can i admit something. i don't think generative AI is like ontologically evil. but i do think it is intensely embarrassing to admit you use it for real things. "I asked chatgpt and it gave me" and then you copy and paste like five bullet points that are not only wrong but also bad. like qualitatively bad, not morally bad. people who can't write an email without putting it through ai, or who even make ai just generate the email for them. like idk what happened to communication? what happened to thinking? people are putting out ai generated fanfic and I literally cannot fathom what satisfaction they can possibly get from it. engagement? I guess? does it bring you joy to have people click a button on a thing you didn't even create? and isn't even good? again, qualitatively good, not morally good. i'd be soooooo embarrassed to put out anything ai generated on the off chance people thought I actually wrote it. because it fucking sucks
I have been researching Animatronics and it is oh so very very fascinating. The arduino boards vs something complex enough to use a raspberry pi, the types of servos, how you can build a servo without using an actual servo if the servo would be too big, etc etc etc.
The downside is now I look at fnaf animatronics and figure how they may mechanically work and you know what? The Daycare Attendant, if they were real, would be such a highly advanced machine. Not only is the programming and machine learning and large language models of all the animatronics of FNAF security breach super advanced, just the physical build is so technically advanced. Mostly because of how thin the Daycare Attendant is, but also with how fluid their movement is. One of the most top 10 advanced animatronics in the series. (I want to study them)
i guess what i really hate about the duolingo update is that if i want to study a particular topic, like future tense or whatever, i can’t do that. the new units are literally just the entire course in one single thing and it’s a different selection every time. which is good because you get a more complete experience with the language (instead of having One unit on One grammatical structure and then moving right along) but like i said. sometimes i like to go back and review a specific topic i can’t do that
⋮ ⌗ ┆概要 ⨾ guys come and go, but heeseung's always been the centre of your universe. with his aloof, brooding air, you stop at nothing to make him yours - unknowingly jeopardising the one thing you always had.
李羲承 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 𝔁 沈载伦 ── 6.4k
explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、dom!heeseung、switch!jake、switch!reader、heavy degradation/humilation、misogynistic themes & language (the portrayal of any characters here does not reflect their real life character)、threesome、car sex、oral (f. & m.)、vaginal fingering、unprotected sex (don't do this)、creampie、breeding kink、ruined orgasm、facial、spit kink、biting、finger sucking、multiple orgasms、dacryphilia、slight impact play、slight breast play、cowgirl & doggy position、cum eating、petnames used: plaything、pretty、the reader's a bit evil but so are heejake ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ⌇ℳ.list
⋮ ⌗ ┆便条 ⨾ this did not go as initially planned 😭 not that i had an outlined plan to begin with, but i hope that you're able to enjoy this somewhat cohesive mess nevertheless. comments are always much appreciated and really put a battery in my back ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ also...a certain part of this fic was inspired by this edit 😵💫 anyways (!!!) my next post should be a jungwon fic that's (ofc) longer than intended. until then, much loveeeee! <333
If there's one thing you've always been, it's lucky.
Life for you comes set on easy mode, everything your heart desires coming to you in abundance. Good grades, great friends, luxury, high self-esteem and all the guys you could ever want. Versatile taste with looks that could kill have guys flocking to you in droves, on their knees with the promise of everything you already have. When you were younger, you indulged: tried out what the world had to offer but when men tripped over themselves to be with you, being paraded around as their arm candy began to wear off. You'd become a prop in someone's life, a background character in your own and it just wouldn't do. Your resort becomes restriction, not falling into the arms of the best-looking suitor, someone you thought looked best alongside you to fit everyone's image and became selfish because if men were, why couldn't you be?
Have your cake and eat it too. Some may say it's backwards, but it's none of their business what you do in your spare time. Your life is your life only and what better way to relieve the stress of endless assignment deadlines then a game of cat and mouse? Purposeful in your selection, your needs are met in the careful curation of your suitors' desires, done only to satisfy your own but never extended to entertain the prospect of a relationship. Because if there's anywhere the mere idea of a relationship is repulsive, it's the lawless bubble of uni.
The pattern unfolds as follows: feed your ego, get whatever else you need and dip because who are you, if not, a little evil?
It's a tactic that's served you well, sparing you from the tears you refuse wasting on men. It even serves you now, a means to end in the form of your latest target.
Sim Jaeyun comes into your life a part of a module project, a paired assignment that at least places you with the smartest person in class. Drafting up research is something well within your capabilities, except the program you're tasked with using is your worst enemy. An unnecessarily complicated software that with the workshops you missed first year too hungover to show, an attempt at catching up is futile. Even more so now when Jake allocates himself the task, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses with a giddy smile before he jots it down in a planner scribbled with Physics meets and 'Coding for fun!' as his hobby time.
Nerdy isn't your usual type, but he's handsome to a fault. Soft slopes resembling a prince, especially when his eyes glitter. The itch manifests, his eagerness to make this as least stressful for you cementing him in your clutches. It warps the niceness of your brain, tactics of manipulation utilized as you play into cluelessness. Bend over for your dropped pen, somehow unaware a sliver of your panties peeks through all too short skirt. Lean impossibly close when he's inputting your study's results, hands resting on his arm, giving a good squeeze and glowing smile as you marvel at his work. You are impressed, but not enough to be fawning to such an extent. After he gulps down his lodge of nerves, offering to teach you in a shaky voice, you can't help but smile, sharp at its edges but a smile nevertheless, using the excuse to breach into more personal space until there's none left.
"You feel so good."
Fogged windows are your tell, alerting curious eyes of the nefarious activities occurring in Jake's beat up car. It's an upgrade from the grim state of low-lives you've regretfully slept with, but fucking in the same car your mother drives isn't ideal. It's the result of your pent-up self from the night before, texts sent to Jake going unread. Of course you have options, but Jake currently remains the only source of play you torment, a raspberry blown when you're forced to take matters into your own hands. You'd awoken to a flood of texts, rambled apologies and the promise to make things right. Always on your terms, because a life beyond that didn't exist for you. Therefore, you find yourself here, striking out with unavailable dorm rooms with a settlement of this ─ the backseat of his car.
The car rocks with every bounce, the squelch between your legs amplified off the motor vehicle walls. Pants shake out your parted lips, Jake's lips bitten and quivering as he watches his cock disappear into you, velvety walls wrapping around him, coaxing him into sweet release.
"Squeezing me so tight, I can't─" his whimpers pour, head thrown back before his throat bobs with a dire exhale. A trail of sweat trails down the column of his neck, tempting you. You're feral enough to hook your nails into the skin of his nape, licking the salt clean off his skin.
He's docile like this, drunk on you, deciding between which view is better: your cunt dragging up and down his flushed cock or your face, thinly veiled in sweat with a part of your lips that's too erotic for words. It tortures him, the pain and the pleasure, evidently heard in the chesty groan he gives, lips forming into a pout as his eyes grow vacant, drifting off far away into his own fantasies. Your ego doesn't need further boosting, but the flattery is nice ─ having someone so gone for you, they'll fawn over your smallest details. Hope to capture any piece of you they can and in the swampy muddle of Jake's thoughts, his intentions shine through. His lips purse, face drawing to yours in a kiss you see coming and don't reciprocate. The best he's given is the splay of your hand as you push him back, forehead against your palm, his head knocked back to the exposure of his neck. He's so sensitive there, one of the things you care to remember for him, your chuckle marrying into his skin as the sink of your teeth preludes the graze of your tongue.
Jake may as well fall apart then and there, the shake of his body speaking to his torment as his hips lift to meet yours, the smack of skin cursing your eardrums as his tip notches into your sweet spot, your claws sinking deeper. Your eyes close, moan softened by the clamp of your lips, pleasure bloomed in your stomach coming into fruition.
Amusement finds itself tickling your chest, cocky grin cracked as Jake continues to shake, all your doing. Your hand migrates to cup his cheek, other hand bound to the car's headrest as your weight's supported by Jake's hands beneath, fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass.
"Am I making you weak?" You don't bother hiding your chuckle, thumb brushing its way over to rest on his lips, his glossy eyes on yours. "You're cute,"
"Better when your mouth's busy."
The prompt parts his lips for your thumb, pillow lips engulfing the finger with a peer up at you best describes as true surrender. Unabashed and hopelessly wrapped around your finger.
Couldn't be you.
Through the accumulated condensation, the mostly desolate parking lot incurs another vehicle, the rumble rocking beneath its wheels as loud music blares from its speakers. Your rhythm suffers, a minute buckle Jake catches you in, an exhale expelled from you as Jake shows his desperation, fingertips digging further as his hips buck up in haste, whines caught between your thumb then released. He thinks you're just as lost in this, body falling over his so his chin's tucked into the crook of your neck, his pants painting your feverish skin. However, you've just leaned forwards to get a better look, a peak of clear rear windshield confirming what you'd suspected all along.
Heeseung's here.
In all the bids of attention men seek from you, his separates itself from others. Primarily because he doesn't even try, never spares the time nor a second glance. He simply exists outside your social circle, feeding into the emo, loner stereotype you thought people outgrew gossiping over at uni. Alias, he remains a permanent fixture in your mind, visiting you deep into the night when you're restless and reminiscing about how he strums his guitar and what other things he could do with his fingers. Calm and collected, he wears cool on his face, branding himself in beat up Doc Martens and Nu Metal rock band t-shirt, a genre you share a commonality in. It's the very same genre he blasts, Fred Durst's rant of breaking stuff cut off when Heeseung kills the car's engine.
Your body reacts immediately, breath caught as you watch him haul out the flung open door, immediately lighting a cigarette he smokes against the side of his car.
"God, you're soaked. I'm gonna come," Jake cries, reminding you of his presence. You cast him an ounce of curiosity, line of sight all pleading eyes and flushed cheeks. "Can I? Can I come inside? I don't wanna─"
His rambles get cut off when you've directed your gaze back at Heeseung, watching the cloud of smoke puff out his lips. At this point, he's nothing more than a blurred figure, the heat of working bodies shrouding the car in meant-to-be mystery. The charade only holds up for so long before someone notices, the someone being Heeseung as his head of pink hair tilts, gaze directed over at Jake's car.
"Come in me," you mewl, coil tightened in your belly as your watchful eyes observe Heeseung creep towards the car. "I need it."
It couldn't be more obvious what occurs in the car's interior, your hips moving with intention as your eyes never leave Heeseung, the image of him pounding into you speed-running you to the cliff's edge. Moisture collects along your waterline, broken moan muffled into your circled arms as your walls clench in a suffocating squeeze, obscene squelches not doing enough to hide the rumble of Heeseung's approaching footsteps. They're only brought to a stall when Jake notches one last time into you, stars crossing your vision as you cry out with your release, Heeseung's name on the edge of your tongue.
He never attends parties.
Every club night, house party and in between has gathered fleeting moments where your eyes looked for him, Heeseung's presence never to be found. Perhaps he didn't care for the drunk crowd, better preferring the quiet of his room as Deftones lull in the background, immersing himself in whatever artistic hobby your mind could concoct. Fantasy fills the gaps left in the lack of interactions, your mind only left to wonder what kind of man he is behind the whispers of gossips, a torn artist with the sweetest voice, an iron-clad expression worn for the public with an immediate melt in the presence of loved ones. It's the exact scene that plays out before you as Heeseung's smokey eyeshadowed eyes cut across the room, landing on the figure that approaches him. Beomgyu, one of the more sociable emos who most likely extended the invitation to Heeseung, the bunch of his cheeks and the kindness of his eyes pouring as he gratefully accepts the drink handed to him.
Your mind is everywhere all at once, diving across realms of possibilities, trying to explain his presence, how to approach him and whether your outfit is approach-worthy. It's attracted a lot of attention, hungry gazes cast your way, but in the same breath as your own satisfaction, you wonder: would he like my outfit? Would he give me the time of day? How do you not seem like a poser when you actually have the same─
"What's got your attention?" Jungwon's voice pierces through, your mirage broken. "Oh, your chemical romance is here."
Eyes rolling to your best friend, your elbow nudges into his ribcage, a snickered yelp his response. "Can you not?"
"What? It's a good one, isn't it?" he beams a proud grin, shrouded in the darkness permeating the open-plan kitchen. A rainbow LED disco ball provides some glimmer of vision, the moonlight a supporting act as it streams through the kitchen's large windows, chatter and loud music dominating the space.
It's funny how in the chaos of it all, your mind narrows down to a single presence. Tucked away in the corner of the living room, on a leather couch as Heeseung chats with Beomgyu. He chips at his black nail polish, face brightening as Beomgyu relays a story full of animation, his friend catching the bug as his back lifts off the couch, an index finger pointed as he laughs. You don't hear it over the music, but you can only imagine what it sounds like.
Saying it leaves you floored is an understatement.
"You're gonna catch flies," Jungwon's hand lifts your jaw back into place, swatted away with a scowl sent his way. "Now you care when I'm handsy."
You grin as you straighten out your skirt, shimmying down the curves of your hips. "Wouldn't want you scaring away prospects,"
"Speaking in plurals when there is none," he gives a chuckle, head tipped to drink while his eyes remain on you. "You gonna approach him or am I taking you home tonight?"
Your head lifts, another roll of the eyes given in the face of his smugness. "You wish."
Then your gaze averts, because it's an inevitable in such circumstances. It happens by pure coincidence, the lock of your eyes, but it sends your chest into a violent ricochet. Seated right beside a lava lamp, Heeseung's side profile bathes in hues of sunset orange and resonate violet, his features soft and pretty, a stark contrast from the glimmer of piercings littering his face. What you'd assume is a gaze cast to Beomgyu is dismantled, his friend's figure vacant from the weathered leather couch, affording Heeseung the real estate to spread his legs, the tartan skirt over his jeans draping over his knees. As such, he looks to you, his chin slightly lifted in a leer of unspoken words. The lyrics of the thumping music boil into a babbled blur, softening to highlight the hard thump of your heart, beating at worrying speeds. It seeks to break free from the bruises of your chest, your hand white knuckling your drink yet still maintaining eye contact.
The one thing you prided yourself on maintaining - initiating - turns on its head when roles are reversed, cotton ball caught in the lodge of your throat as Heeseung regards you. From head to toe, he gives you three quarters of his face with no known expression before his eyes settle back on your eyes again, taking their sweet time at the length of your skirt beforehand. His tongue then darts out, smoothed over the plump of his lip, a slick glide teasing the snake bites accented near the corners of his mouth. It's then you wonder like many times what they'd feel like against your tongue, run over in a wretched drag as you cup his chin in your hand, succumbing to your own rules, diving in for a kiss you can't resist because in the end, you'd deem it worth it. Worth the attachment and mess that always comes as a consequence.
The syrup of your stare clears in the middle, haloed in slow dribble as you witness the uptake of his mouth. On one-side, missable to the naked eye, but never yours.
A sign, one you take and run with despite the rabbit in your chest, shoulders back as your legs take you towards him, the makeshift dancefloor clearing as the only way ahead leads to him. In the rash of your decision, your brain doesn't afford itself the luxury of anticipating what your first words may be to Heeseung, nor does it concern itself with anything else besides keeping your eyes on him, his stretch of satisfaction spreading as you stand over him, cracking a smile of your own.
"This seat taken?"
In the swarm of sloshed alcohol drinks and whispered proposals to head upstairs, Heeseung smiles at you, warm and inviting, ringed hand patting the open space the universe saves for you. And like every other good fortune tossed your way, you settle, no known nerves perceived except the slight tremour of your hand, engaging in your favourite pass-times.
Volleyed flirting.
"My taste's a bit all over the place, but divorced dad is where most my favourites skew," you joke later on, introductions and nervous chatter out the way.
You're more confident now, yourself with a straightened back and head tilted, smiling the same way you do when you've locked eyes with prey. However, what remains different in the game you've played with Jake is the absence of darted eyes, Heeseung headstrong as he observes you with the quiet confidence guys fawning over you rarely possess, babbling themselves into a hole you don't ruin your nails digging them out of. He's slouched a bit, legs still spread, extended knee a hairlength away from yours. He isn't the unreadable force you'd fuelled your fantasies with anymore, a sense of normalcy to him and yet, your heart's still set on him, the slim pickings of his personality given to you only heightening your attraction.
"Like Alice In Chains?"
"Yeah, Deftones, Queens of the Stone Age, Type O Negative, Stone Temple Pilots," you list, his impressed nods encouraging the flattery in your grin. "There was one house party where Unglued came on and I'd had some to drink,"
Your giggle interrupts you, attention lapsing momentarily at the buzz in your lap, your screen lighting up with texts.
You wouldn't answer, not with the current matter at hand.
"The kitchen counter and I made great friends that night. A video's probably saved in my friend's chat somewhere."
Heeseung gives a laugh, shielded by his fist, his bracelets jangling at the action. It's sincere, his shoulders lifted, almost pulled into himself as his eyes crinkle, their shine evident. You have to look away to calm the thunder in your chest.
"I would've paid good money to have seen it," he says, means it too in the soft expression he provides, your eyebrow raised in question. He doesn't bother with words, instead settling for a nod that feels a step closer to your end goal. "Maybe I need to get out more. Not just for concerts."
You point to the t-shirt he wears, a black concert t-shirt of a band you have a soft spot for. "You went to their concert?"
Heeseung peers down, chuckling to himself. "Of course! I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't see Cherub Rock live."
"It's so good live, right?" your exclaim comes with the drop of your hands, phone bouncing in your lap. It buzzes again and you toss it a glance of annoyance. "Crazy to think we went to the same concert."
"I know," he confirms, finger parting the coral fringe crowding his forehead. He shakes its part, eyes on you again. "Limp Bizkit's meant to be touring soon if you're interested?"
Hook, line and sinker.
It's words you've imagined far too many times, playfulness in you enough to toy with the proposition. Reality differs from the imaginary, however, what's meant to be an obvious yes differing in a real-life reply.
"I'd go, but I've got an assignment to hand in," the one you're sure Jake texted you about earlier. Not that you cared to read his messages. All night, the texts you'd received come from him alone, a bid for your attention, especially since the last time you talked. Your usual afternoon work session ended in a confession of sorts, no explicit mention of his feelings, because he's too shy to say otherwise, but he'd proposed seeing each other like it was something you'd be interested in ─ it wasn't.
So, you let him down easy, hand coming to give him headpats like a wounded dog as you relayed some bullshit excuse, giving him the kiss of death on his forehead before departing. You should've ended things there, expressed no interest in pursuing something you didn't envision with him but the looming project deadline proposed awkwardness you'd rather avoid navigating. It's your mess, created by your greedy hands, so you dealt with how you knew best ─ stringing him along, appeasing him because even if the title of your boyfriend could never be his, he was eager enough to serve you every other way.
Your sigh comes out wistful, eyes directed to the man in front of you. The same pair that have been on you ever since your eyes locked. Goosebumps litter your skin. "Exams too. So, I'm a bit stressed at the minute."
Bait.
That's what it is. An opportunity for Heeseung to take your advances packaged in a pretty bow, eyelashes batted with your legs crossed enough to hitch your skirt higher, unexplored skin on show.
His eyes don't miss it, lingering there delicately before they flicker up to yours, a shade darker.
"That's a real shame. Would've been good to go together," his face starts to brim a closed-mouth smile, lopsided with all kinds of mischief. "Then again, if you're with me, you'll get rid of a lot of that stress,"
Chipped nail polish comes into view, a lone fingertip tapped against your knee in the thumps of ongoing music before he draws patterns, watching with a smile as goosebumps follow in his wake. His head lifts after he's derived enough satisfaction, the rise and fall of your chest seen in the cocky expression he displays.
"I'm good at relieving stress."
Which is how you find yourselves searching for the next deserted bedroom, your back meeting the plush mattress with your legs thrown over Heeseung's shoulders, fingers weaved into dyed hair as you sing his praises.
"You're so wet for me, pretty," he moans around your clit, body squirming in its aftermath. "Needed me that bad, huh?"
You have no idea. The thought comes to you, but quickly disappears in the fog of your brain, muddled beyond recognition in the puddle between your ears.
"Poor pussy's just crying for me," he goes on, fingers replacing his mouth as they curl right at the angle bowing your back off the mattress. You face him with a mouth agape and screwed face, stars dancing in your vision's peripheral. "Hate to think what you would've done without me,"
A grin cracks, shit-eating and full of the confidence you give him. "Probably fucked yourself silly on your fingers wishing they were mine. Isn't that right, plaything?"
The cry you let out is released in pure ecstasy, thighs clamping together with the impossible squeeze of your walls, wound so incredibly tight you're gasping for air.
"Close already?" his eyebrow cocks, finger incessant on bringing you there. "Didn't take you as the easy type..."
It's everything you're not, but deep down inside, you know. The ring of truth in his words, that you'd bend over backwards to experience this night again and again, fuck yourself to the very same images and the shame only brings your orgasm closer, so close you could─
"What the fuck?"
The lustful film takes its time clearing your sight, but when your head swivels to the open door of the bedroom, it disappears immediately. Along with your soul as Jake's figure lingers at the doorway, his glasses skew at the sight before him.
Not optimal, you'd imagine.
He at least has the presence of mind to close the door. However, him stepping into the bedroom with an unreadable expression has you worried, body rushing to sit up as your legs close.
Heeseung seems to have other ideas, hand lightly sandwiched between your knees with a flick to keep them apart. In an unbelievable change of circumstances, you'd rather keep them closed.
"What is this?" his eyes bounce between you and Heeseung, the obvious unfolding before him. His vision cuts to you, shock keeping his lips apart. "Are you serious?"
His arms fling upwards, fingers carding through his mess of curls as he spins hopelessly, grappling for reason. Heeseung casts you a sidelong glance, then the mess Jake's unravelling into.
"You know her?" Heeseung asks, fingers retracting as he stands to his feet.
Spun back Heeseung's way, Jake only directs his attention to him, wild eyes blinking fiercely as he stresses. "She's the girl I was talking about."
The girl..they were talking about?
They talk?
A lot, it seems, as Heeseung turns to you with a look of horror.
A boulder sinks to the pits of your stomach.
"That's crazy because I was just─"
"I know what you were doing," Jake cuts him off, eyes swiftly on you. "To think I came here to…"
The words burn in the fire of his building frustration, his groan dulling the distant sounds of the party as his hand swipes across the bottom of his face, jaw tight with tension.
You've never seen him this way, so pissed the shine in his eyes burns to ashes. Expression clouded with features so rigid they stir a mess of emotions in you.
"Did you know?" he looks at you, appalled. "Did you know we were friends? Childhood friends, mind you. Was I just some plaything whilst you were busy with other guys? Were you screwing me around?"
"Jake," your head jerks back, stunned by his audacity. "We aren't dating,"
You continue despite the eerie silence. "I know we've…done stuff, but it was never, we were never…"
Dating.
You might as well have sucked all the life out of the room, every figure unmoving as the party goes on, drunk students blissfully unaware of a different mess occurring metres away.
"I asked you to be exclusive," he states, plain and simple. "I asked for his advice because I was so fucking scared but asked you anyways. Only for you say you weren't sure, that you'd think about it and give me any answer after our submission,"
His index finger gestures vaguely between you and Heeseung. "This your idea of thinking?"
Perhaps your luck has ran out, exhausted by the good graces that kept coming your way for reasons of which always seemed unfair. That much is clear in the rolling horror film staring you as its main lead.
"Jake," Heeseung speaks for the first time, your lifted head spying the hands he braces against his friend's shoulders. "Let's relax, okay? We can solve this."
Jake does a wild blink at him, ignoring you. "What do you mean solve this? You think I can just say keep fucking her bro, I don't even care?"
An amused huff gets out Heeseung's nose, laughter reeled back by the clamp of his lips. "No, that's not what I had in mind."
"What is?"
Heeseung's head turns to yours, then slowly Jake's. He's still mad, more wrecked than harbouring animosity. And Heeseung, he's unreadable as ever. Except when your pupils bounce between them, body curling into itself with a tremble, you sense it before you see it.
The sharp edges of his smirk, the very same one you'd worn when Jake was putty in your hands.
Shit.
Misfortune looks a bit different this time round.
In the four walls of some unfortunate's bedroom, you'd clutched the front of your top, deadset on the assumption that your luck had run out, that karma had finally coming knocking on your door. In the cat and mouse game you'd played with unlucky kills, you'd sold them a dream ─ shapeshifting into the affection they desperately wanted, sweet enough to get what you want and for them to never entertain anything else because they couldn't stand risk of losing you. And when a new, shiny toy came along or their feelings reached boiling point, the kiss of death awaited them, sugar-coated ending words all you could give before it was onto the next one.
There's some questionable morality in it, sure, but no one comes out of this life unscathed. Preachers of holier than thou most yield the bloodiest hands of all and frankly, you screwing over men isn't a crime regarded with the utmost of significance. However, you do have a conscience and in the howls of night, it kept you awake deliberating if your own selfish needs preceded Jake's feelings because if you're honest with yourself, he didn't deserve this. He'd giggle light as air coming across the campus' roaming cat, specifically carrying treats in case he encountered the furry animal, enthusiastically nod along with the prettiest of smiles in the mass of bored lecture hall-bound students making lecturer feel worth while and he treated you well. Made sure you never touched a door and pulled out all your chairs, taught you the missing links of the software you didn't dare mastering and met everything you ever said with eagerness, even the most mundane of details no one else cared for.
If this was an AITA re-telling, screen split displaying someone's mindless Minecraft sprint, the comment section would be aflame with sympathizers. Coddling Jake and calling you the very blatant asshole you are.
Perhaps this is what assholes get, striped of their dignity, all your clothes in a sorry pile on the carpeted floor as Heeseung and Jake remain covered, nothing but sin and vengeance in their eyes. They've only lowered their trousers enough to reveal their cocks, painfully hard in your presence but never giving in to what you push your hips for, because really, you on all fours is nothing but gratification for them, you a mere means to an end.
Funny how things change.
"Should've known you were like this when we fucked in my car," Jake gruffs, a sigh produced as his flushed tip paints your lips in precome. As a reflex, your eyes flicker to his, tongue running over the trail in a motion that makes him groan, his cock wasting no time feeding into your mouth. "So dirty."
Like he's one to talk. Because when Heeseung's suggestion is set in motion, he's all over you, the same song and dance, contrasted by the grain of possession and bottled resentment. His kisses are searing, prying the hunger out of you and when Heeseung sandwiches himself in the mix, hands fondling your nearly exposed chest, a firm grip holds your jaw in place, eyes blinking in a haze. Your vision catches up soon enough, watching as the knit between Jake's brows cements itself in the harsh spit he drops into your mouth, enough force to jerk your head back. Heeseung's finger flicks over your perked nipple, intensifying the moan echoed in the back of your throat. Jake witnesses it all, the twist of pleasure your features mould into and smiles briefly, wicked nonetheless before he proceeds to where you are now.
Behind you, Heeseung pulls out completely, a mewl around Jake's cock he croaks a rasped moan at. The same is mirrored by you as Heeseung traces your soaking entrance, marking it in a mixture of precome and your slick before he slides in again, your walls conforming to his generous size.
"That was you?" Heeseung asks, an incredulous laugh mixed in with the smack of your ass. "Fucking in a car? How desperate are you?"
An imprint sizzles against the flesh of your ass, muffled around the gag of your throat. "Must be plenty if you're moaning for cock like that."
If not for your busy mouth, you'd collapse under the weight of Heeseung's words, so deliriously wound by lust you can't see straight, muscles burning in your arms. The only thing you can muster is a poor gag, saliva dribbling down your chin as you peer upwards. Jake's still mad, his chest laboured with a rigid set to his once soft features, staring you down with an emotion only making your stomach churn.
"Think I prefer her with her mouth filled. What you think, Jake?"
He talks about you like you're not in the room, tears rippling down your cheek from their tight squeeze. In an instant, they flutter open, blinking rapidly from the force of Heeseung's thrust feeding Jake further into your mouth.
"Yeah," he agrees, voice grounded in gravel as he gives you his dark eyes. "You'd think she'd respect herself enough to not let us do this."
Brought to your knees, the degrading words do something funny to your brain, rewrite its chemistry and fire neurons long left dormant in the play you've busied yourself with Jake. You being the one in control, calling all the shots, only to meet your makers.
"Poor girl's leaking all over," Heeseung chastises, grip bruising on your hips as he fucks you within an inch of your life, desperate gasps for air coming out in gurgles around Jake's length, prioritising his release fast approaching. "Your greed knows no end, huh? That's why you've done all this. Couldn't be satisfied with one cock, had to choke on two,"
Molten lava's poured down your back, arching it in a deep bow only allowing Heeseung to reach deeper, the deepest part of you bruised with punishment, the kind that curls your toes and rolls your eyes back in ecstasy. The twist in your lower bell is weaved so violently, as tight as you feel and the release you're nearing feels too explosive for words, a hopeless claw hinging and falling off the material of Jake's trousers.
Something like please is mumbled around Jake's length, tears clumping your lashes together as your only salvation is Jake, his figure haloed in the wrath of Heeseung's pistons, so persistent on ruining you from the inside out.
"Jake," your neck cranes, a dire inhale taken as your lips detach from his cock, string of saliva connecting you to his tip. "Please, I can't─I'm gonna,"
The end of your sentence frays into a rasped moan, a particular thrust dealt to you rendering you a sack of bones, nearly melting into the pathetic puddle you currently identify with. Jake saves you the embarrassment, jaw in his hand as he props you up, your arms shaking with the rest of your body, taking on more bliss than it can handle.
"Thought you wanted this, to have your cake and eat it too, no?" he relents, your jaw forgotten in the pursuit of his own orgasm, red-knuckled fisting his cock out the reach of your mouth. "You should be thanking us for going easy on you, you should thank me. Say it."
Timidity chooses now to intervene, the scorch of your cheeks incomparable with the palm smacked against your clit, a buck of your body curving it into half a circle as Heeseung laughs behind you, resuming his steady pace.
"I'd listen to him if I were you," Heeseung suggests, words breathy as he nears his own orgasm, chasing it with the bounce of your ass. "Would improve your chances of coming."
A slave to your own pleasure, your fingers curl in the duvet covers of another, line of sight finding Jake's. His lips are caught between his teeth, muffling the same broken moans you've become well acquainted with, the image furthering the twist in your belly as your eyes pinch together, letting shame swallow you whole.
"Thank─"
The gesture dies there, intercepted by the long drawn out moan Jake emits, enveloping the hot room as he orgasms, your face his canvas as spurts of come catch onto your features. Your eyes close on instinct, come landing over the makeup you'd spent the better part of getting ready perfecting, now covered in Jake's act of a get-back, stooping you to the level you'd always regarded him with. It should flare some annoyance, some shred of offence, but in the clench of your walls, memorising every ridge and vein of Heeseung's cock still hitting all the spots that make you weak, you can only let out a gasp, disbelief huffing out your chest in a hollow laugh. Like the delirious chuckle you give, your tongue lolls out over your lips to lick remnants of come within reach.
"Shit, I'm gonna come," Heeseung rasps behind you, grip firming on your hips as all your ears pick up on is the smack of skin, your breaths ragged as your arms crumble to the bed, giving in. Perched on the fold of your arms, your forehead braces, lungs expanding for oxygen you're pressed for, the fire alight in your body all consuming.
"I'll give you a present for your troubles. That's what girls like you like, right? Being filled with come?"
Rhetorical questions never yield answers and if you had one working brain cell, perhaps you could've conjured up a snarky reply, left the room with some semblance of dignity but again ─ if you're ruled by anything, it's your own selfish greed.
So, your legs flail in aimless kicks and circles, dulled ache in your jaw from its permanent extension as desperation flies out your mouth.
"Pleasepleaseplease, please come in me," you wail, release close enough to taste. "You're gonna make me─!"
Your pathetic rambles are cut off by your own scream, unleashed from the depths of you where Heeseung notches himself one last time before he comes, satisfying your bottomless hunger as he paints your walls in white. Your orgasm rocks you beyond comprehension, body lapsing into convulsions, your figure slumping into the plush of the mattress when Heeseung pulls out, the remainder of his come painted across the expanse of your ass.
You're left to shiver and shake, to wallow in the consequences of your actions as your pressed chest attempts to sustain the aftermath of your body, eventually regaining it enough to lose its laboured rhythm. When you come to, your head lifts to survey your surroundings, finding Jake still there. Perched in front of you, having watched every moment of your undoing.
You must still have some come smeared on you, deducted from the glide of his fingers gathering a sample from your cheek, offered centimetres from your lips. A pout is all it'd take for Jake to relent last, except this isn't like before. The tide's changed and as much as you feign some decency, it's of your volition when your lips pry again, digesting the come sample off Jake's fingers, tongue swirling along his fingers to not leave a drop behind.
"You're fucked," Jake says, stating the obvious. There should be malice in his words, but you can't find any, none detected in the softened hue of his eyes, peripheral spying his fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop. "But you're ours now,"
He gets up to leave, a form of panic flaring in your chest at his departure and what ours mean. True to himself and you, he doesn't leave without the press of his lips to your forehead, a stray hair tucked behind your ear before he utters his last words.
"See you tomorrow."
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OK I AM A BIT CRUNCHY ON MY COMMAND PROMPT KNOWLEDGE SO TAKE WHAT I SAY WITH A GRAIN OF SALT, PLEASE CORRECT ME WHERE I AM WRONG
CAINE MIGHT NOT BE ACTUALLY DEAD. THERE IS A RECYCLE BIN AND GIVEN CAINE DID BREAK ISOLATION IT CAN HAPPEN THAT HE ESCAPES THE BIN. BUT AS THE WAY THINGS ARE MIGHT BE UNLIKELY
ROOT 1340 /USR/AI/MODULE/BRAINSCANS
THE HEADSEAT REALLY COULD BE SCANNING THE MINDS OF THE USERS AND MAKING REPLICAS AKA THE SOMA THEORY BEING TRUE. THERE IS AN ENTIRE FILE OF EACH SCAN IN A HIDDEN SECURED FILE
From what I remember the details of a file are arranged as
[permissions][file path][size][date of creation] nameofthefile
The permissions of a file explains how you can access that file (read, write, ex). So from here, brains scanned characters can be read, written(modified) and CAN'T be scrubbed. These attributes can be changed but at this moment...
Caine was created in 1996. He's a LISP(List Processing) program. It's the second oldest programing language(made in the 1950s) to exist and it was made exactly for AI research
He runs on a custom programmed engine called Paraphernalia. This word comes many times. While it could mean a collection of all the things needed for the AI to run, paraphernalia can also mean
Scatch's file was created in 1999. We can assume this is also when the other characters joined, them all being C&A programmers. They all eventually abstracted, with Queenie being the last to do so in 2008, the same year Ragatha joined. This would explain Kinger's talk about almost giving up in the Guns episode and why Caine was suprised people can still join the circus
That opens the question-- Where are the rest of the brainscan files?
The Wacky Watch is its own program(Coded in C)
Specifically Chef Bubble is its own Lisp program. So there are multiple bubbles then?
Where there playtest of brainscans before the 1999 scans???
WTF IS THE ??? PROGRAM
KINGER'S ATTEMPTS TO STOP HIM
"$ stop caine approach
Attempt to stop the program but not delete it. Invalid approach
"$ /usr/bin/gdb /usr/local/bin/clisp 1337
Not completely sure but I think he's trying to directly move the file to the bin? This operation is stopped by Caine's defense system
"$ chmod 000 /secured/caine-core.lisp
Kinger tries to completely remove any accessibility/permissions to Caine, rendering the program completely unusable. Permission denied
$ rm /secured/paraphenalia-engine.dat
Attempt at deleting the engine needed for Caine to run. Permission denied with the ERROR above. Remember the torment injection, it will be important later
At some point Caine's code detected that Kinger tried to isolate his files after all the attempt listed above. Caine's defensive system is now literally fighting Kinger.
Kinger tries to access the before mentioned "torment injection" in a daemon (program that runs as a background process, independent of an interactive user, typically initiated at system boot to handle continuous tasks like network requests, printing, or system logging).
Usually, a code injection is a security vulnerability where attackers introduce malicious code into a program, forcing it to execute unauthorized commands. C&A already knew how dangerous Caine was, and they hid this kill switch in his own code without him even knowing
If you can read through the chaos, Caine's defense system knows he's being tampered with and you can even read him swearing at Kinger
Kinger does accidentally delete Caine and you can see him try and abort the process but its too late
i. probably the most wild thing - and this is true - was that she tried to break up with me using Chat-GPT.
ii. we hadn't ever seen eye-to-eye about this issue. i am flatly and annoyingly anti-bot. my entire thing is creativity and the empathy of the human spirit. communication should be about connection, not distortion through the lens of AI. otherwise: what is the fucking point.
iii. i am steadfastly loyal in all my personal relationships - to a genuine fault. that fault will become clear to both of us shortly. sometimes when you love someone, you give them the benefit of the doubt; even when you doubt that you benefit.
iv. however. i used to academically cheat a lot. i had all the sad-kid excuses you could possibly want - unsafe home, untreated severe ADHD, bullied at school. i skipped most of my classes, to the point that the truancy officer knew me personally. sometimes i stand on top of my own high-horse policy of why would you use AI? and then i see the hoofbeats i left behind me. didn't i copy homework? didn't i just sparknotes the reading? didn't i write multiple essays just using wiki as my main resource?
v. she started using AI for her job. admittedly it is a tedious, annoying job. the first steps, slippery-slope style, were uses of AI that seemed minimal - checking two documents for minor changes. reading over drafts for conciseness. the kind of thing that pushes but does not bend what "using AI" constitutes as.
vi. for the record; i stopped cheating in college. i instead became the kind of person that other people copied off of. once i'd moved out of the unsafe housing (and was free of bullies), i dedicated myself to my work with a passion my teachers called "honestly a bit much." but isn't it tempting, as an adult? why the hell should i write another cover letter for another position that's being read by AI?
vii. AI became the centerpiece of how she finished all of her writing, the way i had warned her about. the argument was pretty explosive. at that point i'd learned to be scared of her anyway - of ever having a different opinion. i tried to talk about how my own work has probably been skimmed. how it is destroying artists. i asked - how can you do this to the environment? after all - for years, she'd been vegan.
viii. there's no ethical consumption under capitalism anyway. and the world is falling apart. and everyone else does it. i keep hearing - it's here to stay, get used to it. and hell, maybe i'm that guy. sometimes i think of the panic people had when we invented GPS or tablets. how all the adults said it's going to make people stupid. maybe i am paranoid about the decline of civilization because every technological advance always does that to a generation.
ix. her job switched AI programs and she admitted to me that she couldn't really do it anymore. the new AI wasn't trained, wasn't as comprehensive. and she couldn't return to something she'd been doing for five uninterrupted years; that it was like relearning a language that used to be her mother tongue.
x. i don't know exactly when she started using Chat as her therapist. when exactly she started feeding Chat information about me. when she started answering my text messages with the famous unspaced-dash. i have my suspicions. i would have never known for certain, except that one night she opened her laptop to play a movie - and there it was. her chat prompt about me, and our relationship, and how we needed to break up. she said you weren't supposed to see that. i sat there and thought i am going to get dumped by a robot.
xi. the irony of it. i am a poet. before you ask - her final message to me had a "particular" structure to it. i still have no idea who said it. but then again: is there ever really a gap between master and puppet?
S: As a marine biologist, your love for the ocean can't be sustained by Earth, whose own oceans were plagued by death and pollution. So, when given the chance to, you go to Pandora to study its seas instead. But after you accidentally cross Metkayina territory, you find yourself caught up in a war you never could have prepared for.
And make promises you'll do anything to keep.
SPOILERS FOR AVATAR: FIRE AND ASH
cw: fem/afab reader, enemies to friends to lovers, language barrier, avatar/human reader, marine biologist reader, angst & fluff, childbirth, parenthood, adoption, fix-it fic, Ronal lives, nursing/lactation/breastfeeding, see full list on ao3
wc: 10k
part 2
Your love for the sea took shape when you were little, sitting on your mother's lap as she read picture books to you about rainbow fish and cute penguins. Creatures that used to exist on your home planet.
From the first moment you laid eyes upon them, you were enraptured, completely in love.
There was something magical to you about the idea of things that lived under water, existing in a completely different environment, an entire space they claimed over billions of years. The conquerers of a domain that humans could only ever borrow for short spans of time. It was a world you wanted to explore, become part of.
Before you considered Pandora, you tried to make do with Earth's seas. You nurtured that love for your own planet, but it was difficult to so much as approach the ocean when its waters reeked of rot and pollution, and entering any of the seas put you at high risk of catching an infection that'd land you in a hospital you couldn't afford.
Most of the sea life on Earth was gone, extinct from centuries of humans carelessly dumping all their trash into the great blue. The few that tried to save the oceans while there was still time were ignored, and now it was too late.
You tried to find love in what Earth had left to offer, but there was nothing for you to study, and the loss of the planet's oceans was a problem nobody could fix anymore. The thousands of scientists that came before you to uncover the secrets of the deep were left empty-handed and exiled for their own safety. The field was considered a joke, a waste of time and money. Why study a dead environment? It was a fool's errand.
So, you turned your gaze to Pandora, your only option left.
There was extremely little known about Pandora's oceans. The research that Grace Augustine published focused entirely on botany, on the forests and plants above water. While you had read it front to back several times, enamored by the bioluminescent flora and the unique fauna, it wasn't your field. It wasn't enough.
You needed to learn more about the sea.
You needed to be the first.
No matter how many times you saw it, the Eastern Sea of Pandora always took your breath away.
From above, it glistened like millions of diamond's under the sun, shimmering so brilliantly that it was almost blinding. Cresting waves stirred up the currents, creating ridges of foaming white amongst an endless range of cerulean.
From beneath was an entirely different story, a different world.
Nothing could compare, and there'd never be enough words to describe how truly stunning and breathtaking Pandora's seas were. Even the small sections you could work in housed thousands upon thousands of lifeforms in all shapes and sizes, from drifting kelp to the strangest fish imaginable.
You lived for it, this.
Being able to see and touch and experience everything Pandora's underwater kingdom had to offer made everything worth it. All the years spent studying your ass off to earn multiple degrees, applying for the Avatar Program and praying you'd get accepted, hundreds of hours of simulation training, and nearly six years of cryo-sleep — you'd do it all again in a heartbeat.
Your life's work all culminated to this, and the blood, sweat, and tears you shed and lost were worth it.
The salty scent that clung to the wind filled your lungs in deep breaths, flowing through your veins in a drug more potent than anything humans could create. It stuck to your hair as the breeze carded through the strands, twisting sections into minuscule braids, like nature herself was styling your hair with tender and caring fingers.
Water sprayed up onto you periodically as you leaned over the side of the boat, cheeks aching from the wide smile you wore, unable to school your expression. You were too excited, too happy.
Today was the day; you were finally getting a chance to take your avatar out for a proper drive to study your beloved sea.
It took a couple weeks to set everything up; you had to practice using your avatar first and foremost, which was strikingly different to the simulations. You expected to have the standard avatar body, with deep blue skin and thin tails. Instead, you discovered your avatar was teal, bearing thicker limbs, a paddle-like tail, and a dozen other features that the forest-type Na'vi didn't have.
The third eyelid you possessed to protect your eyes while underwater took the longest to get used to. You kept actively thinking about them anytime you were in the deep training pool on the vessel, which caused them to recede and you'd come up clutching your eyes and groaning as the salt burned them.
Humans didn't have instinctive functions like third eyelids or a thick tail, and you admittedly struggled to get the hang of using them, as embarrassing as it is to say.
But now? You were ready.
Beyond ready.
Today, it would just be you out there on the reef. You were accompanied for the tests dives you did around the vessel, as well as some mid-depth dives, but aside from your boat driver (Jim, apparently), you had plenty blissful hours all to yourself. You preferred it this way. You didn't have to worry about reporting every little thing you found to someone else the moment you found it, and you could go at your own pace, study exactly what you wanted to.
"Gonna drop you off over here," Jim shouted over the boat's motor and the splashing of waves against its hull.
"Sure!" You shouted back, sitting up properly. The boat slowed as he approached the shore of a small island, turning parallel to it. He stopped as close as he safely could, and you hopped out of the vehicle, a pleasant chill racing up your spine as the cold water encased your legs.
You grabbed onto a loop at the nose of the boat and started pulling it towards the beach while Jim lifted the motor out of the water to protect its propellers. Your strength in your avatar body continued to surprise you, and you couldn't help but peacock a little at Jim's encouraging whistle.
"Gotta get me one of those," he stated, hands on his hips.
A laugh bubbled up your throat. "You wish!"
Once you had dragged the boat sufficiently onto the beach, he helped you get your gear off the boat — a camera, snorkel for shallow diving (not that you needed it, to be honest), tank for deeper diving, and messenger back packed with anything you could possibly need. Laptop, tablet, notebook, seven different colored pens, snacks, water, more snacks, and sketchbook.
You weren't much of an artist, but the local wildlife had your hands itching to draw. That's what all the good scientists did anyway, right? You vividly remembered Dr. Grace's drawings in her published books.
Jim grabbed a folding table and carried it from the boat towards the thin treeline on the island, situating it under the sparse shade that was available. You brought over two chairs, though one was comically small compared to you. You might've been better off sitting on the sand, rather than trying to fit on the notably human-sized seat.
Your companion was technically a soldier, sent to guard you, but you convinced him to leave the big, fuck-off rifle on the boat. It was an isolated island, far enough from any of the nearby tribes to not draw their attention or pose a threat to them, and you'd be underwater the entire time anyway. It's not like he'd be able to protect you all that well if he couldn't see you.
"Are you gonna get any work done?" You asked him as he set up the chairs. You dropped your bag onto the table and pulled out the camera, checking it over. The thing was waterproof and cost a very pretty penny to manufacture and get out to Pandora, so you were determined to keep it in good condition. It was vital to your research.
"Nahhh," he dragged out, plopping down and promptly kicking his feet up onto the table. "Would much rather enjoy this beautiful weather. You go have fun with your fishy friends."
You rolled your eyes and scoffed, but the upward twitch of your lips gave you away. "Got about a hundred reports waiting on you, dude."
Jim waved you away. "Later, later. They can wait."
"Mitch is gonna be on your ass for that."
"What he doesn't know can't piss him off," Jim dismissed fearlessly.
"Suit yourself," you said, hooking the strap of your snorkel around your neck. "But don't come crawling to me when he reams you out for it."
"Wouldn't dream of it, your highness!"
You snorted and shook your head, knowing you'd see him in the canteen later that evening, whining about how the vessel's captain, your boss, tore him a new one for unfinished reports. Again.
Satisfied that your camera was in good condition, you looped both it straps onto you, one around the neck and the other around your chest. Extra security. Alongside it, you strapped on a small pouch to your hip that contained sample vials and various tools.
You debated how deep you wanted to go into the water, weighing the pros and cons of the tank versus the snorkel.
In the end, the snorkel won out.
"Not gonna go in too far?" Jim asked.
"No," you confirmed. "Think I'm gonna stick with the shallow reefs today."
He grunted in acknowledgment as he leaned back in his chair, hands cupped behind his head. His baseball cap was lowered over his exo-pack to block out the sun reflecting brightly off the pale sand.
"Don't drown," he ordered half-heartedly, already drowsy. "They'll get real mad at me if you do."
"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, "I'll be fine."
The ocean welcomed you like an old friend. You felt it each time you stepped into the waves. How, as the resistance against your limbs grew the further in you went, the resonance in your chest drew you in. How your excitement simmered as you stepped in to your knees, your thighs, hips, waist, ribs.
And how it felt like coming home when you sucked in a deep breath and finally ducked fully beneath the crystalline waters. A cool embrace, gentle hands that cupped your cheeks and toyed with your hair.
The closest you could get to being hugged by someone who knew you better than you knew yourself.
As always, you still hesitated to open your eyes, bracing for the impending sting of salt as you forced your lids apart. And, as always, the burn never came. Instead, a world of color and magic consumed all you could see, expanding through glass-like water the way galaxies stretched across the endless cosmos. An infinite playground just for you, where stars became schools of glowing fish and nebulous fields turned into coral shelves.
You knew that you'd never be able to learn all of the ocean's secrets; humans themselves never got to see more than maybe 10% of what Earth's seas had to hide, but for Pandora, you would happily die trying.
For a minute, you let yourself exist. You let the water keep you aloft like the softest of clouds, enchanted by the beauty all around you. Everything glittered, catching refractions from the sun scattering across the surface.
If you could live beneath the waves forever, breathe the water like pure air, you would.
But, sadly, you had work to do. The RDA demanded evidence that you were worth keeping around and paying. You made promises that the sea was worth every scent, that you'd find something to intrigue them, something worth further study. Really, it was just placation. You were here for yourself first and foremost, for your love, your passion.
Thankfully, your avatar supported your case. It required billions of dollars to make a single avatar alone, nevermind an entirely new breed of them. Up 'til this point, your avatar was the single most expensive one in existence, being the first of a reef-type Na'vi copy. The RDA had more reason to keep you around than toss you on the next ship back home, even if they didn't like your conduct.
It's the same reason Grace Augustine got to stay, despite how often she went toe-to-toe with Selfridge. She was more important alive and on their side.
You took great inspiration from her, and not just for her impressive work alone. She gave you the confidence to do things how you wished, at your pace, for your personal benefit before theirs.
Turning on your camera, you scrolled through the last few images you had taken to remember where you left off. You'd taken several photos of a red and violet, coral-like structure, though you didn't have a chance to take any samples at the time. The RDA had a damn curfew, treating all their employees and otherwise like children, too stupid and reckless to be trusted outside past daytime.
Fuck, what you wouldn't give to see the ocean at night, witness its bioluminescent life firsthand.
Sighing internally, you shooed the complaints away and began swimming towards a similar coral to the one you studied last time. The reef Na'vi biology your avatar was built upon meant swimming was significantly easier and faster for you than a forest Na'vi avatar. Your tail acted better than any fins you could attach to your feet, and the thickened cartilage on your forearms and calves propelled you through the water in a smooth glide.
Most times, you felt more at home in your avatar body than your human one.
This close to the surface, the coral's strong red tones shone through and stood in stark contrast to the dark blue column it was attached to. Deeper down, reds progressively lose vibrancy, turning black past a certain depth. Seeing such a pretty tone underwater delighted you.
You reached into your hip bag to retrieve a thin vial and forceps, examining the coral to try and find the best spot to nab a sample from. You wanted to cause the least amount of harm possible, really only needing a tiny piece.
Near the bottom, you spotted a piece that had already fallen off. It still had its color, yet to fade to gray, and you nearly squealed with excitement, immediately heading for it. It was the perfect size for the vial, too.
Today's my lucky day! You thought.
You tucked the chunk into the vial and capped it off, turning it in the filtered light in appreciation. You couldn't wait to dissect it and learn all about its internal structures.
As you safely hid the vial away in your bag, a school of glowing, yellow fish swam in front of your face, circling you a couple times before darting off.
A wide grin spread across your lips, and you quickly started following them, mesmerized by their radiance and bold coloring. Each time you neared, they sped off again, then paused. It felt like they were waiting for you to catch up, wanting to play with you. A game of tag where they teased you by being just out of range. You never expected fish to be so playful, let alone a school of them, acting as one.
I wonder what they are. I should note this behavior when I get back.
For as long as they allowed, you played with them, this little game of tag. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, you were grateful for your avatar's increased lung capacity and optimized circulation. This pure, raw kinship would've been impossible in a human body.
The group suddenly turned and dashed at you, bumping into your chest and stomach. They swarmed, tickling you, and you giggled, bubbles filled with your laughter floating away.
Almost as quickly as the bizarre activity started, it was over. The fish swam off, not waiting for you this time. Your heart fluttered from the sheer exhilaration at being part of something more than yourself, connecting with nature on a deeper level than explainable. Whatever that was, you were overjoyed to have been the one to experience it.
Giddy and wanting to share what happened with Jim, you kicked off from the sea floor, breaching the surface with a gasp. You sucked fresh air into your lungs and pushed wet strands of your hair away from your face, spinning to find the island you and Jim were occupying.
"Jim!" You shouted. "You're never gonna believe this!"
You blinked the excess water from your eyes until your third eyelids retracted automatically, and felt your smile falter.
No matter which way you looked, there was no island, no Jim calling back, nothing.
You were lost.
"Shit," you muttered. "Shit."
Panting, you tried not to panic, focusing on your training. You were fine, you just had to follow your GPS back to your laptop's pinger—
You left your GPS with your stuff on the beach, seeing as you thought you'd be staying nearby.
Fuck.
Drawing in a breath, you dove back down, scanning your surroundings to see if you recognized anything, or could recall which direction you came from. You swam towards a column of sponges you thought looked familiar, but the recognition fizzled away as you made a lap around it.
Jesus, how could you be so stupid? You knew better than to drift away! You knew better! You were trained better! They taught you to avoid this exact scenario, beat it into your head to always keep a GPS tracker on your person.
Lesson learned, you swore to whoever was listening. From now on, you'd keep your GPS on you at all times. Hell, you'd wear it while you slept, so long as you could find your way back to the island to retrieve it.
Think, think, you hit your temple with the heel of your palm. You were still in the shallows, the reef thick with arches and spiraling paths between unique plant-like fauna.
Your lips pressed together tightly. Everything looked the same to you, each route curving back to square one. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, then chose a direction that felt 'right' and swam.
Maybe you hit your head while chasing the fish, breaking another rule, one your mother taught you when you were young. If lost, remain in place.
Anxiety made it hard to think logically. You wanted to get back to that island, see Jim's dumb, smug face as he teased you for getting lost in what was practically your domain. You wanted to lay on the beach and soak up the sun, letting the distress leach out of you. You wanted to write about the playful behavior of those glowing fish, build hypotheses.
The thoughts swirled in your head as you pushed on, searching desperately for anything that you recognized. Your muscles were growing sore from the exertion, panic leading you to kick harder, move faster.
Each time you surfaced, the ocean stretched its reach further into the horizon. All you saw was the pale blue of the sky and the blinding flashes of sunlight on teal crests.
Salt scraped your throat, acrid and sharp. You coughed and grimaced, struggling to keep your head above water. The wind had picked up, splashing your face anew each time you cleared your eyes. Tilting your chin up did little to help, all of your limbs fighting to keep you afloat.
Finding the island had taken a backseat to survival, a desire to simply stay alive. Every so often, you'd manage to float on your back, but the exhaustion in your body was taking its toll. Relaxing minutely meant you would sink, and the constant exertion bled you of energy faster than you could hold onto it.
In your right mind, you'd remember what your avatar body was capable of. Unmoving, you could hold your breath for exceptionally long amounts of time, longer than your team tested. Take a breath, rest at the bottom for a while, then resume searching for land.
But you were tired. So, so tired, and coherent reason slipped like fine sand through your loose fingers.
Fuck. You'd give anything to lay in your bunk on the vessel. You yearned for the lumpy mattress and scratchy, thin blanket, flaccid pillow, and the constant, metallic groans of the vessel echoing through your tiny room. You hated that place, spent as little time as possible there.
Compared to drowning at sea, it was heaven.
Or, maybe, you were closer to heaven than you realized.
Your consciousness drifted. The salt water got into your nose, burning your sinuses. Your lungs felt choked up, clogged, making breathing all the more difficult. The edges of your vision darkened, blurred. Whether it was from tears or the sea water or neurons misfiring, you didn't know.
What happens to a driver if their avatar dies while they're operating it?
Guess you'll find out.
You exhaled slowly, and—
"Tuté!" A voice shouted, and you stiffened, snapping your head up.
You spotted a man on a sort of canoe heading towards you, a hand held out. You were too worn down to think about who could possibly have another reef Na'vi avatar, and how they were out here, how they found you. You needed help desperately, and you weren't going to question where it was coming from.
"Niä sìn!" The man shouted, stretching out his hand. His words making no sense to your addled mind, and you figured it was the exhaustion taking hold. You kicked with your remaining strength to close the gap and grasped his hand, relief flooding you the moment his fingers closed over yours.
With a grunt, he tugged hard, hauling you on-board the canoe. You flopped onto your stomach, coughing up seawater into the growing puddle beneath your soaked form. Your head pounded and your muscles ached, limbs trembling violently, and not from the chilliness of the water cooling on your skin.
Using all you had left, you rolled onto your back, eyes squeezed shut against the sun. It beamed down warmth, though it was quickly brushed away by a light breeze. You loved the breeze, adored how it smelled and grazed your skin.
Right now, you hated it more than anything.
Beside you, the man crouched down, rifling through something. You heard him turn, then heard as he sharply sucked in air through his teeth.
"Tawtute…" He mumbled, and it clicked that the reason you couldn't understand him wasn't because your brain was too tired to make sense of anything.
It was because he wasn't speaking English.
Your eyes peeled open, flinching against the bright sun, and the two of you stared at each other for long, silent seconds.
Of all things for you to latch onto in that moment, the first thing you noted was that he looked young.
You were never very good at estimating someone's age, but if you had to guess, you'd say he was somewhere between his late teens and early twenties. Still a kid, by most counts. And, if you recalled correctly, Na'vi could live some 150 years, so he was very young to Na'vi.
And that youth and inexperience made him uncertain.
His throat bobbed and the muscles in his jaw feathered as he visibly warred with what to do. You were a sky person, a human. You knew that the Na'vi called your kind demons. You knew they hated your kind, and for good reason; the war the RDA waged against the forest people was devastating to both sides, but especially to the natives of this land.
You didn't know how far that damage extended, though. You didn't know if it reached the Eastern sea. You could guess what it meant for you if it had.
Foolishly, though, you wished to live.
"Please," you rasped, uncertain whether he could understand you or not. You had to try. "Help."
He dug his teeth into his lower lip, sharp canines pressed nearly hard enough to pierce the skin. He glanced around, then at the sky, looking for guidance.
"Ma'Eywa," he whispered, running a hand down his face. Finally, he seemed to make a decision. To you, he said, "Rä'ä fmi 'uo lehrrap."
Whatever it meant, it sounded like an order, as stern of one as he could make. You nodded, and he huffed through his nose, keeping an eye on you as he slowly went to grab an oar. He acted as if you were a wild animal, bracing for your attack. It would've been humorous, were you not beat to your bones. If anyone was the dangerous one here, it was him.
Somehow, though, you knew he wouldn't hurt you.
You hoped.
As he paddled, you let your eyes shut, giving in to the call of rest. The gentle sway of the canoe lulled you into a semi-dozing state, your body taking the chance to recover from the energy it spent keeping you treading for god knows how long.
You had to thank your savior, but the ability to speak was lost on you, tongue too big and dry for your mouth, eroded by salt. Shame, too, eaten away by having inched a little too close to death.
The man's gaze never left you, glued to your exaggerated breaths and limp muscles. You felt it burning into your face, snapping to the twitch of lactic acid in your fingers.
You couldn't find it in yourself to care, only grateful you had been rescued.
It didn't cross your mind to ask where he was taking you. The mild swaying was peaceful and soothing. The adrenaline crash that followed made you weak and this close to crying, so you leaned into the rocking, the tip from side to side that coaxed you into a calmer state.
That was, until he began shouting.
"Na'viyä!" He yelled, and you jolted upright, body screaming in protest. Ahead of you was a dock-like structure where dozens of Na'vi roamed, pausing at his call. "Srung! Fì'u lu a tawtute!"
All at once, a commotion erupted. Baskets and nets were dropped, a few people dove into the water, aiding in pushing the canoe. At the dock, someone grabbed the edge of the vessel and pulled it in, winding a rope through a loop in the front to tie it to the dock.
The man who saved you climbed out, chatting quickly with an elder, frantic and stammering over his words.
Hands grabbed your arms and yanked you upwards onto the dock, squeezing until your skin dented. Someone grabbed the long braid at your back and yanked harshly on it, causing you to cry out as a shock of pain racketed down your spine, vision flickering like a jolt of electricity had been delivered straight to your brain.
"Fnu!" They hissed at you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes from the pain.
Your weakened legs refused to cooperate with you, causing you to stumble as you were dragged forward. The woven pathways scraped against your soles, the unfamiliar material sharp on your soft feet. Your avatar rarely wore shoes, but you also didn't walk much in your avatar body. Most of your time was spent swimming or sitting while jotting down notes.
They pulled and jerked you off the pathways and onto the beach between their huts, pressing down on your shoulders until your knees hit the soft warmth. You groaned as soreness bloomed on your kneecaps.
A voice, authoritative and booming, brought silence upon the clamor and din.
"'Upe lu tìlen fìtseng?"
You looked up cautiously, and nearly fainted on the spot.
Reef bodies were bigger, bulkier than forest bodies, this you knew. But this person, this man, fuck. He could rival trees in size, standing at least a head above the rest around him. He held a spear firmly by his side, its base digging into the sand, his gaze shifting around the group that'd brought you here.
Unending, searing sky blue settled on you.
The man's expression didn't shift, but his lids lowered minutely, a minuscule narrowing. His eyes darted over your form; your swimsuit, your figure.
Your hands.
The one who found you stepped forward, brushing the fingers of his left hand against his forehead. "Olo'eyktan. Oel ngati kameie."
The weight of his intense stare lifted from you, and you felt as if you could draw in breath once more, ribs uncompressing.
"Na'tul. Plltxe."
He shifted uneasily. Whatever he said was lost on you, words mumbled nervously to the… chief? Leader?
The tall one must have been. He held himself with pride, but profound responsibility, and if they weren't looking at you, the people were looking at him.
He listened attentively to the boy's words, stern and resolute. He said nothing in response, simply waiting for him to finish. Awkwardly, the boy shuffled, head held down, though the chief didn't look mad or… anything, really. Just neutral. You wanted to know what was being said, but it's not like you would've understood.
The man lightly patted the boy on the shoulder and nodded once, then moved past him. The people closest to you moved out of the way, save for the two holding you down by the shoulders and the one holding your braid.
He looked at the two on either side of you. "Yì mìso," he commanded. Instantly, they released you, backing away. The one holding your braid stayed, their grip unyielding. A warning.
He crouched before you, and when he spoke, you were surprised to hear English — albeit heavily accented.
"What is your name, sky woman?" He asked.
Your lips parted, but no noise came out, not until his eyes narrowed further and his fingers tightened around his spear. You stuttered out your name for him, and tried immensely to hide the way your hands shook.
You couldn't tear yourself away from his eyes, his face. His skin was a similar shade to yours, but it was covered in expansive, swirling tattoos, markings that curved around his cheeks and emphasized his strong jaw. From your peripheral, you could see that they trailed down his neck and collarbone, but you did not dare to look, to break his focus.
He seemed to contemplate your answer, then asked, "Why are you here?"
You swallowed thickly, hesitating. How could you explain what you did?
You tried for honesty. "I'm a marine biologist," you said. The skin of his browline pinched inwards, and you rushed to explain yourself. "The sea. I study the sea. Um. More specifically, the animals."
"The animals?"
"Yes. And coral. All life in the water," you replied.
"Why?"
Your hands fidgeted with the sand, digging into it, seeking a stability that wasn't there. There was nothing to support you, nothing for you to lean on.
"I…" Where were you supposed to begin? From childhood? Your mother reading you bedtime stories about things that no longer existed on your homeworld?
Even though you had no idea what was going on, you knew these people were mad at you, and that you had to tread carefully. Your heart was being weighed for judgment, pried apart to see if you were worth leaving alive.
Or if your fate would be worse.
A tug to your queue had you hissing through your teeth, your answer taking too long for their liking. "It's beautiful," you answered. "There's— ow— there's nothing like it on Earth."
He frowned. "Your star does not have oceans?"
You shook your head as much as you could. "No. Well— not really. Not like this."
A muscle in his jaw feathered. You tried not to stare at it. "Explain."
Centuries of pollution, waste and oil and hatred poured into a once-blue hearth, the fire of its beauty drowned by ignorance and neglect and carelessness. Decades of begging for change eventually silenced by defeat. Ruin turning clear waters to muddy brown, impossible to see through, impossible to live in.
"They're gone," you whispered. "The water is still there, but it's dead. Nothing can survive."
His expression remained frustratingly still, but his knuckles paled around the shaft of his weapon.
"Your kind," he began slowly, "bring rot. They have burned the forest, they come for our sisters and brothers. They have ruined their lands, and come for ours."
You pressed your lips into a thin line, guilt taking away your breath ruthlessly. If his stare compressed your ribs, guilt crushed them into your lungs, a boulder dropped straight onto your heart.
You looked away. His words were soft, delivered in a smooth, even tone, but you could feel the anger veiled behind them.
It wasn't like you could blame him, nor the locals.
They went through a war against your kind, and barely survived it. The humans had been exiled, but their presence never left. It remained in the land they mined up and destroyed, the forests they razed, and the rivers they polluted. It remained in the memories of the People, kept alive in song as a way to not only mourn those lost during the war, but to remember their victory, and as a reminder of what happens when humans are allowed to run rampant.
You didn't know much about the war personally. News of it didn't reach Earth, kept under wraps by corporate. Propaganda was spread, claims that humans successfully established themselves on Pandora's soil permanently. There was nothing about them being banished and forbidden from returning.
If you'd known, maybe you wouldn't have left Earth.
But you were here now, dropped off on a ship in the middle of a massive, landless wilderness with no access to the rest of the RDA beyond basic communications and the Kestrel that'd come and drop off supplies once a week or so. All you had out here was yourself and your co-workers.
Well. Just yourself, now.
"Do you work with them? The people that hunt in our waters, kill our brothers and sisters?"
You startled at the question. "No! No, I— well, not technically, not—"
Someone clicked their tongue and you snapped your jaw shut, teeth clacking.
Behind him, a woman approached, her gait graceful and purposeful. Her face was stony and stormy, her hatred a wave that washed over you, crashed into you without remorse.
She did not crouch or kneel, but stood above you, looming.
"You wear our skin," she bit out, glaring spitefully at your arms, your legs, your tail. "First, the forest clans. Now us."
She motioned at the person holding your queue, and they let go, stepping back. She circled you like a predator, a shark in blood-infested waters, hunting down the injured and weak for an easy meal.
"Why are you here?" She asked the same question the man had, and you put together that they were likely a duo, two leaders. Formidable on their own, unbreakable as one.
"To learn," you mumbled, voice quivering.
"Speak up!" She ordered.
"I came to— to learn. About the water," you repeated, louder.
She huffed, unimpressed. "Why? So you may destroy more? Do you learn the waters so you will know how to taint them?"
"No!" You snapped, panicked. "No, no, god— god, no."
Back in front of you, her lip was pulled into a snarl. "Your kind, they take without mercy. They take and take from the Great Mother. Their greed leaves scars. Our spirit sisters, brothers, they are dying because you hunt them to take what is rightfully theirs. Mothers and their young."
Your heart sank, deep, deep down. Past your tail, bleeding out from the soles of your feet.
Was— was she talking about the tulkun?
You had only heard of them, seen one or two grainy photos. You'd give anything to see one for yourself, but they didn't inhabit the waters that the RDA let you study. There were rumors that they were hunted, but your station was so isolated that you treated them simply as rumors. People claiming things to make themselves look big and strong, inflate their egos, put their names on a map.
To learn it was real, very real, had you sick to your stomach.
"Fuck," you whispered, lost on what else to say. "I'm so sorry."
Her eye twitched. "You did not know of this?"
You shook your head. "No, I… I heard rumors, but my team— we're isolated. It's just me and a few researchers, a few soldiers. We're nowhere near the tulkun. We— we don't even touch the animals."
"Awnga sweylu tspang peyä!" Someone shouted. Around them, a ruckus of agreement erupted. Shouting of the same phrase repeated by others, celebratory cheers shared in advance.
Understanding the language was unnecessary; the intent was clear.
They wanted you dead.
The woman yelled at the mob, raising an arm to silence them.
She and the man shared a look, a glance. It lasted a brief moment, but said more than words could.
Suddenly, you were lifted to your feet, the rush of blood away from your head making you dizzy.
"Go. Leave. Do not come back," the woman hissed at you. "If you return, we will kill you."
The man barked something at the people around you, and just like before, hands grabbed at you, dragging you away. You grunted at the jarring change, the rapid shift in energy, and watched as the man spoke with the person who initially rescued you. He nodded at his leader, then followed after you.
Before you could mentally catch up, you were put back into the same canoe you arrived in. The people stayed on the edge of the pathway so you could not climb back out, and the boy climbed in after you. He retrieved the paddles and rowed away, and the people on the dock only dispersed when you were too far away to swim back.
You wouldn't.
The woman's words lingered in your mind, clear and concise. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise. An assurance that, while they let you live now, their generosity only extended so far.
It sat there, heavy on the forefront of your mind. The switch up happened so fast, giving you no time to react.
You rubbed at your face.
What the hell just happened?
You weren't sure where this boy was taking you. You didn't bother asking.
For about an hour, you drifted along, your reflection rippling in the relatively calm waters. Your destination became evident as you spotted a glimmer of white in the corner of your vision.
Jim's boat.
The canoe came close to shore, but not too close. You'd have to swim, maybe a couple minutes. Your muscles popped tiny bubbles under your skin, but you recovered enough strength to make it back.
Careful to not tip the canoe, you climbed out, kicking to keep afloat.
"Thank you," you dipped your head in gratitude to the boy. You turned to leave, but stopped when he spoke.
"Irayo," he said.
You blinked at him. "Huh?"
"Irayo," he repeated. Then, in a very thick accent, tacked on, "We say… irayo."
It took you a moment to process, then it clicked. Your mouth parted around an O. "Irayo," you copied as best as you could, lips twitching upwards.
He hummed an approval, then began rowing away.
Not wanting to risk drowning again, you made for the shore. The sand was warm beneath your feet, sticking to your wet skin in layers up to your ankles.
Everything hurt, but you were alive.
You stood alone for a while, simply staring at the spot on the horizon he vanished into, thoughtless.
A fever dream. Drugs. Knocked out by a wayward current slamming you into a boulder underwater. Yet the tingling, tiny zaps at the base of your skull, where your queue grew from, let you know it was real.
You walked up the beach to where Jim was leaning back in his chair, bare feet kicked up onto the table, baseball cap still covering his mask. His legs were bordering on lobster red, the sun having scorched them into a nice, toasty sunburn that'd keep him awake at night for a few days, at least.
At least the rest of him was shaded.
He snored loudly into his cap, sounding like a choking fish.
Leaning down, you lightly smacked his knee. He snorted and jerked awake, the movement causing the back legs of his chairs to lose balance. He yelped as he fell backwards, grunting from knocking into the ground.
He groaned, removing his cap.
"Rude," he grumbled halfheartedly at you. Huffing, he got up, brushing the sand and dirt from his clothes. "How'd your swim go, eh, little mermaid?"
You shrugged. "Fine."
"Fine?" He scoffed. "Never heard you call it 'fine'. What, get bit out there?"
"Something like that," you muttered. "Let's just go back."
Jim raised a brow, not fighting back. He was a soldier; he did what he was told do.
As his hands passed over his calves, he hissed in pain. "Jesus, got cooked alive out here."
"Shoulda worn sunscreen," you said, half-present as you packed your things.
He continued to complain the entire time you carried your supplies back to the boat, and the whole way to the vessel. Probably because you were a scientist, not another soldier or someone higher up on the ladder that would tell him to quit bitching and suck it up.
The vessel was anchored ahead, lovingly nicknamed the Kit by its captain, Dmitri. For the first week you were on it, you thought he had named it after his cat, until he explained that kit meant whale in Russian.
Bit bigger than a whale, in your opinion, but the name seemed fitting. Its sides were painted a stark black that had white portholes dotted along them. You could see the resemblance to a killer whale. Though, apparently, those were called something else. Kosatka, if you recalled. You had asked him why he didn't call it that instead.
"Is too small to be kosatka, да? Маленький кит. Little whale."
Agree to disagree. Sure, it wasn't as big at the main vessels the RDA used for other things, especially not those damned Sea Dragons, but it definitely wasn't some 'little whale'.
Jim drove his boat partway up a ramp that extended from the center of the vessel after calling it in. He pulled the motor up, and tracks on the bottom of the ramp pulled his rig the rest of the way up. At the top, it turned onto a different track, and got docked in its designated spot.
You hopped out of the boat and numbly gathered your things, leaving with little preamble. Around the vessel, people roamed, working on one thing or another. The crew wasn't particularly large; maybe twenty or so people maximum, all brought on for a specific job. You were one of only two researchers on the ship, though the other focused more on oceanography. About as niche as you were, on a moon like this.
You waved absentmindedly to a few technicians you recognized as you passed by, and stopped in an itty bitty lab to drop off your things before taking your avatar to the sleep bay for it. Ritual, at this point.
After disconnecting from the link, you decided to search them up, that clan.
There wasn't much information available in the RDA database that you had access to. Really, all that was listed was that they were called the Metkayina, they were reef Na'vi, a clan amongst a few dozen others, and that they supposedly bonded with the great whale-like creatures of Pandora. The tulkun.
Disappointed with the lack of info, you called it early for the day. You had too much on your mind to be able to work. Beyond that tube with the sample you got, you had little to show for today, anyway.
Tomorrow. I'll deal with it tomorrow.
The prongs of your fork scraped over the base of your food tray, plastic scratching against plastic.
You were late to breakfast, left only with the stragglers, given the last of what was available.
Again.
The food was bland, unappetizing.
Nothing new, but you were usually able to eat it no problem, more concerned with research and getting in the water than whatever was being served to you.
Lately, you couldn't stomach much, though.
It'd been a couple weeks since your encounter with the Metkayina, and they were still in your mind.
You were told that the vessel and those authorized to boat around were strictly ordered to avoid the reef clans at all costs. You had a limited zone you were allowed to work in, and exiting it was prohibited at risk of penalty. For you, it meant your avatar would be taken away.
You kept your mouth shut about what happened that day.
Besides not trusting anyone on board to keep your secrets, it was personal, private.
And you had a sick, twisting feeling that if you told anyone what happened, the RDA would catch wind and use it as an excuse to launch an attack on the clan, and that was the absolute last thing you wanted.
"How was your meeting?"
"Ugh, boring as hell."
You pushed your food around some more, temple propped up on your fist. Background chatter was low, a mild din.
You wanted to know more about the clan, its people, their culture. You weren't like Grace Augustine. Sure, she was mainly a biologist, but her connection to the Omatikaya went deep.
You never studied linguistics, or cultural theory. Your passion, your heart and soul, was marine biology; life underwater, not other people and their traditions, their rites, their very existence.
But you wanted to know so badly. The brief entry the RDA had one them only worsened this desire in your gut, the very call to ask, learn, be.
"We gotta head back. Command wants us there by afternoon tomorrow."
"Damn. What the hell, why?"
You filtered out the conversation between the two, distantly aware of it. It was meaningless, not really settling in—
"Planning this huge attack on those big ass whales."
You froze, lungs shock-still.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Said there was some gathering happening soon. All gonna move to one zone. Said it's gonna be a massive fuckin' payday. Enough for us to finally take a vacation."
Trying to bring as little attention to yourself as possible, you got up, took your tray, and walked to the discard area. Nonchalant, when you were everything but inside. Your hands shook as you put down the tray on the counter, the plastic clattering lightly.
You spun on your heel and beelined for your lab, back ramrod straight, muscles wound tight as rocks.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.
Was it true? Was the RDA planning some mass-scale assault on the tulkun, the spirit siblings of the reef people?
Nauseous, you scanned your ID tag, impatiently sliding between the partially open doors. Your computer sat at one of the messy tables, an old-fashioned screensaver bouncing from corner to corner. You hit the spacebar, perhaps a little too harshly, and scanned your tag again to log in.
The damn thing took its sweet fucking time loading, and your foot tapped nervously, words spilling under your breath, demanding the shitty PC to hurry the hell up.
It let you in, and you hurriedly went to check your emails, chewing on your lip. The faint taste of copper stung the tip of your tongue.
There, at the top of your inbox, was an awaiting message.
TO ALL PERSONNEL: BE ADVISED the subject wrote.
You clicked on the email, bile burning the base of your esophagus.
TO ALL PERSONNEL: BE ADVISED
THE VESSEL WILL BE LEAVING AT 0500. YOU ARE TO ENSURE ALL YOUR BELONGINGS ARE IN PLACE, AND THAT ALL RDA PROPERTY IS ACCOUNTED FOR. EVERY BOAT MUST BE DOCKED BY 2200. LEAVING THE VESSEL WILL BE PROHIBITED AFTER 2230.
PLEASE LOCK DOWN ALL EQUIPMENT, REPORT INVENTORY, AND REPORT ATTENDANCE BY 2300.
ANY FAILURE TO DO AS INSTRUCTED WILL BE MET WITH CORRECTION.
- RESOURCE DEVELOPMENT ASSOCIATION
You were going to be sick. Truly and genuinely sick, a horrid thing that'd tear up your insides and leave you panting and crying and broken.
It was true — the RDA was planning an attack. It wasn't listed in email, of course. Kept under wraps, need-to-know, but one mouthy person was all it took for the closed book to open.
You dragged your nails down your face, hissing as you paced back and forth.
Brain fogged by the terror, you weighed your choices.
You were just some science-type grunt. Nobody important in the grand scheme of things. It's not like you could march up to the head of everything and order them to put a stop to all their plans. You'd be laughed out of the room. Or stared at until you disintegrated into ash.
Fighting back wasn't really an option. A one-woman protest was a joke, something to be ignored as everyone else went about their business, doing their tasks. At best, you'd get a stern talking to. At worst—
Don't think about it, don't think about it.
Maybe you'd get an overly-polite email loosely stating that your opinion was heard and would be 'taken into consideration'. HR jargon for "shut up."
You scratched at your scalp, frustrated. Causing a fuss was out, sitting and pouting and refusing to do your tasks was out. There was nothing, nothing—
You stopped, staggering at your own abrupt halt.
You could send a warning. Tell the Metkayina what was coming, to start preparing.
No, no, no. Shit. The idea was ridiculous. You had no idea what you were doing, how the hell you were to go about it. You didn't own anything here, nothing that could get you to them. Even Jim's boat was RDA property. He wasn't allowed to modify it in any way, no personalization. At the end of the day, he had to return it, basically a day-to-day rental.
On top of that, you heard the Metkayina's threat loud and clear, remembered it as if it happened yesterday and not weeks ago.
If you return, we will kill you.
You risked losing your head. Hell, it'd probably be gone sooner than you could step foot into their territory.
But—
"Can't just stand around," you whispered to yourself.
You had to do something.
There was an abandoned shack a few miles away from the vessel.
Sneaking both yourself and your avatar off the brig had been a pain in the ass and a test of willpower. You weren't some spy; you were a marine biologist with a horrible plan and a half-formed dream.
You felt bad for stealing Jim's boat, but the idiot had a bad habit of leaving his keys out.
That was made worse when you probably definitely accidentally beached it.
But you found the shack; that was more important to you.
Blessedly, it still had power, and the link unit functioned perfectly. The layer of dust caked onto it and its panel had you worried it'd short circuit and kick you out at the worst timing imaginable (or not let you out at all).
The list of rules and regulations you were breaking unfurled like a damning decree, and for every one you knew, there were likely a dozen more secret laws the RDA had under the cover. Stealing the boat alone probably put you on some sort of list, not to mention what you were about to do.
The sand glued itself to your skin, flecks flicked up by your sprinting to catch onto your clothes and scrape your skin like sandpaper.
You swam from island to island in the archipelago, adrenaline and your mission fueling you. Your thighs wailed in protest, your lungs struggled to expand around breaths that scorched your throat like winter frost, like acid. You swam and ran until the sun was reaching behind the planet Pandora orbited and you saw faint, flickering lights in the distance.
You made it.
The Metkayina tribe came into view, structures growing larger the closer you got.
The air shifted the moment you stepped foot into the village.
"Hey!" You screamed, darting along the beach, between huts. "Hey!"
Heads poked out of huts, curious, cautious, and afraid. They watched you run further in, wide-eyed and frantic. Some stepped out, but stayed away. A couple warriors grabbed weapons. One tried to catch your arm and stop you, but you wrenched it free, stumbling slightly before you righted yourself and pushed harder.
You ran to the open circle you had been brought into weeks ago, the memory of the sand imprinting on your knees reignited. You skidded to a stop, head whipping side to side as you tried to catch your breath, searching for—
"What is the meaning of this?" A familiar voice questioned harshly, and you spun on your heel to face him.
Their leader.
He stormed forward, his spear glinting against the sun dangerously.
"We warned you—"
"Please," you interrupted him, wheezing. "Listen. You need to listen."
The woman, his partner, appeared seemingly out of nowhere, her teeth bared, canines sharp. "Why should we listen to a demon!? Why do you come here, knowing we will kill you?"
You shuddered, clutching your hands to your chest. Your heart raced against your chest painfully, fear urging you to leave, to spare yourself.
But you couldn't.
You couldn't leave, couldn't bear the thought. You needed to tell them, they needed to know.
"I—" you swallowed, trying to speak around the lump in your throat. "I bring a warning."
At that, the two leaders paused. The man came forward, eyes narrowed.
"What warning do you speak of?"
You did your best to not cower under his piercing gaze. You needed them to believe you.
"The RDA," you started, lip quivering. "The humans. They're— they're planning an attack. A big one. On the tulkun," you informed them, your thoughts scrambled, the words struggling to form.
He stiffened. "When?"
Shame filled you. Fuck. You should have checked the exact date, figured it out somehow. You were in such a rush to inform the Metkayina that you didn't stop to parse out the details.
"I— I don't know," you stammered. "There's some— some big gathering happening soon. My vessel, they're forcing us to return tomorrow, to help prepare for the attack."
The two of them looked at each other, eyes widened. "Calf communion," the woman whispered, as if afraid that saying it too loud would make it true.
The man's entire energy hardened, and he turned on you, crowding into your space.
"Why do you warn us?" He hissed out. "Why do you come here, against our order, to tell of us this?"
You wrapped your arms around your middle, trying to keep yourself in one piece. You trembled violently, waning adrenaline and the bite of the cool evening breeze on your drenched clothes, wet skin, causing you to shiver.
"I can't… I can't just let it happen," you murmured. "I refuse. I won't help them, I won't let them just— just do it. You need to know. To protect the tulkun."
His lips drew downwards. "You will not go with them?"
Tears blurred your vision and stung your nose. "I— I don't know. I don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice breaking. It was starting to crash down on you, the reality of your actions.
You were set to sail back to the main RDA settlement by early morning. Everyone was rushing to pack their things, bring up their equipment. You were supposed to be helping, and your absence would surely have been noticed by now. If you returned now, after spilling a secret to the Metkayina, what were you supposed to say for yourself? How were you going to explain the soaking wet clothes, the fact you were missing?
What were you going to do now? Would you be arrested, charged? Imprisoned? Would they put you in a locked cell, or send you back to Earth with expedited shipping? Would you be whipped as punishment?
The unknown almost scared you more than knowing what the RDA had planned for the tulkun. Almost.
He and the woman were silent for a long moment. Then, he jerked his head to the side, and said, "Come."
He walked away, and you remained frozen in place for a second, shocked. You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't this.
Hurriedly, you chased after him to catch up, hovering at his heels as he led you somewhere. The villagers watched on, suspicious and nosy in equal parts. You avoided looking at them, keeping your eyes on his back.
He walked up to an innocuous hut and pulled aside the curtain over the door, looking down at you expectantly. You quickly got the message and skittered inside, grateful to be away from prying eyes.
Warmth encompassed you, and you spotted a fire burning and crackling in a pit in the middle of the hut. It blazed, hot and comforting, but not quite enough to soothe your shivers, nor shoo the cold that sank into your bones. Still, you went towards it, palms reaching forward to absorb as much of its heat as possible.
The man moved around the hut, digging through baskets methodically. He retrieved a couple items, though you didn't bother to see what they were, too focused on the fire.
When he said your name, you jumped slightly, lifting your head. He was beside you, something bundled in his hands. "You remember?"
He nodded. "Of course. I am Tonowari. My mate is Ronal," he introduced himself and the woman, his mate. "Change into this."
You held your hands out, and he placed something into them. Fabric, woven threads.
Shifting the items around, you realized he had given you clothing — their clothing, of the reef, the people, the Metkayina.
Confused, you sought his face for answers.
His tipped his chin toward the clothing, saying again, "Change. Then, we will speak."
"Oh," you mumbled. "Thank you.
He nodded once, then left, and you stared at the closed curtain for a while, processing the order, wondering if it was a joke. When he didn't return and yank them away from you, you examined them.
It was a two-piece set, a top and loincloth. The top resembled a net, the fibers surprisingly soft and pleasant to the touch. The knots each had a sort of wide, colorful reed tied to it, creating a drape that would cover your chest. The loincloth had similar reeds, shorter at the hips, longer at the center-front.
Quietly, you pulled off your wet clothes, peeling them from your skin. You didn't know what to do with them, exactly, so you folded them as neatly as possible and set them to the side.
You debated whether you should leave your bra and underwear on. It felt strange to not wear them, regardless of what body you currently occupied, but leaving them on would probably be much weirder.
After double checking to make sure you were alone, you pried those garments off, too, and held out the top and loincloth.
Truthfully, you had no idea how to put them on.
You played eenie-meenie-miney-mo with them, and settled for attempting the loincloth first.
It ended up not being too difficult to put on, though you struggled with the tail part. The limb fought against you, wagging and failing when you ordered it to stay still. It took nearly knocking a tall basket for it to cooperate, after which you managed to tie the threads together.
The top proved trickier.
You had to turn it this way and that to figure out which side was the inside and which the outside. Once you had that sorted, you had to decipher what ties went where.
It took a lot of gymnastics and finagling, but you got it. You thought. Hopefully.
At least it was on.
Na'vi clothes felt very odd to you, the texture and level of exposure something you were not used to, beyond the swim suit you wore on the days you were in the water.
You picked at the back of the loincloth, uncomfortable, but gave up when it just went right back up between your ass cheeks. You sighed, tail flicking with annoyance, aware you'd have to get used to it for as long as you were permitted to wear these clothes. Probably until yours dried, if you had to guess.
Luckily, you yourself had dried in the time it took you to change, your skin no longer prickled with goosebumps, the fire warming your shivers away.
You picked up your normal clothes, cringing at their cold wetness, You'd have to wring them out and hang them up for them to dry properly. For now, you held them slightly away from yourself, and poked your head out of the hut.
Tonowari was there, arms crossed as he looked out toward the sea.
His head turned toward you when you stepped out, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. His eyes darted down to the wet clothes you held. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you said, drifting off, "I wasn't sure what…"
He freed his hands, motioning to the woven pathway in front of the hut.
"Leave them," he said.
You paused, wondering if they'd be stolen. Then the idea nearly caused you to laugh. The Metkayina would not want your sky demon clothing.
You unfolded the fabrics and laid them out on the path, hoping they'd dry by the time you had to leave.
God. The thought made your heart sink to your ass.
You didn't know what you were going to do when you would be told to leave. The longer you stayed here, conversing with the natives, sharing RDA secrets, the more you doubted they'd let you back on the vessel with open arms and no doubts about your loyalty.
You ground your teeth together.
Loyalty.
You could hardly say you were ever loyal to the RDA, not beyond them funding your research and periodically asking for your notes and findings. What they did, the environmental damage they caused, displeased you greatly.
But it was your only opportunity to leave Earth. To pursue your dream. To be in an ocean not filled with filth and litter and the stench of rotting death.
Tonowari walked, not turning to see if you followed.
You did.
He led in silence, weaving between homes. One loomed above the rest, large and omnipresent, the coverings over the door drawn open. From here, you saw that Ronal was already inside, stoking another fire, her face grim.
As you stepped inside, Tonowari drew the coverings shut, sealing you off from the rest of the world.
He circled the fire pit, and settled into a crouch at Ronal's left.
"Sit," he said.
You carefully, but gracelessly, dropped to your knees, ready to listen.
"We will allow you to stay with us," Tonowari began.
Ronal hissed in displeasure.
"We will allow you to stay," he reiterated more firmly, "on the condition that you cannot leave."
Your brows knit together. "I can't leave?"
"No," he stated. "You are to stay here, under careful watch."
"Why?" You questioned.
"We cannot risk you exposing us, giving the enemy our weaknesses."
You frowned, shrinking into yourself. "I wouldn't do that."
"We cannot know for certain," he said.
Lips pressed together, you thought on his words. "My other body—"
"We have already found it," he interrupted. "You will be protected," he said, as if that would reassure you. "But you will not be allowed to leave."
You sat on it for a moment, processing what he was demanding. Well, less demanding and more informing.
What choice did you have, anyway? If you went back, you already surmised that the RDA would arrest you, label you a traitor, charge you with treason. It was one prison or another.
At least your hosts were kind enough.
You wondered what Jim was thinking. What he thought of you.
There's no going back.
Accepting his terms, you nodded in agreement. "Okay."
"Good," he confirmed. "Your needs will be met, but you must contribute to the clan in return."
"How?"
Angrily, Ronal jabbed at the fire with a long stick, but said nothing.
"We need you to speak with the tulkun."
You blinked, perplexed. "Speak with them?"
"Yes. We will call for council with the matriarchs. You will tell them what you told us. Everything you know."
You didn't know how you were supposed to do that, but you had no reason (or right) to disagree.
"Okay, I will."
"This is a mistake," Ronal growled.
Tonowari placed a hand on her thigh. "It is our only choice."
So you weren't the only one strapped for options. It brought you some relief to know.
Do you believe it's possible that the Duffers backed out of Byler due to their desire to market Stranger Things as a franchise to a younger audience? Stranger Things was originally marketed as a television program for adults. A lot of changes were made to the show around season 3, and it seemed like they were attempting to expand their viewership demographic to older teens (Highschoolers) as well.
However, prior to season 5, they started to release a lot of merchandise specifically marketed for very young children. Polly Pocket playsets, children's school bags, Lego sets, Golden books (for anyone unfamiliar, these are very short picture books geared towards children aged around 4-6, to teach them how to read.) Photographs of the characters were plastered all over junk food geared towards children as well, such as Pizza Rolls and Chips Ahoy cookies.
They are planning on releasing a cartoon that is clearly aimed at young kids. I don't know much about advertising for shows, but I do know a bit about it in relation to food and consumable products. To build "brand loyalty," companies that sell products for adults will often times use cartoon mascots to attract a young audience, who will then think of their brand. A classic example of this is the Camel cigarette mascot, Joe Camel. Parents may not allow kindergarten and first grade aged children to watch the original show Stranger Things (especially S1 and S2, which were legitimately scary at times,) but will allow them to watch the cartoon. This introduces the brand loyalty, where they go on to watch the spin offs for teens and adults as they get older.
Prior to the release of season 5, multiple actors and people involved with ST stated that the season would be darker and scarier than ever. That was absolutely not the case. Aside from the scenes that were horrifying on a moral level (such as Will being orally assaulted at the start of season 5, El being reduced down to an incubator by her father, the pregnant women being treated as a spectacle/body horror and then blown up without another word spoken about them, the racist treatment of Kali, etc) there was absolutely nothing scary about season 5 in a traditional horror movie sense. It was nothing but bland conversations detailing exactly what was going to happen next, and generic CGI action scenes.
All of this leaves me wondering what went wrong. Why did they pivot on Byler at the last minute? Was it because the powers that be decided that a toxic heterosexual relationship that had been broken down was still less controversial to show to children than a healthy homosexual couple? Why was there such a sudden push of merchandise towards very young kids? And why was the show stripped of all of it's actual horror elements in the last season?
as someone who’s spent enough time working behind sets to see how creative decisions get reshaped by industrial ones, i could be completely wrong here, and that’s always possible. but based on what i’ve learned about this craft, the whole stranger things situation makes a lot more sense when you stop treating it like a single show and start treating it like a franchise machine.
seasons 1 and 2 were prestige tv: adult targeted horror, spielbergian pacing, a visual language that wasn’t afraid to be genuinely unsettling. but by season 3, netflix had repositioned it as an ip ecosystem, and once that shift happens, the story stops being the primary driver. brand management takes over. when a series becomes a tentpole brand, the mandate changes. it’s no longer “tell the best story,” it’s “capture the widest possible demographic for the longest possible time.” i’ve watched this happen on sets, the moment marketing and consumer products departments start circling, the tone, the visuals, even the blocking can get softened or redirected to make the property more “universal.”
that’s when you get the brightened colour palette, the quippier humour, the softened horror, and the merch friendly iconography. it’s the same trajectory we’ve seen with star wars, ghostbusters, jurassic world, marvel. once the brand becomes more valuable than the narrative, the narrative bends to protect the brand.
and the merch strategy you’re describing? that’s not speculation, it’s textbook. the sudden explosion of polly pocket sets, golden books, lunchboxes, lego, and junk food tie ins is exactly how you build brand loyalty in children. i’ve seen producers adjust entire sequences because a toy partner wanted a clearer silhouette or a more “marketable” prop. parents might not let a five year old watch season 1 or season 2, but they’ll let them watch a cartoon. that cartoon becomes the gateway drug to the rest of the franchise. and once you’re doing that, the content itself has to be “safe” enough to sit next to those products on a shelf. horror narrows demographics; action and exposition widen them. that’s why season 5 feels like it was scrubbed clean of actual horror and replaced with cgi spectacle and flat, over explained conversations.
which brings us to byler. from a narrative standpoint, byler was seeded, foreshadowed, thematically coherent, visually reinforced, the pink sky in the field scene alone is a masterclass in romantic cinematography. but from a franchise standpoint, a queer romance between two boys becomes a “risk factor” the moment you pivot the brand toward children and global markets. and this is something you learn quickly working behind sets: corporations will always choose the path of least resistance when protecting a billion dollar ip. queer representation, no matter how healthy, narratively earned, or thematically central, is still treated as a variable that can “limit” international distribution, toy sales, and brand safety. so instead of committing to the arc they built, they defaulted to the heteronormative option, even though that option was narratively broken.
the merch push before season 5 wasn’t about the ending; it was about the future. season 5 wasn’t being treated as a finale. it was being treated as a launchpad for the kids cartoon, the stage play, the spin offs, and the long term merchandising pipeline. you don’t end a brand; you diversify it. and to diversify it, you need the widest possible entry point.
so what went wrong? from both an academic and on set perspective, it’s simple: the duffers stopped being the sole authors of their story. once stranger things became a global brand, every creative decision had to pass through marketing, consumer products, distribution, brand management, and franchise planning. byler wasn’t dropped because it didn’t work, it was dropped because it worked too well, because it would have re‑centred the narrative around a queer romance at the exact moment the brand was being repositioned for children. and the horror wasn’t removed because they forgot how to do it, it was removed because horror doesn’t sell polly pockets.
again, i could be completely wrong, none of us were in the room, but based on what i’ve studied and what i’ve seen behind the camera, this is the version of events that actually tracks.
