showing that there is never a world where everything is black and white. to keep living on with the guilt eating you from inside but also cannot help but do what was told to you is a life i wouldn't wish upon the worst of my enemies.

to hange zoe, thank you for pushing forward in pursue of your knowledge and showing how important the smallest of researches are. thank you for pushing forward not for revenge, but for the pursuit of knowledge you so admired.

to erwin smith, thank you for being the greatest commander ever known to people. whether you pushed forward for entirely selfish reasons or the sake for humanity, you were the commander that humanity needed at it's lowest and you were the one who dug out the path for your successors.

to levi ackerman, thank you for bearing the burden of being the humanity's strongest. what good is being as strong as an entire brigade if you can't save those dearest to your heart? you fought despite losing everyone who meant something to you just so their deaths would have a meaning. that is what makes you humanity's strongest.

to jean, thank you for being the breath of fresh air in between, somewhere deep down, everyone is a suicidal maniac. thank you for being honest about how you feel at every turn and sticking with everyone despite how dire things turned.

to connie, thank you for being the most relatable. in this world not everyone can be extraordinary and you fought despite that. thank you for showing your fear, your cowardice and your embarrassment and that they are emotions too. it is okay to want to live inside the innermost wall and enjoy comfort and it is also okay to decide to want to do something bigger than yourself because someone else inspired you.

to sasha braus, thank you for making the world so much more bearable and so much more humane. thank you for stealing that potato that day and pushing forward to fight against all odds despite the sheer dread you felt. thank you for making me laugh when i felt like there was no option but to cry. thank you for teaching kindness in a world where cruelty is seeped deep into the bones of almost every person.

to armin arlert, thank you for teaching me that you can't change your life if you refuse to change yourself. that there's always something you need to lose to win. thank you for showing that strength isn't only physical, that that kind of strength means nothing if you don't have the means to utilize them in an efficient way. thank you for being empathetic when it's the hardest to do. empathy is simultaneously one of the biggest curse and boon humanity has ever known.

to mikasa ackerman, thank you making me realize the importance of loyalty and love. thank you for showing me that i am not alone in the struggle of emotions, that emotions can run just as deep in someone who shows out indifference as in someone who lets theirs out easily. to the one that introduced me to the concept of 'still waters run deep', mikasa ackerman, thank you for showing that love isn't one where you watch someone destroy themself but rather one where you gain the courage to stand up against when you know they're wrong. thank you for always being a home to eren.

to eren jaegar. thank you for becoming the devil to let your loved ones live without a tag of one. i haven't felt this conflicted about a character, to want to cry seeing someone i grew up with change with the war waging around him. but also not help but feel the anger at the way in which you went about to do what you said was inevitable. i hope you find your best friend in the hell you both promised to meet in and i hope you get to love mikasa in another life as you wished you could.

to every character of this absolutely cruel but beautiful story that i want to talk about but am not in a headspace to even think much, thank you for playing a role that connected to at least one person in this world.

to isayama-sensei, thank you for continuing on with attack on titan despite everything stacked against you. it is now not just a story but an emotion that an entire generation cannot help but feel in them. thank you for giving what you thought was your best even against the fear of regrets.

to attack on titan/shingeki no kyojin, thank you.

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valkyrieofsmut · 5 months

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Sensitivity reading for Hanukkah...?

HI!!!!!! Happy holidays all!

Well... I'm writing, and I'm having some stuff about Hanukkah in Life with the Bone Brigade! Some Info, hoping to go into some history/celebration but I have limited knowledge, and I'd like some working knowledge and opinions!

Any celebrators interested in doing a read through of the scene for accuracy?

#life with the bone brigade #hanukkah #jewish #sensitivity reader #Undertale fandom #holidays

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bonefall · 1 year

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Brief BloodClan Guide

Because I’m cleaning up my masterpost and I don’t seem to have an actual post explaining BloodClan??

History

After Oakstar exiled Mapleshade’s kits resulting in their deaths, leading to the Mapleshade Incident, StarClan was PISSED at him and commanded that he atone with his remaining lives.

Oakstar utterly wasted 3/4 of them during the events of Darkstar’s Commandment.

On his last life he scrambled to try and ‘appease‘ StarClan by starting crusades in their honor, attacking cats in the nearby town of Chelford (known to clan cats as ‘twolegplace.’)

Crystal organized a combat brigade to defend the strays and keep watch, which evolved over time into an organization that solved various problems of living with humans.

Hal succeeded her, then an undecided leader, and finally Scourge.

When Pinestar left ThunderClan, by holding onto his last life, he prevented Sunstar from getting his nine. Pine was involved with BloodClan in some capacity; specifics currently unknown.

What’s their deal?

BloodClan was formed to protect Chelford from Clan invasions, but became a legitimate organization in the town. They save cats from neglect and abuse, help to distribute resources like food and medicine, and enforce law in the town. They’re also brutal, demanding loyalty, forcing the cats to pay “dues”, and laying down bloody punishment for falling short.

They’re just as beneficial to the cats they rule as they are destructive, and they distrust Clan cats for a reason. They are a neutral entity.

When Scourge was approached by Tigerstar, he was promised forest land in exchange for his strength. When he was betrayed and the other clans refused to hold up their end of this bargain, he decided he was sick of the lies and violence of these violent neighbors.

After the battle, BloodClan engages in diplomacy and even trade with the Forest Clans, particularly ThunderClan. They’re decent allies, apart from a power struggle that occurs in Ferncloud’s Parting, which ends in the leadership passing over to Claw.

Scourge Himself

Does NOT die in the BloodClan battle. Firestar rises and defeats him, showing that he abides by the code in a new and revolutionary way, extending the Law of Honor even to outsiders. Fire Alone.

Eventually Scourge retires, and spends a lot of his time in camp with ThunderClan warriors. He permanently joins when they leave for the Lake. He takes on the name Iceheart as a sign of respect to the culture, and serves as a sort of uncle figure to Hollypaw as she grows up. This gives her more examples of the varied types of outsiders in the world.

Eventually he fights in the Great Battle against the Dark Forest, losing a rematch with Tigerstar and deciding to become a ghost.

Misc BloodClan Cultural Stuff

They are a matriarchal culture. They don’t have ‘fathers‘ like Forest Clans do, with uncles and close friends filling in ‘paternal’ roles.

Barley Senior is the uncle of Barley Junior, and was once part of BloodClan.

There are TWO main roles in BloodClan; Problems (the fighter class) and Solvers (the intellectual class). Only Problems wear the spike-collars.

Solvers are the ones who make and apply “Claw Extenders“ onto Problems, after every claw cap shedding. Claw Extenders are powerful weapons, but require a lot of maintenance.

Problems choose an edgy “professional name“ for themselves when they earn their first trophy.

Trophies can be basically anything sharp, long, and meaningful that makes a good stud in a collar. This is usually teeth and claws, but some studs are sharpened bones or spikes broken off of iron fences.

The amount of trophies you can wear is based on rank.

They can steal from humans, and make elaborate plans for infiltrating buildings and doing rescue missions.

Very rarely, some of them can read. This is a highly valued skill.

#BloodClan #Bonefall Rewrite #Omg Scourge picking out a picture book what will he read...#listen man. I just. I really like the idea of ex-mob boss scourge being in ThunderClan #Like a game that lets you add the final boss to your party after you complete it once #better bones au #BB!BloodClan

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

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Force of Habit Part One

Masterlist | Next Part

Pairing: Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto x Reader

Rating: M (though it may have explicit chapters in the future)

Notes: Not beta-read. This is going to have at least four parts.

Warnings: Cursing; cigarette smoking; unhealthy coping mechanisms; mentions of a mental breakdown; work-related stress

Summary: Foaming. Gelling. Marinating, roasting, basting, peeling, chopping—Nothing you do there ever seems to be just right. The verbal abuse from the executive chef alone is enough to make you want to quit in the first week. He stares down his nose at you, barks orders until you think your head will explode. To make it worse, you get dirty looks from your fellow brigade.

Berzatto’s the worst of them.

It’s only going to be for a year, that’s what you tell yourself. You'll be working at the most exclusive restaurants in New York. Yeah, the food’s not to your taste, but you know that a year in this restaurant can open doors for you anywhere else.

You’re not completely green. You went to culinary school; you’ve worked at a high-end restaurant for the last three years. So you take a position knowing that you won’t be there long—that you just need to fucking white-knuckle through it.

You couldn’t have anticipated hating it as much as you do.

Foaming. Gelling. Marinating, roasting, basting, peeling, chopping—nothing you do there ever seems to be just right. The verbal abuse from the executive chef alone is enough to make you want to quit in the first week. He stares down his nose at you, barks orders until you think your head will explode. To make it worse, you get dirty looks from your fellow brigade.

Berzatto’s the worst of them.

You know who he is, what he’s done. Hell, you’d even been excited to meet him, but day one, he’d brushed right passed your outstretched hand, and asked why the fuck you were roll cutting your carrots. You’d drawn your hand back to your side and let yourself look at the station.

“I’m just used to chopping them that way, chef. Force of habit,” You stammered.

“Do you know the difference between roll cut and julienne, chef?”

“Yes, chef.”

“Do you think this is fucking acceptable on the line?”

“No, chef.”

“Do you want to be here?”

“Yes, chef.”

“Then fix your shit. Get it together. This isn’t whatever fucking community college kitchen you took home ec in.”

“Heard, chef.”

Your face had gone hot; your stomach twisted with embarrassment and nerves. You’d turn away from Berzatto, shoving the rollcut carrots into the bin and taking up a new carrot. You’d tuck your knuckles, drawing in steady breaths as you focus on the thin slice after slice after slice.

Your life narrows to worn hands, aching feet, and a fucked back from bending over counters and stoves all day. You don’t bother to cook when you’re home anymore. You order out, or you pick from some bulk frozen shit that you buy at bargain stores. You start to smoke. You’ve never smoked in your life, but sometimes, you feel like you don’t remember how to take a deep breath. You find yourself skirting out the back door at the end of service before clean-up, your hands fumbling with your lighter and pack, raising cig to your lips and drawing in the your deep breath in six hours.

The next time you speak to Berzatto—the first time he speaks to you without staring down his nose at you—it’s because you fucking fixed something.

Everyone working in that kitchen is working at a high level, but sometimes flying that high for that long means that if and when you crash, you crash hard. For your fellow chef at the saucier station, it means covering themselves in cold Au Jus and running into the walk-in, screaming obscenities and refusing to come out.

If it had happened your first week there, you would’ve been a fish out of water. But now, six months in, you just step to the side, lower the heat under the bone marrow bordelaise that you’d been working on, and take up the whisk that’s slipped into your station-partner’s pan beside yours. You only manage to stave off a wince at the burning sensation as you hurriedly begin to mix in the citrus zest that had been next in the recipe. You remove it from heat, lowering the temperature on the burner and moving the bordelaise over.

“I need the lemon beurre blanc, where are we?” Carmy calls out.

“Thirty seconds, chef,” You call back without missing a beat, adding the lemon juice and salt necessary. You take up a clean spoon, taking a taste before setting it aside. You wrap the pan handle in a dishcloth, muttering, “Behind, behind—” As you make your way from your station. You set it down, turning and heading back to your station.

“I need the gastrique for the glazed duck, how soon can we get one fired?” He calls after you.

“It’s cooling, chef.”

When you hear no answer, you nervously glance back and find Berzatto looking at you. He seems a little stunned. You think that something must be off with the beurre blanc—or that the gastrique shouldn’t be cooling, but—but you know you’re right.

“Keep pushing chef,” He urges. And it’s hardly there—but there’s a hint of encouragement in his eyes. You nod in turn, obediently answering, “Yes, chef,” Before turning back to your station.

When the shift is up, your body feels like molasses. You’re moving, sure, but you’re not quite sure how. You lean back against the wall, absently patting down your pockets for your cigarettes—and then you remember then that you forgot to buy more that morning. You hang your head, scrubbing your hand over your neck. You fight the urge to whine or—or fucking cry. Oh, you could really go for a good cry right now.

And then a pair of black cooking clogs come into view beside you, and a pale hand holds out a pack of cigarettes. You turn your head to find Berzatto waiting. You reach up, steadying the pack with your hand, your fingers brushing his as you draw a cigarette out. He tucks the pack away and draws a lighter out. He turns toward you, and you lean in, the two of you lighting your cigarettes in tandem. You lean back against the wall as you draw in a deep pull, eyes slipping shut at the feeling.

The two of you stand there in silence for a few moments, shoulders brushing in the dark alley.

“...You did good today,” He finally says. You glance over, eyeing the streams of smoke that he pushes through his nostrils.

“Thank you, chef.”

He huffs softly, the first amused or mirthful sound you’ve ever heard from him.

“You don’t have to call me that when we’re not in there.”

You’re surprised by the assertion, brows raising before you shrug.

“Sorry, chef. Force of habit.”

He lets out another quiet huff, and nods with a mutter of, “Yeah, fair.”

The two of you don’t speak for a few minutes, and then you become acutely aware of the sound of sirens growing nearer and nearer. That’s not particularly out of character for the city, but when they stop right outside, you find yourself turning to look at the back door.

“...Is Davis—?”

“Still in the walk-in.”

“...Huh…That’s gotta be fucking freezing in the Au Jus.”

When your year is closing out—when you are three weeks out from having been at the restaurant for one year, there’s a little bit of you that’s actually contemplating…Staying.

It’s a bad idea. You’ve developed so many fucking bad life habits in the time since you’ve been there—you hardly sleep anymore; you smoke; you serve some of the most expensive food in the city, but you eat some of the cheapest, shittiest food you’ve ever had in your life.

But there’s a little part of you that’s become addicted to this kitchen’s chaos. You still fucking hate foams and gels and all of that hoity-toity shit, but goddamn, you are good at it. You know that kitchen like the back of your hand; you know the recipes by heart. And it pains you to admit it, but you’ve started reveling in your end of shift cigarette with Berzatto.

After that disastrous night at the saucier station, he’d started regarding you differently. Sure, there were still hiccups in service, and yeah, he still reprimanded at you now and again—but he yelled at everyone, and he got reprimanded out (rarely, but when it happened, it was almost painful to watch).

After every shift since the saucier incident, the two of you stepped out back and shared a cigarette, like clockwork. It didn’t matter if it was rain or shine, blizzarding or windy as fuck. The two of you hunched together when it was cold, kept a decent amount of distance when it was too warm.

Now, the winter is beginning to melt and give way to spring. It's freezing out when you traveled to the restaurant, hot as you prep and have family, and fucking freezing again when you're heading home. You spend your commute both ways weighing your options.

You could stay. You have a place in that kitchen—you know your place there. But you’ve been offered other positions—cushier jobs at lesser workplaces, with more money for the same shitty hours. You’ll have to learn who you are in those kitchens. You’ll have to find someone else to smoke with.

(Hell, you should probably just quit the smoking.)

“Can I bum one?”

You glance up from where you’ve sat on an overturned crate, slouching back against the alley wall. You hold your cigarette up.

“It’s my only one. We’d have to share,” You tell him. Berzatto’s lips twist in irritation before he crouches down beside you. He takes the still-proferred cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, raising it to his lips. You glance over his profile as he’s distracted. Your eyes smooth over the slope of his nose, down to the purse of his lips where they’re wrapped around the filter. His hair is slicked back as it always is, tucked neatly away from his plaid, freckled face.

You’ve gotten several good looks at him over the last few months. The two of you have hardly spoken about anything outside of the kitchen, though you have chatted a little—when you’ve discussed missing family holidays in favor of working.

“My family’s back in Chicago, so,” He muttered then, cigarette bobbing between his lips. “Not missin’ much.”

“...I’m sure they miss you.”

Carmy hadn’t looked at you, just laughed a bit bitterly, head tipping to the side a touch.

Now, you hurriedly lower your head as you feel him turn his head to look at you. You shift on the crate a little bit, nudging an abandoned cigarette butt with your shoe.

“...You goin’?” He asks. You don’t ask him what he means; you don’t have to.

“I don’t know," You admit.

“If you’re undecided, that means you’ve already got one foot out the door.”

Your face twists with a frown as he holds your cigarette back out. You take it from him, ignoring the brush and tingle as your fingertips touch again.

“Don’t tell me that,” You argue, a rare argumentative feeling welling up in you.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s not even any of your fuckin' business.”

It’s a stupid thing to say for a number of reasons. First of all, he’s right. Second of—

“It is my goddamn business,” He argues. “There’s gonna be hole that we’re gonna have to plug in the fuckin’ line.”

“Please,” You mutter, shifting around in your place. “There are chefs lining the fucking block to work here.”

“Yeah, well,” Carmy grumbles as you raise the cigarette to your lips. “Not all of ‘em will fit.”

You consider that, holding the dwindling cigarette out to him. You finally offer, “One will.”

Carmy huffs a soft laugh.

“Like I said,” He mutters, leaning back against the wall and tipping his head up to the sky, “One foot out the fuckin’ door.”

Part Two

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

#Carmy Berzatto x Reader #Carmy Berzatto x You #Carmy Berzatto/Reader #Carmy Berzatto/You #Carmy Berzatto fic #Carmy Berzatto imagine #Force of Habit

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