#*no queue but what we make for ourselves.

[curiousitycollective]

nope

-smile

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 3

summary ;; Sullys stick together. You learn the hard way what happens when you don't. PART 2 | PART 4 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; descriptions of blood and violence incoming, beware! shout out to the ppl who predicted the stuff in this chapter LMAO so um... i couldnt tag everybody who asked when i said i would... there's apparently a limit to how many people you can tag. please forgive me 😭 im not taking any tagging requests anymore since i cant do it. so sorry about that,,,, seriously also, thank you so much for 1160 followers! i still cant fucking believe it... daddy issues solidarity 🤙🏻🤙🏻

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

Rain covered the rustling of clothes and the click-clacks of readjusted weapons as concentrated silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the morning mist swallowing up the forest.

No answer. 

What face could your parents be making right now? Heartbeat in your ears, you tried to hide your shame by looking down, but a jerk on your queue set you straight. the avatar holding you digging his gun sharper in your neck.    

“What, cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” The leader’s stare found yours. “Let me give you a quick remedy.” 

They’d linked your device into another for the sound to be relayed outside and the voice detection range could be wider, in other words, they wanted your father to hear what was happening to you. Your braid was yanked as if the one pulling it wanted to snap it right off your skull, no amount of training could stop the scream torn out of you — all the show just for him. 

The line was deadly still, save for some rustling, crackling static that you could have easily mistaken for hissing.

A ghost of a smile shadowed the man’s face, he extended his rifle to tip your chin up. “Guess we’re gonna have to be louder than that to wake daddy up sweetheart.” 

“Stop!” Father yelled, the unexpected timing of it made you jump. That earned him a group chuckle from the avatars around you. “Stop.”

He talked. He didn’t leave you to fend for yourself in this. Thank Eywa!

“That was fast,” the captor behind you said. 

“Thought you’d have forgotten English by now, playing native.”

“...Quaritch?” 

Quaritch. That awful, awful man from the stories your mother killed? Spider’s father? But… But he was dead. How could sky people know how to cheat death?

“In the flesh.” 

Father’s voice wavered, you’d think he was scared if you didn’t know any better. “That’s impossible.”

“Back from the grave just for you, Jake.”

“Then I’ll just have to put you right back where you belong.”

The squad of avatars openly laughed at that, boisterous, confident, arrogant. 

This was Toruk Makto they were openly mocking. None of them would last for one minute in front of him and yet—

“Quite the teary lovers reunion we’re havin’ here, but you got busy while I was gone, huh?” He looked down at you again, yellow eyes filled with mirth. “I have this tiny bird here we plucked right out of the air. Imagine my surprise to learn she’s yours. Is this the only one, or you got yourself a litter now?”

Silence again. 

“What do you want?”

“Straight to the point as always.” The smug smile momentarily twitched into an unamused, withheld resentment. This man was nearing the end of his capacity to keep taunting. “I don’t think I’ll tell yet. You know I love to be a tease.”

Your ears rotated upwards in treacherous hope at your father's next words. “If you touch one hair on my daughter’s head I swear to god—”

“You exchanged your god for this shithole, Jake. Let’s not kid ourselves now.” Any hint of playing around was gone, now, eyes fixated on something on the ground ahead. “Your daughter will be my guest for a while. Think of it as summer vacation. Don’t worry, unlike the Na’vi, we’re very hospitable.” His thumb brushed over a button. “Until next time.”

“Fucking bastard—”

With one beep, the call was over. Quaritch was touching the band around his neck this time. “Iron Sky, Blue on Actual. We are standing by for extract, over.” 

You began to tussle against the avatar behind your back. “No! No! Let me go!” 

“Be advised. We're bringing in a high value prisoner.”

“Dad’s really gonna flay her alive this time, I can’t wait.” Lo’ak, positioned just behind the flap of the tent to not be seen from the outside as he peeked with one eyeball just in case, was watching his parents vehemently yell at each other in whispers that started out loud, but got hushed probably to not reach him and his siblings. Aggressive limb gestures were flying in the air, and at one point, his mom had tried to run off somewhere and was forcefully stopped. 

Dad was currently pacing around like a wild animal with one hand permanently stuck rubbing his face, and mom turned away from him, holding her forehead. “They’re really going at it, huh?

Kiri was not amused with his insistence to breach their privacy. “What’s so interesting about watching this kind of thing?”

“Catharsis?” He remarked in English, feeling sophisticated. “You remember Spider talking about it? Purification and emotional cleansing through relief that you’re not going through the horrible tragedy, the character on stage is.” 

“You’re normally so dumb.” Lo’ak bore his fangs at her matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Your brain only comes back on when it’s about chaos.”

“I’m petty, and what about it?” A tilt of his head to dare Kiri to ask for her point, then his attention was thwarted by an incomprehensible cry from his mother. She was pushing dad from his arms, furious like Lo’ak had never seen before as the upset man tried to hold her more. “Look at mom and dad breathing fire at each other! You think they’re discussing how to punish her?”

“Stop spying already skxawng, mom will be angry if she sees you. We’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen here!” His ears were tilting at every angle to make out any words that reached to him as nothing but a cluster of broken sounds. “Why did they have to go far?” 

“Because they wanted to be away from peeping toms like you?”

“And you’re still here too, so?” Lo’ak gave his sister a meaningful look. “I know you wanna see too.”

“Ugh!” Kiri shoved out her tongue at him, eyes dead. “And it’s not funny, by the way! They are fighting. Stop being happy about it.”

He knew they were fighting about his older sister, and that she’d get all the heat and fallout from it the moment she was back. Lo’ak’s head was full of what he could get out of it, or what to ask her for in return for helping her out in her detention. So satisfying to be the sibling who wasn’t in trouble. He should do it more, actually. “It is funny when it’s not about me.” 

“You’re sick for taking joy in another’s suffering.”

“Oh, I’m doomed, then.” Kiri took whatever fat was on his thin arm between her thumb and forefinger, and twisted. Lo’ak had to blink away the tears that rushed to his eyes, snatching his limb away from the displeased girl and pushing her away in return — he was annoyed at how much that hurt, why was that so damaging for no reason? “Yeouch! What the hell?”

“Will it kill you to practice mindfulness once in a while?” 

He raised his voice’s pitch to mock the wobbly, ear-scratching whine of yours, and exaggerated his body movements to match, too. “I hate you!”  

“Gross.” She tried to shove him, he caught her hands in the air, pushing her back and getting the spiteful annoyance of his sister as a result. “Dad was actually hurt by that.” Lo’ak’s eyes could roll down the hills by themselves the way that sounded, but Kiri, as always, was bothered so inexplicably. “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling.”

That bad feeling was the herald of dad’s upcoming cranky ill-temper and what would follow after you inevitably had to come crawling back home with tail between your legs, Neteyam dragging you from the scruff of your neck. Lo’ak was refusing to sleep so he could enjoy the fight. 

“Me personally, am over the moon, ikran duty is so gonna be off my hands. For months.” He halted at the idea that just went off in his head, tail swishing with the hype. “I wanna tell Spider. I’ll go get him.”

“Absolutely not. You sneak off now and they’ll laser-focus all the anger on you!” Kiri was pointing a warning hand at him, but slowly lowered it, one corner of her mouth twitching up. She was holding back amusement. “Hey, you know what? Nevermind, you can go. I want you to go. I have to see this.”

“Ha-ha.” Lo’ak’s tail stuttered, losing enthusiasm. “Attempted murder, much?”

“Guys, what’s going on…”

Upon the unexpected voice that wobbled its way into their conversation, they both looked down to see Tuk gripping her weaved blanket with one hand and dragging it on the floor as she made her way to them, the other rubbing her eyes one by one so sleep dripping from them would fly away.

“See, you woke her up! What do we do now?”

“You woke her up by yelling, why is it my fault now?”

“I didn’t, you—”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Guys…” Tuk pulled on Kiri’s hand, and the foreign object she was clutching the whole time distracted Lo’ak. It must have dug into the older one’s skin that she carefully picked it up to inspect. The ear pieces they took off before they went to sleep. This one was Kiri’s.  “Neteyam’s calling. You didn’t hear…”

Grinning, Lo’ak snatched it up and skipped backwards and put it in his own ear, ignoring Kiri’s hushed yells to give it back now and the groans about ruining it with his stinky, cheesy earwax. He had to keep bouncing around, the girl was chasing him around the tent. “Bro! Tell her she’s sooo dead. Dad’s literally keeping guard in front of the tent—”

“Lo’ak, quit it.” Neteyam’s tremulous answer was harsh. Lo’ak’s smile wavered as he dodged Kiri’s arm and jumped over discarded cups on the floor, knocking over wooden spoons. “I need you to tell me what’s happening over there.”

“Aw, baby’s so scared to come back she needs to make a game plan first?” He laughed, slapping Kiri’s hands away. “I’ll only tell if she gives back my karambit knife.”

His older brother sighed, a bit too exasperated. 

“Yeah, I’m not letting that one go and I’m also making it your problem—”

“Lo’ak, she isn’t here.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“She isn’t here. I couldn’t find her.” Kiri bumped into him, unable to stop herself at the right time to hit the brakes due to how abruptly Lo’ak had stilled. They’d almost tumbled over. “Dad told me to wait until he contacts her and I’ve been waiting for minutes. Now tell me what’s going on over there.”

“Bro, you’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious, skxawng!” 

He turned to Kiri in disgusted discomfort, who had damn-near glued her own ear to his to hear better. “Forget months, I’ll be free for years. Dad’s not gonna let her take one step off the camp anymore.”

The girl would stomp her foot if she was a couple years younger. “What’s this about?”

And Neteyam would shake Lo’ak from the neck for ignoring him this long while he was fussing. “Tell me already you—!”

“They’re having a fight bro.” He leaned better to peep outside the tent. “Yeah.”

“She came back? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was uncommon for Neteyam to completely disregard the previous input he’d been given. Lo’ak didn’t understand this level of anxiety. “Are you having a brain fart? Would we be having this conversation if she was here? It’s mom and dad who are fighting.”

It wasn’t that serious — on the contrary, his sister was quite simple to understand. She didn’t want to be found and had changed her place of hiding. End of story. The golden boy’s worrywart nature was keeping him from reasoning. 

“Don’t be a smartass.” Lo’ak practically felt Neteyam’s want to land a loud smack on his back. “Were they only able to reach her, then? Is that why they’re fighting?”

“You’re asking me?—”

The older boy began to grumble under his breath. “This is why I called Kiri.”

Said girl’s ears perked up over picking her name from the static-surrounded line. Lo’ak snorted. “Ouch, bro.”

Kiri shook him from the elbow. “Me? What about me?”

“Great title for your autobiography.”

Kiri raised her arms to give him a beating and Lo’ak was already bolting away from anywhere near her vicinity. The siblings didn’t even take notice of the line with Neteyam going dark as they focused on their own play-scuffle for a while. 

Until Lo’ak bumped into someone.

It wasn’t Tuk. 

Shoulders pulled into himself, he turned around torturously freaked out to find dad standing there like a ghost, his tactical vest packed to the brim and gun hanging from his back the way they wore their bows. 

The blue of his skin had faded into an ashier tone, amber eyes wide and bloodshot, the veins on the normally put together Olo’eyktan’s forehead were bulging, even a socially clueless person would pick up something was seriously wrong. He commanded cold authority of the battlefield simply by the way he stood, immediately triggering Lo’ak into soldier mode.  

He took a few steps back, chin hanging low at the lightless, unblinking stare his father pushed down on him. “Sir.”

All the sleepiness that had Tuk unresponsive and nodding off through Lo’ak and Kiri’s push-and-pull was knocked out of her at the sight, she was now unnerved and frightened. “Dad?”

The man’s intensity was somehow eased by his youngest’s reaction, but he held back from taking her in his arms like he normally would to comfort her, didn’t even care to remark on how they were supposed to be sleeping — how they’d woken their little sister up, instead focusing on Lo’ak. “I want you all to listen well. Your mother and I are heading out for a minute and your grandmother will be with you soon — Neteyam is Oscar-Mike to come back here. Stay put and don’t go anywhere, understand?” His finger pointed accusingly at him. “Don’t cause trouble. Looking at you boy, what I’m saying here is Marine proof. I’m at the end of my wits here, don’t even think about slipping a tail out of this tent.” 

The potent severity of whatever the hell was making him this agitated to the point of a voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable got the wheels in Lo’ak’s head whirring. “What’s happening, dad?”

“One child!” The thundering shout came down on him with the force of a falling mountain, making Lo’ak jump out of his skin. “I need one child of mine to listen to me without asking any questions today!” Dad’s voice broke when Tuk whined, he shut his eyes as if he was in physical pain, and flexed his jaw, shaking his head and pulling the girl in from her shoulders to soothe her. Still no direct hugging. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Lo’ak said immediately, distraught by the over-the-top reaction, hands unknowingly curling into fists by his sides. Whenever that sky people word ‘Jesus’ slipped from dad not having any control between the border of his two languages, the boy knew it was demanding gravitas. “I heard you CFB.”

“Good.” He thinned his lips. “Kiri, please.”

Lo’ak frowned at dad basically asking for her to play her brother’s keeper in Neteyam’s absence in two simple words.

She nodded. “I know dad.”

He caught a glimpse of his mother running in the distance, her father’s bow in her hand. 

Just what was happening? What had you done? 

Eywa, it had to be sky people. 

Dad saw the realization in his face. “Stay,” he emphasized, one final time before he was also gone with the wind. 

Lo’ak wouldn’t have obeyed if it wasn’t for his grandmother arriving just in time, keeping them busy with a story about the arrival of a wounded ikran with no rider.

You realized the gunshot wound puncturing your upper abdomen was there the whole time when the avatars put first aid and later slapped a rectangular sky people bandage on it that helped clotting or whatever it was called, the pain simply not being there had played a big factor in it with the body running on pure adrenaline. 

(Crouching close to you, Quaritch had bragged, “We aren’t so bad after all, huh, sweetheart? It’s called civilization. Your daddy ever taught you about that?”

Civilization, your ass. They needed you. There was nothing well-meaning about what they were doing.

And the nickname had ticked you off, sullying the good memories of father, your head slammed into his nose in full power after a hiss.

“Now my daddy taught me that!” you spat in English as other avatars had tackled you. The man claiming to be Quaritch was smiling as he wiped away the blood trickling down his nose.

What was the point in trying to patch you up if they were going to do this, then?)

You were now a part of an elaborate trap to lure your father in. Bait. The worst position to be in. This was the kind of trouble Lo’ak would get himself in. It was too late to go back now, the mess you’d gotten yourself into had made itself known. 

Think, think! How could you get out of this?

Within the unsleeping forest’s nightly noises chirping all around you, a specific call in the air halted your train of thought. 

It was mom. 

Your parents were here. But how? How did they know where you were, exactly? Dread and expectation pooled in your heart, coexisting in a nauseating mix. 

Father must be thinking that you already caused so much trouble, they couldn’t know you were also hurt, you’d never hear the end of it.

But there was no time to think, the pain you should have been feeling was ebbing its way into your body, and she was calling in the night to inform you to get ready.

All hell broke loose when the man who held you tight from your queue was shot right from the back of his head with an arrow, collapsing right on top of you. 

You couldn’t get away in time to not be crushed by his dead body and promptly got squished between the mossy soil and him, his gun was hurting you, the wound on your stomach getting in the way of you using your core to push the body off. 

How many minutes had passed with you struggling to get him off as a hurricane of bullets roared, you didn’t know (it hurt, pain was climbing towards the threshold) — mom was able to break free from the weight of a whole AMP suit, as you’d heard as a child, a Na’vi was naturally strong, but you couldn’t even crawl out. Panic was a rope tightening around your ribcage as your breathing picked up

All of a sudden, the weight was gone, and the only remaining thing from it was the big gun left from the avatar you found yourself hugging for dear life, eyes wide as saucers. Before you could see whoever had done that, you got hoisted up right back on your feet and tried to run, only to be held tighter and pulled behind the trunk of a tree.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Clumsy, overwrought hands were cupping your cheeks and — and oh, it was your father. 

You didn’t know whether to be afraid or cry from happiness.

Once he was sure you registered it was him by staring intently in your eyes with that edge of the softness you’d missed so much, his hold shifted to your neck and around your shoulders, and he gave you a look-over, checking for any wounds. Too bad what he was searching for was behind the gun you were holding. “Are you hurt?” He shook you when you were too stunned to answer. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” you shook your head automatically, it was weak against the explosions of bullets raining down all around you, but father had picked it up regardless, only focusing on you for the moment.

In the darkness, nobody could see the blood running down your body, that bandage had come out at one point. 

“On my mark, we’re gonna run, okay?” He nodded to you, tomahawk axe in hand coated in a dark substance, commanding your full attention. “Follow me. Ready? Ready?”

You weren’t ready at all, stomach feeling like it was being stabbed at every heartbeat, but you couldn’t tell him that. 

Instead, you ran like hell, moored by father’s taut clutch on your forearm pulling you forward to match his incredible speed dodging roots, bushes and branches. 

Things stopped moving only when you were enveloped in mom’s embrace, consciousness almost flying off from the relief that washed over you. Kisses were peppered along your hairline and forehead, her mumbling your name in gratitude blending with your panting. Tears burned bitter in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry, not when father was looking at you like that, chest rising and falling. You instantaneously remembered why you were holding that gun at the intensity he was radiating, tail escaping between your legs and letting mom hold you. 

At least this way he wasn’t able to objurgate you.  

Over her shoulder, you saw three ikrans instead of two. Heart soaring, you were skipping towards him in pure astonishment in a heartbeat. “Hey buddy!”  

His head lowered down towards you in bird-like movements. In this angle, it looked like he was giving you a razor sharp-toothed big grin. 

“He brought us here,” your mother said. The hand you were going to pet the ikran with stopped midway at her dejected tone. “You have passed Iknimaya, I take it. On your own.”

You didn’t know what to say, feeling immense guilt at having made her this disappointed over it. If this was any normal situation, any normal fight at all, you would have shot back with, ‘Well father told me to do it.’

But you were tired. 

Your pain threshold was being threatened, and you needed to get to your grandmother before any of your parents saw the situation you were in and this escalated into the worst fight you were going to get into in your entire life. 

Father’s only response was a dead cold, “C’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

He didn’t talk to you after that. Not one word. 

Squatting on an ikran’s back on a flight with an abdominal gunshot wound you were trying to hide was not an option unless you wanted to pass out midair and was looking for a free dive, so you were all but hugging the poor thing’s neck like a monkey, trusting him to follow your parents while you concentrated on mentally fighting to level out the pain. 

Nonsensical as it was to believe the gun stuck between your ikran’s neck and your stomach was acting as a tampon to lessen the bleeding, you were concerned with how dumb it must have looked to father and mom, how incompetent they must think of you that their daughter didn’t even know how to ride right. 

Got an ikran for nothing. 

Would they be less proud of you seeing how funny it appeared, nevermind that it was to contain your pain all the while not trying to faint?

But no words were exchanged about it. 

Father clamping up right after he’d made sure you weren’t hurt (yikes) had resulted in this awkward trip succumbing in total silence. They had sandwiched you between them, only necessary space for the ikrans to beat their wings freely left, so close that you could discern the scariest look on father yet, deepening the lines of age in his face while simultaneously expressing his barely contained desire to kill someone. 

A ticking time bomb. 

Forget speaking at all, but not only did he never address you until now, he didn’t even look in your direction for once. You knew because staring at him for five minutes straight for him to just acknowledge your existence had proven to be unfruitful. 

And the tears involuntarily streamed down your cheeks with how utterly worthless and alone that made you feel, trapped in this agony you couldn’t help but hide because he’d think you didn’t deserve to complain after bringing it upon yourself. You would rather bite your tongue and bear the pain than stay dreading his reaction. 

Yeah, no, he couldn’t know. 

Mom was looking over at you every one minute to make sure you were okay after her ears picked up on your sniffles, arrows of worry shot from her side sinking down your skin every single time, and you hated to make her this way. 

Your ikran kept comforting you through tsaheylu until you landed.

Father had promptly jumped down, agile and making haste away somewhere, passing you by and giving the cold shoulder. You all but slid off your own ikran, managing to make the gun stay where it should be, as you couldn’t help but weakly call out to him for one drop of consolation. “Father…”

He didn’t stop for you, quickening his steps, but his ears twitched, the tail beating the air ferociously halting and lowering before it returned to the previous motions, and those were the only indications that he’d heard it Lima Charlie.

The man just didn’t want to talk to you.    

And you had to make yourself believe it wasn’t the emotional devastation that had you falling down, but the wound sucking out all your energy now that you had gotten to safety. 

“Ma’ite?” Mom rushed to you. “Ma’ite, what’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m okay, mom, it’s okay.” You were sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Thank goodness you still had the unbreakable willpower (and not the fear of Eywa put into you by father) to hold your shit together. “I’m okay. Just tired. My knees buckled. Weak, you know?” You swallowed, smiling. “I’m just… Just resting.”

Her gaze full of concern studied you, zeroing in on the gun you clung on for dear life against your stomach. Her hands lovingly brushed your hair, gripped your shoulders and elbows even though you were disgustingly clammy all over. It was grounding, anchoring within the ocean of pain washing over you in waves. 

“Oh, why are you sweating so much? You’re freezing.” You clutched the gun harder in a panic when she grasped it, most likely to put it away. It was the wrong reaction to have, but you weren’t exactly in the position to function healthily. 

Mom, as any other person would, got suspicious from it, her eyes flying up to your owlish ones — blanked out like a frightened animal. “You’re fine now,” she whispered, thankfully attributing it to how disturbed you must be, still not out of survival mode. “You are safe, my daughter. Mom is here.” She cupped your cheek, but every touch to your body hurt now, even when it was away from the gaping wound, still gushing blood, trickling down your hips and getting you scared that it’d be discovered once you stood up. “I’m here.” She searched your soul to know just why you were grimacing at her attempts of comforting. “I will take this now, you do not need it anymore.”

You snapped out of the gradually darkening gray haze mom’s lulling was laying you down gingerly into. “No, please don’t,” your breathing hitched. She was going to see. She couldn’t see. You had to avoid this somehow, as long as you could. Grandmother’s tent. You would make it, you had to.  “I’ll… I’ll just sit here for a while, okay? I need to just… take a small break, and then I’ll… Can you go back? I’ll follow later. Father is angry, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” Incredulous and enraged suddenly about something you couldn’t put a finger on, and before you could stop her, she tried to haul you up with her by gripping your upper arms — colors exploded behind your eyelids, getting you you to lose consciousness for two seconds, your vision flooding back in a starry kaleidoscope. When mom’s voice reached your ears, it was in staccato exclaims your ears were ringing too much to discern. She was shaking you. 

You weren’t able to sit up straight anymore, leaning forward — mom had caught you, utterly confused and panicked at the same time. And then your head was lying on the crook of her elbow resting on her legs she’d tucked under herself. The moment you’d switched from sitting to straight up lying down was missing from your memories. 

A baby being cradled. Yes, this is exactly what it was like. Gentle arms surrounded you amidst the pulsating sea of agony. 

Your body was letting go, but your arms were vices around the gun, still holding that last line. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. They can’t know. Father will be so mad if he learns. “‘m okay… ‘st restin’…”

When your eyes cleared enough for the surroundings to be only a bit blurry, your mom was looking at the hand she’d just tried to take away the gun with, caked with your blood that had stained it, out of it and perplexed like she didn’t want to believe it. 

Her gut-wrenchingly stunned numbness sent the misery clawing its way inside into overdrive, pulling your consciousness down to the earth from the clouds it was ascending to. “Not mine,” you forced out, but it came out as begging. Everything was falling apart. The plan was so simple, why couldn’t you do anything right? “Not mine. Please. Mom, it’s okay.” 

“No…” Mumbling, she started sharply swaying back and forth, and with one brutally vigorous attack, she ripped the gun away from your arms, and hurled it away — then it was over. Your sob wasn’t due to the motion hurting you, it was all entirely for the broken wail of your mother at seeing the bloodied mess, tears spilling from her eyes as she reached down to press down at the pouring liquid. “No! No! Oh Great Mother! Why did you hide this! Oh, my daughter!” 

“No, mom, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Not my blood. Not my blood, okay?” You reached up weakly and wiped at her cheeks with trembling fingers, your heart got crushed worse than the pain could beat you down at her grief — lungs constricting. Where was all the air?  “I’ll get up. I’ll go to grandmother, don’t cry. Just resting.”

Frantically looking around, she yelled, “Jake!—” but her voice didn’t quite come out, breathy as if she’d been punched in the ribcage seconds prior.

A heartbeat’s worth of nothingness, after which you were full-on freaking out. Only one thought: Father will be angry. 

“No!” You shrieked, and blood swelled in one strong pump against mom’s fingers. She looked down at you in anguish, pupils blown wide, arm tightening around you as if you were a flailing bird. “Don’t tell him! Don’t tell father! He’ll really kill me for this—”

“No, no no no,” she shook her head, frenzied, tone cracked from beginning to end. “Do not say that. Don’t you ever say that—”

But you were struggling in her arms, wanting nothing but to crawl away into a hole, no reason registering whatsoever, only instinct. “He’ll be so angry,” you begged, pleading, pink spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. The sound of gurgling accompanying the words you forced your whole body to form. “You can’t tell him — you can’t! He already hates me!”

The more you thrashed around and kicked your legs, the more you bled.

“Please, Great Mother!” The more mom lost her mind, hissing and howling hysterically, crazed, hugging you tighter and rocking. “Jake! Jake! Ma’Jake!” She put her temple against yours. “Not my daughter, please, Eywa…”

Why was she being like this? It wasn’t that serious! You were okay!

Delirium claimed you hot as she kept calling his name and her unbreakable hold on you kept you in a cage of a mother’s despair. In your feverish mind, a threat to your life was coming. Weakness spread like wildfire around your body and chipped away at the pain, slowly picking it apart to replace it with drowsiness. “Don’t call ‘im,” you continued to repeat, over and over again. “I’m just taking a break. Don’t call him over. He’s gonna be angry. He’ll hate me. He hates me. Please, mom.”

The sentences slurred together, shortened, wilted away pitifully, your voice died down, tongue deteriorating into only echoing, “He hates me.” A withered away, old flute. 

Your ikran was bellowing in the distance and you looked. The torches on cave walls were illuminating him and finally revealing to you his beautiful color scheme.    

And then your father was here, falling to his knees right beside you, his glistening wide eyes flying everywhere around your body — tracing all the blood, hands hovering above you as if he didn’t know where to start piecing a shattered vase back together.   

It was over.

Fully expecting the chastising you were about to receive to shake the floating mountains so bad the enemy would be able to spot you, you began to apologize — pride be damned, this battle be lost, you’d failed anyway. “Please don’t be mad,” you shuddered, meek and unsteady, tunnel vision flickering at the edges only perceiving him. “It’s my fault—I’m sorry—please don’t be angry—”

“Stop talking,” he ordered, rough and harsh, eyebrows knitted tightly, and out of breath — probably because of how hard he was trying to hold the anger back. You knew. That had to be it. “Don’t speak.”

Ah of course. This was only natural when he had refused to utter a single word at you the whole way, denying you the temporary comfort of a simple glance. 

Even the hand he pressed down so ruthlessly firm on your stomach it might as well be a boulder pinning you down was meant to be punishment, the whines your unbreathing lungs couldn’t stop turned into yowls — you hadn’t even noticed your hands were wrapped around father’s wrist in an effort to push him away, scratching him, but he only added his other hand on top of the other in return.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I got you, please hang on a little longer,” he pleaded, but you were already too far gone, Eywa was cruel to have plugged your ears to the endearment you’d been dying to hear from him for so long, making the last things you were aware father said to you the fact that he didn’t even want to hear you talking. 

And you fulfilled his wish. 

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily @n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

[reiderwriter]

Hey lovely! Hope you’re doing good! I was listening to bad idea right? By Olivia Rodrigo and thought it would be a good idea for a Spencer fic, was thinking something something with a little angst, smut and possibly a fluffy ending! ♥️

Ps love your writing 🖤

A/N: Most relatable song released this year, if we're being totally honest with ourselves, right 💀 I hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: (Munch Spencer Truthers, I'm throwing yourself another bone here), Oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation (male), slight hand job at the end, penetrative sex, cum play, etc. Minors DNI 18+

Your fling with Spencer Reid from the BAU ended abruptly when he fell off the face of the earth.

You weren't sure how someone who had described himself as technophobic had managed to perfect the art of ghosting someone, but boy had he, and you were still a little bit angry about it.

Even angrier when you saw him plastered over the local news out on a case, explaining to the people how fake tips to the FBI hindered cases more than helped them.

You were angry because he looked so good. His hair was shorter, displaying his all too pretty features prominently, and pissing you off to no end as you still felt your heart beat out of your chest until he'd disappeared into a crime scene again.

You brushed it off and berated yourself until the text came.

It wasn't much, just a quick hello, but you waited for a few minutes anyway to see if he'd say anything else.

When he didn't, you grew frustrated and text him a response.

“Who is this?”

It was petty, but four months of radio silence deserved less, in all honesty.

You weren't expecting the phone to vibrate out of your hand as you waited for a response, but it lit up with his call and you scrambled to wait enough time to pick it up.

“Hello.”

“Hi. It's Spencer. Spencer Reid. Doctor Spencer Reid, from the Behavioural Analysis Unit, this is Y/N right?”

“Yes, Spencer, it's me. My number didn't change after four months.”

“Okay, that was deserved.”

“Why are you calling Spencer?”

“Because I'm a burnt out child prodigy who didn't cure schizophrenia by age 25 and my friends missed my birthday. And because I really wanted to see you.”

The line went quiet as you contemplated what the hell you would say to that.

“It would be stupid to ask if you remembered my address, right?”

“Y/N, I remember what you taste like, and I'll never forget it.”

“Good. I'm locking the door in half an hour.” You didn't give him time to respond before exiting the call and running to your bathroom.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea entertaining a fling from months ago on a whim at 7pm on a Wednesday evening, but you had nothing else to be doing with your time.

It wasn't illegal for people to reconnect, and you were not going to mention this to any close or mutual friends of yours, so one conversation (or whatever this was) probably wouldn't have any consequences anyway.

Caution blown to the wind, you replaced your work clothes with a comfortable dress, fixed your hair and poured a glass of wine and waited.

As if on queue, 27 minutes later, Spencer was at your door. Or more accurately in your house.

Your threat to lock the doors had obviously spurred him on, and you heard the door handle twist as he stepped into the space.

“Spencer. How lovely, to what do I owe the honor?”

The adrenaline of making sure the door was unlocked had obviously worn off for him, as you saw him shift awkwardly in the doorway of your living room, sat comfortably on your couch, your skirt just riding high enough to distract.

“I was thinking. Well, I suppose the correct term would be overthinking. Emily had to snap me out of it, because I was kicking myself and doubting myself and worrying so much that we almost lost the unsub…”

“What I’m trying to say is I’ve regretted not doing too many things to think coming to beg you to kiss me again is a bad idea. It’s not a bad idea, right?”

“That depends, Spencer.” You replied, setting your glass of wine down and standing up. You took a wobbly step towards him, eager to blame your hesitancy on the wine rather than the things his gaze, his words and his simple presence was doing to your body.

“On if you only want a kiss.” Your hand gingerly slipped up his chest until it was hooked into his hair, exploring the shorter locks as he grabbed you by the waist.

“Or if you aren't satisfied with just that.”

“I can't seem to come up with an answer. Perhaps you should kiss me and it'll jog my memory.”

You finally cracked a smile, and saw his face instantly bloom into ot as well.

“Nu-uh Spencer. I think you have to take that chance this time.”

He hesitated only a second before his hands were cradling your face, tipping your chin up to him as he bent to kiss you. You immediately responded, letting your hands grab fistfuls of his shirt as you pulled each other closer.

It sent you off balance, but you let yourself follow the motion of you tipping backwards, letting him catch you as you began moving in the direction of your bed.

“Not a bad idea,” he mumbled between deep kisses, letting loose a stray moan when your hands trailed down to his belt and below. “Definitely not a bad idea.”

Somehow in the clash of lips and hands, you managed to make it back to your bed, his hands already managing to find themselves under your dress as his lips diverted your attention.

“Four months, Spencer.” You growled the words into his mouth as your tongues battled for dominance. “Four months without this. I thought I'd go insane.”

You felt him smile as he lifted you, and grinned too as you wrapped your legs around him just as he began climbing onto the bed, softly lowering you down until he was on top of you.

His tongue travelled down your neck, making his way back up towards your ear.

“I did go a bit insane, you know?”

His hands flipped up your skirt as he ground his dick against your crotch, pushing it up further until the bottoms of your breasts were peaking out of the scraps of material as well.

“Let me make it up to you?” It was phrased like a question he didn't care about the answer to, as he pushed off of you and completely rid your body of the material that was hindering it completely.

“That's better.” You swore you heard a sigh of contentment as he held your thighs apart and lowered his head, one kiss at a time, to your neglected pussy.

He hooked a ginger under your panties, and pushed them off to the side, but he'd never been the most patient, and he'd already spread your legs. He'd just work around the impediment, you knew.

And he did, starting with a casual flick of the tongue as he looked up at you from his place at your cunt, smiling at you as he began to feast.

You'd never thought of yourself as a pillow princess before Spencer, enjoying giving love as much as receiving but he gave you the perfect royal treatment, and enjoying it so much it was impossible to deny.

After getting so spoiled, it was a wonder that you even knew how to adapt to life without him, nothing compared to the care and attention he showed you in bed.

Your thoughts blended together as he pressed a finger into you, already sneaked with his spit and your wetness, collected from between his lips and your soaked cunt. His pace was steady, repetitive, and driving you fucking insane.

Never a demanding lover, before you would have simply let him enjoy his time between your legs, enjoying just how much he enjoyed it himself as he lapped up all of your juices.

But four months clean from your addiction to Spencer Reid and you were snapping.

Your hands gripped at his hair, pressing his face further into your cunt than he'd been before, enjoying the muffled moans and the sound of his tongue generously lapping up all you had to offer.

You started humping his mouth, holding his head still as you used him as a tool to get yourself off, finally cumming on his mouth with a shudder and an unfiltered moan.

It would've been embarrassing if it wa anyone else, just how loud you'd been for your ex-boyfriend.

“You taste the same.” He said, wiping the remainders of your cum from his lips as he stroked himself, having loosed his cock from his pants sometime between you moaning like a wanton whore and using his face as a sex toy.

A single glance at him over you pleasuring himself was enough to get you ready for round two.

He had sat up on his knees, head and torso tilted slightly back to give you a better view of his cock being pumped hard and fast.

“Spencer Reid, don't you dare make yourself cum.” You thought the words were joking, light even but even you were shocked by the sheer lust dripping from your throat.

Wrapping your legs around him again, you pulled yourself up into his lap, holding yourself still as you quickly unfastened each of his shirt buttons, pushing it away and chucking it so far that he wouldn't be able to use it to cover up anything else.

It took you a minute more to properly situate yourself, but soon you were sinking down onto his cock and allowing the stretch to rule your mind and movements for a minute.

You gently started riding him, letting each gasp and moan reach your ears and spur you on, not holding back on your side either, telling him just how good it felt to have him in you raw once again.

Your stamina wasn't great though especially after having had one powerful orgasm already, and your movements soon became sloppy.

He kissed you softly on the lips, and you let go of the tension in your body as he pushed you onto your back, made sure you were comfortable, and started beating his cock into you with such a force that you were sure the bed was going to break.

It was this intensity that you craved, this complete change from his insistence on putting you first so to speak, and then using you as a human sexton when it suited him, allowing his cock to push you to your limits and beyond.

It wasn't like you could protest anyway, mouth hanging limply open in a scream of pleasure as sparks shot up your spine.

Entertaining Spencer Reid was never a bad idea. You decided then and there that if he left you again for whatever reason, you'd hunt him to the ends of the earth and beg for another chance at this feeling of pleasure.

You came again, of course, not sure if it was his cock or his exploring hands that was tethering you to the moment as you died a little death.

His own orgasm wasn't far behind your own, but he'd always been a bit messy. You weren't surprised when he gave a small panicked moan, pulling out at the last second as his cum spurted out. You helped him ride it out, wrapping a hand around him to stroke him until his dick was drained, the contents sprayed across your chest and breasts, a single drop even making it to the side of your mouth, but that was quickly lapped up.

His aftercare was almost as good as his foreplay, as he took pains to wash you diligently, even as all you wished to do was sleep well into the night directly after feeling his hot cum pour onto you.

He'd gathered a wash cloth, fresh set of pyjamas and an extra blanket to cocoon you both in before you could even lift a finger, and climbed into bed before you could even think of asking if he was staying the night.

With the satisfaction of multiple orgasms finally catching you, you fell asleep in his arms, a grin plastered on your lips, his hands possessively surrounding you.

Needless to say, when you woke in the morning, he was still there.

[maiayy990]

Hi dear donors ! ❤️

I would like to extend my thank and gratitude for the support you have been offering over the last eleven months. ❤️☺️

My family and I have been suffering and going through the hardest days we have ever experienced in our life . Things are very hard to get and and sometimes unattainable.😭😓

No cooking gas and the primitive method of cooking is the only alternative.

Our sufferings and hardship started on the first days of the war when all our possessions were completely destroyed and burned. We have become displaced and homeless , finding ourselves in a small tent in streets with no means of life. We lack every single necessary thing of life; food, water, hygiene essentials, and other necessities have become scarce and rare.

A photo taken to show how incredibly harsh our life has become after the war. We are struggling and facing lots of barriers to obtain the simplest necessities for living. Everything single thing is a complete story.

You can't imagine what difficulties we have been going through all these days of war. No cooking gas , nor cooking tools exist . We struggle to prepare a small meal of food.

The tragedy of getting some water for the daily use .

No bakeries are available. Everything seems a miracle and unbelievable.😭 The war has stolen our joy and smile, leaving us busy thinking only of staying safe and alive. Our future has gone with the wind and our kids lost their dreams and ambitions.

This is a part of burying the dead. We also face some problems in the process of buying our dead people as no place is there for the family. Tombs aren't enough for the number of people living on a small spot of land.

A photo taken for the morning queue of filling our gallons with drink water. We wait hours to get some water for drink. Our life is full of tragedy and sadness.

All what we need is to survive the war and be safe. We are trying to secure the daily basic living necessities and this can come true with your contribution and support. Please don't spare this moment of supporting the people in need in Gaza in this tough and dire time. You can help us by either donating however small it is or sharing my posts. Your support makes a big difference for families in need.

[bleach-your-panties]

ᰔℊℯ𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓉 𝓅ℴ𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃' with GIYUU TOMIOKA @ the mechanic shop.

for my 1500+ ᰔ𝒻ℴ𝓁𝓁ℴ𝓌ℯ𝓇 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃𝓉. requested by @rheawolf.

ᰔfem reader. giyuu and reader are married. modern au.

ᰔcw: pwp, public sex, against the wall, exhibitionism?

ᰔdividers by lovely rhy @/hitobaby.

ᰔwc: 1.3k

#💗💗🍡°taglist: @enchantedforest-network @kakushino @punkgibsons @darkstarlight82 @bakugosbratx @chifuyuskoneko @honeybleed

Once again, you let a loud sigh escape between your lips, prompting Giyuu to look over at you.

"What is it?"

His sapphire blue eyes were like the ocean on a calm day as he gazed down at you.

The two of you were currently seated in some creaky, aluminum folding chairs while the mechanic tinkered underneath your family SUV.

"Giyuu, honey, we've been here for a while now. Are you sure that this guy knows what he's doing?"

At the mention, said man slid out from under your vehicle and swiped his forearm across his forehead, effectively smearing it with oil.

"So I think I've found the problem. You said you've had trouble with idling?"

The mechanic, whose nametag read "Hotaru" regarded both you and Giyuu with his eyebrows drawn together while crossing his veiny forearms across his chest.

You nodded,

"I was getting ready to go drop the kids off at school when I noticed that the engine would cut on, idle for a few moments, then shut off. I tried cleaning the valve, but the issue persisted."

Hotaru nodded, "I see. Well if that's the case, it could be a number of problems, then. I'm going to have to take another look."

Your eyes bulged,

"Huh?! Another look, but we've already been here for three hours?!"

Giyuu's eyes moved from you to the long-haired mechanic.

"Maybe we could come back tomorrow? It is getting a bit late." He reasoned, in a much calmer tone than yours.

"If you come back tomorrow, that'll put you at the end of the queue. I'm quite a busy man, you know."

"What!!? Why you-"

Before you could start going off on the man, Giyuu took hold of your hand into his and rubbed your knuckles gently to calm you down.

"It's fine, sweetheart. I texted Tsutako earlier to pick up the kids from school if we ended up running over time. It will be alright."

He moved his hand to your lower back and gently guided you back to the row of uncomfortable chairs.

----

"They could at least put a couch in here." You grouched. Giyuu chuckled softly.

"Needy thing, aren't you? We should be home soon; I doubt it'll take another three hours."

You whirled in your chair to face him, propping one leg up over the other.

"What if it does, though? I just might die."

He leaned forehead and brushed away a lock of your hair.

"Behave, yeah? We'll have the whole evening to ourselves since Tsutako has the kids."

The thought of a free night with your husband made something primal stir within your core. It also didn't help that he had on one of your favorite outfits right now.

Dark-washed jeans, simple black sneakers, a black t-shirt, and a blue and black plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows revealing his tattooed forearms.

You wet your bottom lip with your tongue and settled your left hand onto his thigh. Your silver wedding band caught the pale-yellow overhead light, making it gleam.

"Something wrong, lily?" Giyuu asked, shifting his eyes to where your hand rested on his pants.

Your eyes moved from him to the mechanic, who was tinkering with something under the car and mumbling to himself.

"I don't know if I can wait until we get home..."

Seductively, you lowered your eyes before blinking at him long and slow. Your fingers began to rub circles into his thigh, making a soft sigh escape from his slightly parted lips.

"Right here? Right now?"

Giyuu questioned, immediately picking up your implication.

You nodded. "Please, Gi? I promise I'll be good."

He froze for a moment, his own eyes trailing over to the mechanic now.

The man was completely occupied by his task, him making little comments to himself about what he should try next; plus, his entire upper body was underneath the car.

Giyuu then looked past the waiting area and into a small hallway where he assumed there might be an office and a bathroom.

"Come on."

He grabbed your hand and you started cheering inside your head.

Just behind the wall leading into the hallway there was a little corner with a vending machine and water fountain.

Giyuu pushed you up against the wall next to the vending machine and started kissing your neck. You wrapped your arms around his upper back and tangled your fingers in the ends of his dark ponytail.

His own hands rested on your shoulders before moving down over your breasts, stomach, and into your pants.

Skillful, calculated fingers jerked them down your hips along with your panties. The knuckle of his left index finger slid up between your folds and collected a trail of your slick.

"Damn, you're this wet already? You really wanted this, huh..."

He pulled back to look at your widened, lust-blown eyes and pouty lips.

"Want you, Gi..."

Who was he to make you wait any longer?

He tugged your pants and panties the rest of the way off your legs and circled his arms around your lower back.

"Jump."

You did as he commanded and he held you against the wall with one arm circled around your back, his body pressing you into the cold, painted-bricks.

He used his other hand to pull his own pants and boxers down to rest underneath his balls, freeing his cock.

Lifting you higher up the wall, Giyuu angled his cock up so you could sink down on it. Immediately, a loud whine left your throat.

"Shh, you want him to hear you? Hmm, maybe you do..."

He then hooked his arms underneath your thighs, holding you with the crease of your knees in the crease of his elbows and spreading you open before beginning to bounce you along his thick, hard cock..

"Ahh, Gi!"

"Crying already? We just started, baby."

Your back pressed further against the bricks, running from his dick and nails digging into his shoulders.

Giyuu's thrusts had you sliding up and down the wall with nowhere to run.

He pressed his entire body weight on you and started fucking at a quicker pace, one knee slightly bent forward and almost touching the wall as he gave you swift, deep strokes.

At this point, you'd nearly forgotten that you were in a public place where anyone could walk in and see you, but you couldn't be arsed to really care with Giyuu filling you up so well.

You tried to hold onto him as best you could, hands moving from his shoulders and grabbing hold of his messy black hair in an attempt to ground yourself.

"Are you close? Talk." He stared at you with those deep blue eyes and hit you with another hard, deep thrust before pushing his face into your neck to lick and kiss it.

"Yes, Gi, I'm-!"

He felt your body shudder and decided to finish you off by pushing you up even higher against the wall and dropping you down on his cock, making you cum and squirt your release all over him.

----

Giyuu and you exited the bathroom and met the mechanic, Hotaru, in the hallway as you were heading back to the waiting area.

"I managed to fix the problem, so you should be all set to go."

He handed the bill to Giyuu, who took out his wallet to pay.

"Wait -wait a minute, let me see that?"

You gently took the piece of paper from your husband's fingers and scanned your e/c eyes over it.

"What is this: $300, for an inconvenience fee?!"

You crumpled the bill up in your hand and shook it at the mechanic's face.

"Yes, an inconvenience fee. For making me listen to the two of you fuck while I fixed your shitty car."

----

a/n:*I apologize if giyuu's ooc, haven't seen him in a while :< but i ended up posting this on his birthday!:D

get it poppin! 💄event ©bleach-your-panties 2024. do NOT steal, copy, repost, alter, or upload my works onto other sites. comments appreciated. reblogs always welcome.

[inbabylontheywept]

Someone had to go first

The first ship that arrived was pretty matter of fact about its fate. The pilot introduced himself as Eric, then told us he was part of the first sublight resupply attempt in modern history. He then gave me and the ground control team his bad news.

“So,” he said. “Without real time telemetry, we weren’t even sure which half of your orbit you’d be in. That’s half a solar system’s worth of wiggle room. Decelerating enough to survive contact with your low orbit would take me two weeks, which, you know, it looks like we don’t have. That means that in order to get the second ship in before you lose orbital control to the Kresh, I’m gonna have to make a sacrificial flyby. Ten to the negative four torr is good enough for a lot of things, but at point-seven c it’s gonna be like sandblasting a soup cracker. Good news is that all the expensive toys are in the next ship, so this really ain’t costing you more than a ship and a pilot.”

“You knew,” I said. If they put the expensive toys in the second ship, they knew that the first was likely a sacrifice. No one smart enough to handle orbital physics would miss that.

“I did,” he replied. “But someone had to go first.”

That was, of course, a lie. No one had to go first. No else had had, at least. When our connection to the FTL network was lost, we’d understood that as the end of our reinforcements. Doing resupplies via sublight was just too risky. It was a testament to Earth that it had accepted the risk and continued anyway.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” I asked. This man had come here to die for us. I wasn’t sure how much I could give, but what I had was his.

“I do have a few requests,” he said. “First up, I need as much high-orbital data as you got. The whole lot.”

I began directing tightbeam resources to him immediately. It was an easy resource to exchange - it wasn’t like there was anyone else out to talk to anymore. When we lost FTL, we found ourselves very, very alone.

“Second,” he said. “Right, I know I’m gonna sound like a princess right now, but I have been stuck in this stupid tin-can for almost two-years now, and I seriously overestimated how much I like synth music. If you have anything that’s analog - I don’t care what kind of string or drum or brass you play, but I’d kill to hear something without a beep in it.”

I jumped my own queue in the tightbeam, and added a short playlist that I ripped from the local web. Human Music, it was labeled. 3 Terabytes. I prayed there was something on it that he’d like.

“And third,” he said. “Third. The uh, next pilot is pretty mad at me. Turns out this will just be one of those things left unfinished. That’s all death really is, I guess - a lot of unfinished things. Let him know that he was right: He is a better pilot than me. But tell him that wouldn’t have made a difference here. Bad luck beats skill, and this luck was shit.”

I promised, and he went silent after that. We could see what data he was analyzing, and the short answer was all of it - everything from atmospheric density to troop positions and his own ship’s blueprints. He knew he had one shot at this, and that if the price wasn’t paid here, it would be paid by whoever came next.

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

Ground control didn’t get a verbal warning that he’d entered atmosphere. Just a ping. A little here-I-am, whispered in the dark.

After that, we could keep track with visuals alone.

He hit the outskirts of the exoatmosphere in his first pass, burning bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. He caught the sparse particles like a kite, trying to shed enough speed to hit actual low orbit. Automatic telemetry updates gave us the grim news for the ship: Thermals were holding up decently, but the ablative was wearing out fast.

The entire descent brought us more than two hour’s reprieve. The Kresh hadn’t expected to see a resupply, but they knew what one meant: Get it now, get it fast, or deal with a stream of new troops. They could buy themselves ten days' time by shooting this one ship down now.

That was an eternity during a siege.

The first loop lowered the speed by about a twentieth of light. The pilot responded by pulling the ship in tighter, trying to preserve more ablative plating by trading off with thermal. Seven fighters were close enough to fire off heat seekers. I don’t think the Kresh had ever anticipated shooting down a craft coming in that hot - the missile's decoy avoidance countermeasure actually made it steer around the thing, chasing down loose pieces of shrapnel. Cooled fragments, still hotter than an engine should be at full blast. The simple mistakes bought it enough time to enter pre-orbit, and the fighters had to stop their pursuit. They weren’t willing to die to stop the ship.

Our man, on the other hand, was already committed to that course.

A third loop followed a fourth. Ablative coating went from 65% integrity, to 30%, to 5%. Telemetry scans were exceptionally detailed - the pilot was making the flyby count. The last message we got from him was simple:

Are you EMP shielded? he asked, not even bothering to encrypt the text stream. He didn’t have time to process more than that.

Yes, we replied. We knew what he was thinking, but it was still a shock to see it. The fusion torch that was driving his ship flared hot, burning through the nozzle and feeding directly into the craft’s deuterium supply. The reaction went super critical, and the resulting neutron pulse set off everything in the ship with a z-count higher than iron. Three continuous seconds of EM interference screamed through the comms as the hulk burned brighter than the sun.

The explosion itself wasn’t powerful enough to reach the Kresh ships still in high orbit, but it made enough broadband radiation to blind both sides LADAR. The man must have been a hell of a pilot - half the shrapnel went down and burned up as it entered the standard atmosphere, sacrificed to move the other half past lagrange. Standard evasion would’ve made the pieces easy to dodge, but with LADAR down, all the Kresh could do was sit still and cower as the wrath of a dead man riddled them full of holes. Our best ace had managed to shoot down seven ships before this before getting shot down himself. The wreckage of the freighter took down six.

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

The second ship came in stealth. One second, we were holding attrition in high orbit, the next, something the size of a small station came ripping through the atmosphere.

It did the same trick as the former - swapping between ablative and thermal loads, coming down at a speed that the Kresh fighters didn’t even try to match. Armies could be built in years, but skills like this took decades.

Telemetry connection was established almost as an afterthought. The way the ship casually ate through ablative armoring made my eyes water, but the pilot himself seemed pretty non-plussed.

“You’re down to fifteen percent coverage. You need-

“What I need,” he said, “is to see the previous ship’s telemetry as soon as I land. And I don't need your help landing it.”

He cut off my chance to reply by flicking the channel off. We watched, and we wrang our hands, but sure enough he came in six minutes later with 4% of the ablative left.

I met him on the landing pad. Under normal circumstances, we’d have needed twenty-four hours for the craft to cool enough to even approach, but we’d had cryo ready just in case. Three tankers of nitrogen, and the loading area, at least, was cool enough to touch. Safety would have to take a backseat to speed here - we needed the supplies fast.

But those both would take a backseat to a promised conversation with the second pilot. He was out of the craft as soon as the air was cool enough to avoid scalding his lungs, picking through the workers to try and find who had the telemetry data.

I found him first. The drive went into his hands, but I needed to keep my promise with Eric before letting go.

“You’re better than the first pilot,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. If the previous flier had been a saint, this one was a god. “But you wouldn’t have been able to manage the landing either. There just wasn’t time.”

“Let me see,” he said, tugging on the drive. “Just let me see. I have to know I couldn’t do it either. I have to know that someone had to die.”

I let go of the drive and he stalked back into his ship. I didn’t follow. I figured I’d pushed things far enough.

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

The second pilot left the ship six hours later. He looked bleary in a way that put me at ease. I’d been up the last six hours directing supplies from the ship. Everything from ground-to-orbit rails to AGI targeting systems was inside - to call it gamechanging would be an understatement. It was good work, but I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. Seeing the other man with bags under his eyes meant we could just be frank with each other.

“I couldn’t have managed it,” he said, half-ashamed, half-relieved.

“It just wasn’t possible,” I agreed.

We sat there a moment longer. I didn’t mind the break. This was time well spent.

“Did it hurt?” he asked finally.

“Ablative failed before heating,” I said, which was the technical way of saying no. “He overloaded the reactor before the ship actually broke up and did some kind of slingshot maneuver - hit the main body of the Kresh fleet with half a space station’s worth of shrapnel.”

“Good,” he said.

I knew the signs. The tremor in his cheek, the way his jaw clenched - it wasn’t professional, but I hugged him anyway. Let him have the dignity of choosing to weep instead of having it wrenched out of him.

It was a gift we’d all been given at some point in this war. At least now, there was the hope it could be over soon.

[y0urm4m]

Closer

Warnings: swearing,drinking,smuttt

Summary/teaser: What will happen when Chris is too drawn to a girl, and luck is on his side.

A/N: for the sake of the fic let’s say that Chris and Nate are both old enough to drink… love you all!

╭─•.─✩─.•─╮

“We’re here!” Lydia said, opening the Uber door as I also slid out of the car walking towards the club. Lydia had convinced me to finally go out with her this Saturday so here I was outside the club with her. “Are you excited?” She asked spinning around, her skirt twirling as she spun. “I guess so.” I giggled, linking my arm in hers as we walked towards back of the queue to get in.

After a long wait we were finally at the front of the line. “Identification please ma’am,” The bouncer spoke. I shuffled through my purse grabbing my id card passing it to the man in front of me, he nodded his head. “You too.” He said signalling towards Lydia, her also passing her id to him. “You two can go on through, have a great night.” He said opening the door for us. “Thank you.” I smiled, entering the club.

The atmosphere almost immediately changing. Purple and blue light filling the room, the smell of sweat and alcohol filling my nose as we walked in further.

“So drinks first?” Lydia asked, her arm still linked with mine. “You know me so well.” I replied as we walked over towards the bar, sitting down on two stools. “Hello, what can I get for you both?” The bartender asked smiling at us. “I’ll have a gimlet.” Lydia replied, looking towards me. “I’ll just have a Malibu and Coke please.” I said, grabbing some money out of my purse. “I’ll be right back with your drinks one second.” The bartender replied, walking off to make the drinks.

“So you glad I convinced you too come? Or what.” Lydia asked, re-applying her lipgloss. “Yeah it also gave me a reason to wear this.” I said, motioning towards my outfit. “Yeah you look hot.” She giggled. Just then the bartender finally came back with our drinks. “Here you go.” He said pushing our drinks towards us. “Thank you.” Me and Lydia replied in unison, sipping on the drinks.

My attention was shifted to the feeling of eyes on me, I turned looking around to see if I could find the culprit. “You alright girl?” Lydia asked putting her arm on my shoulder. “Yeah lyds I’m fine just felt like someone was staring at me.” I sighed, sipping more of my drink to soothe the nerves.

— A few more drinks in, me and and Lydia found ourselves now dancing. It was quite stuffy as there was loads of other people dancing around us. I spun her round, giggling as we carried on dancing to the song that was bouncing off the walls. I hadn’t had so much fun in a long time I felt elated that I had got to spend time with one of my favourite people after such a long time.

That’s when ‘party in the U.S.A’ started playing and everyone around us began dancing even more, causing me and Lydia to literally be stood shoulder against shoulder. “Right if they’re dancing so are we.” She shouted loud enough for me to hear. “Okay!” I shouted back, as we began dancing again but once again I could feel the presence of someone staring at me. I spun around looking around for the pair of eyes looking at me but yet I still couldn’t see them, I shrugged and continued dancing.

Chris pov:

“Bro you having fun yet?” Nate asked, putting his arm around my shoulder. “Yeah, I’m just going to get another drink.” I sighed arising from where I was, heading towards the bar. That’s when someone caught my eye, she was stunning. The way her outfit hugged her body perfectly, the way her hair shone under the club lighting lustrously, just her presence was alluring but before I could realise she was turning to look around. “Shit.” I mumbled to myself walking away before she could see me.

“Where are the drinks?” Nate asked, frowning slightly. “Sorry I got a bit distracted and forgot them.” I sighed looking back over at the bar where she still sat.

— that’s when I found my self squished between Nate and another man on the club dance floor. It was a really tight squeeze with barely enough room to even breathe. Nate was currently dancing with a girl who kept motioning her friend to come over and dance with me. “Just ask him to dance.” The girl whispered ushering her friend over. “Would you maybe want to dance?” The other girl asked, but as I looked up that’s when the girl from the bar caught my eye again she was now dancing with what I supposed was her friend. “Hello, are you going to answer me?” She asked again. “Oh. Uh no thanks sorry.” I replied, pushing past a few people until the girl from the bar was fully in sight.

I was now a few meters away from her, I still hoped she couldn’t see me. Once again she turned to look around this time she slightly caught my eye as I looked down. My cheeks flushing red as she turned to look back at her friend shrugging.

Reader pov:

After what seemed like an eternity I was finally fed up with the staring. “Lydia there is definitely someone staring at me and it’s getting on my nerves at this point.” I sighed looking behind me, still nothing. “Well we can leave if you’d like?” She said, moving more towards me. “No it’s fine, I’m just going to grab a drink I’ll be back.” I replied accidentally bumping into someone as I walked away. “Sorry.” I mumbled not even looking up at the man as I made my way back to the bar. “Malibu and coke?” The bartender asked, smiling slightly. “Yes please.” I replied, sighing. “Coming right up!” The man giggled, beginning to make my drink.

Once again the bartender had finished making my drink, I paid and began sipping on it when someone slipped down next to me. “Sorry i should ask if it’s alright if I sit here.” The man asked, I looked up at him. He looked oddly familiar, blue eyes with brunette hair. “It’s fine no one was sitting here anyways.” I laughed slightly. “Oh good, I’m Chris by the way.” He added, looking down at me. “y/n.” I replied, sipping on my drink. “Is there anything I can get for you?” The Bartender asked the oddly familiar man. “I’ll just have a Pepsi.” He said, pulling out his wallet.

After a few minutes of small talk, I began to feel more confident and decided to ask some more questions about Chris. I looked down at the Pepsi in his hand and back up at him. “So you don’t drink?” I asked, motioning towards the Pepsi. “No neither do me or my brothers.” He said looking over his shoulder slightly. “Ohh, are your brothers here with you?” I smiled, looking over at where his gaze was. He turned back around looking at me once again. “No I actually came here with my friend. What about you?” He replied. “Same here she’s currently dancing speaking of which I should probably go find her,” I said beginning to stand up. I looked back at Chris. “Would you like to dance with me once I’ve found her?” I asked, drinking the last of my drink. “Sure.” He chuckled standing up as well.

— Me and Chris had eventually found Lydia, who was dancing with some random girl. I tapped on her shoulder, as she turned her face revealed a smile. “Lydia, this is Chris. Chris, this is Lydia.” I said introducing them both to each other. “Nice to meet you!” She giggled, as she grabbed my arm. He nodded smiling at her slightly, turning his focus back to me.

After Lydia and Chris getting to know each other a little bit better, Lydia went back to dancing with the girl where as me and Chris decided to dance together.

Once I began dancing i found myself lost in the music, swaying to the beat. The atmosphere was ecstatic, due to my slight tipsy-ness and the fact I was dancing with a hot guy I had met almost an hour ago or it could have been because we were so close to each other because of how crowded the dance floor was, leaving not even enough room for a mouse to fit in between us both. “This is fun.” I said just loud enough for Chris to hear. “Yeah it is.” He chuckled, the feeling of his warm breath near my neck sent shivers down my spine. Suddenly I felt his arms inch around my waist. “Is this okay?” He asked. “Yes that’s just fine.” I replied, grinning like a child and a candy shop. I began moving my hips to the beat of the song, causing Chris to chuckle from behind me. “Y’know there’s something that’s drawing me to get to know you even better, in every way possible.” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. His eyes widened, as he practically froze in place causing me to giggle. “Would you like to get to know me in every way possible?” I added. He nodded eagerly. “Come with me then.” I smiled as he removed his hands from my waist, as I placed my hand in his.

We pushed our way through the crowded club floor, hand still in hand. Eventually making it to the bathroom stalls, checking if anyone could see us as I entered pulling Chris in behind me. “You sure you want to do this?” I asked, looking for some sort of consent. “Yea I’m sure.” He chuckled down at me, bringing his lips towards mine. The gap between them slowly closing, as I felt our heart rate increase and his eyes fluttered shut. I swiped my tongue over his bottom lip as they parted slightly as he groaned. Our tongues now fighting for some sort of dominance, as I brought my hand up brushing it through his hair. I pulled back bringing my lips to his ear whispering.“You can touch y’know.” He nodded his hands immediately making their way to my waist gently squeezing the flesh. I could feel the tent in his pants on my thigh, I moved my leg slightly causing a tiny groan to fall from Chris’ lips in anticipation. “You want me to touch you?” I giggled, moving my hand down to the tent in his pants. “Yes.. please.” He whined softly. He didn’t have to tell me twice, as I had already began unzipping his cargos pulling them down slightly, as they fell the rest of the way, pooling down at his ankles. I sunk down on my knees looking up into his blue innocent eyes. “You sure you want this.” I asked one again, my index finger know making tiny circles on the bottom of his thigh. “I sure.” His breath hitched at the feeling of my index finger almost near where he needed me most. With that I tugged down his boxers, his cock immediately sprung out standing tall and proud.

I spat on my hand pumping his cock a few times, bringing my lips to the tip kissing the it slightly before putting as much of his length as I could in my mouth, gagging slightly. I kept my pace long and slow, maintaining eye contact the whole time as he groans filled the bathroom. “Fuck..please don’t stop.” He begged, caressing the top of my head. The sound of his groans and small whimpers practically had me dripping. I then brought my hand near his balls slowly caressing, causing more noises to fall from his lips, his hips slightly jutting forward every time I moved my head up and down. “Shit..you’re gonna ma- make me cum if you keep doing that.” He croaked, throwing his head back. By the way his cock started twitching I could tell he was close, I immediately moved my head back my lips making a popping sound as i removed them from his dick. “M’ sorry my love, you’re gonna have to wait.” I said, standing up and stroking his sweat forehead, giving his lips a quick peck. “Please let me at least make you feel good first.” He said, looking down at me.

How could I say no to him when he’s looking at me like that.

“Of course you can.” I smiled, Chris’ hands immediately making their way to my top undoing it and pulling it off. His eyes trailing down to where my breasts sat. “Can I?” He asked, looking back up at me. I nodded, as he grinned moving his mouth to my left breast. I gasped, at the feeling of his hot breath near my nipple as he kissed them softly. He looked back up at me slightly before attaching his lips to my nipple, softly squeezing the other one causing me to moan he then began sucking it with more passion. He slightly groaned into my breast the sound immediately going right to my core. I moved my hand up pushing it through his hair once again, as he moved his face giving the other nipple the same amount of attention, scattering a few love bites here and there. He removed his mouth from my nipple. “Can i take these off?” He asked, motioning towards my bottoms. “Yea.” I breathed out, helping him as he removed them chucking them with his trousers.

After basically all my clothes were removed except my panties, Chris brung his hand over touching my clit through them. I moaned at the feeling of his fingertips making circles on my clit, he slowly sped up. “You soaked, holy shit.” He chuckled, moving his hands up pulling my panties down as I stepped out of them. I pulled Chris’ face back into mine our lips meeting once again, his hand now squeezing my ass cheeks roughly. I pulled back abruptly, his face shone with concern. “You alright?” He asked. “Yeah I just realised I left my purse, which had condoms in it, with Lydia.” I sighed, rubbing my face slightly. “Well I’m clean and I can always pull out.” Chris smiled, ruffling my hair a little causing me to smile. “Alright, come closer then.” I giggled, but as chris walked back I pushed him back making him sit on the toilet lid as I sat down on his lap.

Pecking his lips quickly, raising my hips to aline his cock with my entrance slowly sinking down onto it. Whining at the stretch. “Holy shit ur so tight.” Chris groaned as I started bouncing on his cock, eventually making some sort of erotic rhythmic pattern. The pain from the stretch, turning into pleasure causing whimpers and moans to leave my mouth as Chris’ dick hit places I never knew existed. My pace sped up, Chris thrusting his hips up into mine. “Oh my god Chris.” I whined, Chris grunting as I spoke, placing his head in the crook of my neck placing a slight kiss on my collarbone. I could feel the knot starting to form in my stomach, as my breathing started picking up. So I gave up on bouncing and decided to roll my hips against his, not bothering to go slowly as I tried to reach mine and Chris’ high.

I could tell Chris was getting close by the way he was twitching inside of me. “You close baby?” I asked, moving my hips faster. He whimpered loudly in response, grabbing onto my hips helping me move. “Holy shit.” I whined, gripping onto Chris’ hands. “F-fuck.” Chris croaked out. “Cum with me Chris.” I moaned. “B-but I don’t have a condom on.” He breathed, slowly down slightly. “I don’t care, I’ll get plan b tomorrow.” I replied, bringing my hips up and slamming them back down abruptly causing the knot in the stomach to snap as well as Chris to tumble over, blissing us both out. Our juices mixing together as we rode out our high. The smell was intoxicating, as me and Chris stayed in place, satisfied and sweaty.

After catching our breath, me and Chris got cleaned up and re dressed giggling amongst ourselves about what just happened. “Y’know you bumped into someone on the dance floor earlier?” He said grinning. “Oh my gosh was that you.” I giggled. Chris nodded, as we erupted into laughter again.

— Once we had stopped laughing we both decided to check our phones for any notifications from Nate or Lydia. Lydia had messaged me saying she went home with the girl from earlier and Nate had told Chris that he had left with a girl quite a while ago. “We should probably get going then.” I said looking up Chris, he nodded in response giving my head a tender kiss as we left the bathroom. “So would you possible want to come back to mine?” I asked smiling. “I’d love to.” He replied as we left the club hand in hand.

This was definitely not how I expected my Saturday night to end.

╰─•.─✩─.•─╯

The end!!

A/N: honestly enjoyed writing this one as well, this and my last two posts are my top three favourites at the moment lmaoo. Hope you enjoyed reading

Love you all — Gracie

Taglist: @patscorner @mattyb4dominicans @watercolorskyy @brooklynn0103 @junnniiieee07

[forgot-how-catflap-works]

Hot take: Sisyphys got a sweet deal

We must imagine Sisyphus happy, according to existentialist philosopher Albert Camus. It’s one of his hottest and most widely known takes. The idea that when confronted with the meaninglessness of his existence, condemned for all eternity to push a boulder up a mountain only for it to roll back down, dear old Sisyphus may find contentment. What other choice does he have after all? 

(Showing my age here with the rage face meme and will not apologise #MillenialPride)

The assertion is that we mortals are faced with a similar conundrum. Life is unpredictable, chaotic, and frequently terrifying. With nothing but the infinite void to look forward to, how are we to spend our days? Either we embrace religion and pray for eternal salvation, skip the queue to the void by killing ourselves because it doesn’t make any difference in the end, or laugh at the absurdity of it all and find joy in the simple act of being here. It is up to us to create our own meaning. 

On my good days this notion provides me a lot of comfort, and links in nicely with the zen buddhist idea that this moment is the only thing we truly have. So the take home is to embrace it, and live fully for the moment. It’s all very Dead Poets Society or, if you’re like me and have never seen that film, the B plot in Season 1, Episode 3 of Community.  In the immortal words of Professor Whitman, “Seize the day Jeff, for real. Go running naked in a hailstorm, kiss a girl in the middle of the day, fly a kite but do it for yourself! Or you wot just fail my class, you’ll fail life.” 

On my bad days however, I’m just salty about it. Suddenly the pressure to create my own meaning in the limited time I have becomes crippling to the point of paralysis. Every moment not spent living my best life is a moment wasted. I move steadily towards the grave, the years ahead steadily becoming fewer than those behind. What have I achieved with these dwindling hours, these precious days in which I am burdened to create my own meaning? I’ll tell you what I’ve done; play RuneScape and be depressed.

The problem with transferring this thinking from Sisyphus to a human living under late stage capitalism in the 21st century, is that Sisyphys didn’t have to go to a fucking job everyday. All he had to do was push a boulder! All day! Piece of piss mate. 

What I wouldn’t give to just push a boulder all day. No laundry, no dishes, no reletenlessly targeted advertising and no more fucking work emails or meetings. I bet Sisyphys never once had a melon-related panic attack in the fruit aisle of Aldi. On top of that, pushing a massive boulder to the top of a mountain is an incredible workout. Right now I have to drive nearly 30 minutes to go and sweat in a leisure centre while strangers grunt in my periphery. Give me the boulder any day. I want that head empty, no thoughts, brain scampled egg life baby. Release me from the curse of my own self-awareness. 

Okay, I get it that Albert Camu grew up in poverty, survived tuberculosis, and lived through the Second World War. I readily admit that my “melon crisis” doesn’t stack up in comparison.  All I’m saying is, it’s pretty easy to imagine someone happy when they are free from the mountains of bullshit that besiege us every single day. I am completely overwhelmed by the mere act of existing under capitalism. The sheer number of decisions I have to make every single day just to get from one end to the next breaks my autistic brain. I can’t handle it, didn’t ask for it, and I certainly don’t want it. But surely we could do literally anything else? 

I know it’s sort of laughable to say, “Let’s all go back to a simple, agrarian existence where we live off the land and chill by a waterfall smoking phat blunts.” Like, obviously that sounds a thousand times better than what we’re doing now, but short of a catastrophic societal collapse and then thousands of years of recovery, that’s not going to happen. Did you know it (sort of) takes six months and over $1,500 dollars to make a single chicken sandwich from scratch? Sustaining a single human life requires an incredible amount of work. 

There are so many of us, and we’re so connected and interdependent on each other as a species. No organism on the planet comes close to what we have built for ourselves and it is an amazing feat by every conceivable metric. But what is it all for? Have we ever once as a civilisation stopped and asked ourselves why we’re doing any of this? 

For whatever reason, we are apparently limited in our conception of all that remains possible. A civilisation disjointed and misaligned, adrift on this rock hurtling through space at mind boggling speeds, confronted with the meaninglessness of it all and refusing to collectively acknowledge it for even a moment. 

It’s like we’re still locked in that primordial stage of evolution, where we must accrue resources to survive the harsh winter and outlive our rivals. When we predominantly existed as smaller bands or tribes, that made a lot of sense. But now we are a single connected superorganism, our sense of competition is squarely in opposition to our sense of collaboration. 

We broadly recognise the need to collaborate in tackling existential threats like climate change, yet our primal competitiveness sees us knee jerking our way back towards fascism. It’s like we’ve gone to the doctor about a backache and they prescribed a dozen hungry tigers to be administered immediately. We’re still acting as though there is not enough to go around, when there is in fact plenty; it has just been misallocated. I am left always wondering why? What do we have to gain from eating ourselves alive?

I cannot help but think it comes from a petulant refusal to collectively acknowledge the void. We struggle desperately for meaning, to leave a legacy, but forget that it is impossible. Even those who live on in infamy after their death will one day perish from the collective consciousness. Our sun will die, all heat will fade from the universe until it is nothing but a barren, lifeless waste. No tower you build or lineage you foster will outlast that. Yet we sit watching helplessly as oligarchs and plutocrats rail against their own mortality to catastrophic and destructive consequences for the rest of us. I suppose in the long run, that doesn’t really matter though does it? 

We have made a home for ourselves in the belly of a vast, insatiable beast. A beast so hungry for our blood and labour that it stifles anything that cannot be effectively comodified. How are we to find happiness and peace under such conditions? It is simply not a priority. 

To quote folk punk band AJJ: 

This is no exaggeration, we're living in a death machine

And no, it's not just your imagination

You've been living in a death machine

Some of us are passengers, and some of us are driving

Almost everybody's getting bled to death to keep the motor running

Sisyhus at least is free from its roiling guts, and in that freedom it is not difficult to imagine him happy. For the rest of us, it takes a little more effort and a lot more work. 

[emilykaldwen]

*pinches the bridge of my nose*

Okay kids, sit down. I think things in the fandom space needs a little clarification.

Fan Artists and Fan Fiction writers are frustrated and upset about how the reblog rate has plummeted over the years as the rest of the internet moved to a 'hit the heart to help the algorithm'. Tumblr doesn't work that way. Likes don't do anything for a post, it just locks it in your personal scrapbook.

You Do Not Have to Reblog things YOU do not want to

When people say 'reblog the post' they mean reblog instead of ONLY hitting the like button. Tumblr relies on reblogs to put things on your dash. If you're liking something, then it hits your interests, and you should be reblogging it.

HOWEVER YOU ARE NEVER OBLIGATED TO REBLOG ALL THE THINGS.

Most people, including myself, will reblog from friends because we're friends! I support your foray into a fandom space I have no understanding of, but odds are if you are into it, then some of my other mutuals may be into it so I'll reblog. But I'm not out here reblogging every post I see from people I don't know in fandom spaces I'm not familiar with. It's my blog. I curate what I'd like. Some people have a dozen sideblogs for every fandom niche interest. Some of us just have the one blog and you strap in for whatever fandom chaos we go on. If you tag me in something, I occasionally miss it because I get the notification on my phone but don't have the free moment to do it and forget. Or maybe I add it into my queue.

When you are creating something you need to be mindful of your audience.

I'm in my mid 30s. I do not play in the Disney space (I know Disney Descendents is popular? That came out waaaaay after my time I don't know what it is), I don't know what that girl with the ghost band thing is that was going around a few years ago. I have fellow adult friends who do not engage with fan creation that involves minors. Additionally, I've seen people create OCs for shows like Criminal Minds. Hey! more power to you, I've never watched the show, and I know there's fic out there (I had someone tell me about a what I think was a Harry Potter/Criminal Minds crossover??? wow), but it's not going to get the same kind of traction as say, a Teen Wolf fan work.

I'm not saying don't create for your niche interests! CREATE! BE FREE AND MERRY! but understand that those creations just won't get the same kind of traction because it's a niche interest.

We create for ourselves, we share to find other people who enjoy our hobbies.

Which brings me to my second point:

NO ONE IS KNOCKING ON YOUR BEDROOM DOOR TO MAKE FRIENDS

Making friends is hard! I totally get it. But a sure fire way to turn people off way fast is to start a conversation with me but make it abundantly clear you care about nothing that I say/offer and are just waiting for your turn to talk so you can tell me about YOUR things and expect ME to ask questions. Conversation is a two way street. It's a back and forth. It is not me sitting there like a parent patiently listening to my child tell me about the cool toy adventure they're doing. I'm not your parent. I'm not your captive audience. I'm another person, and if you want friends - MEANINGFUL friends - then you need to make an effort to engage with people.

And it's hard. It's hard because so many people out there are very navel-gazey, and people get so caught up in the excitement of their own creations that they forget to ask other people about theirs. And... you're gonna have to be okay with that. You're gonna have to be okay with it feeling like pulling teeth, and know that hey! you're never gonna be buddy buddies with everyone. You just keep being you, you just keep showing the kind of person you are, and eventually it'll happen.

It's taken me over a decade to form meaningful mature friendships online. I've had friends over the years, ofc, but it's only now, when I can approach something with clear expectations and not thinking everyone is off having fun without me in some little clique, that I've been able to connect with people more honestly. And taking a five year break from tumblr helped a lot with that. I bought a house, I got a new job, I did other meaningful things with my life that wasn't on the internet.

The internet isn't actually a popularity place. You do not have to be popular to exist. I have been on tumblr since the inception pretty much. I have 200 followers and I only interact with 10 of them, maybe 15. And I'll tell you that outta those 200, 90% of them are blogs that haven't updated in years. A follower count does not promise reblogs, does not promise friends. It's literally impossible to be best buddies with 2000 people, to have a meaningful connection with every. single. one.

anyway I'm tired. I'm too old for this shit. Go touch some grass, go get off tumblr and play a new video game, join a book club, read more books, do things that aren't perpetually refreshing your dash and thinking everyone is off having fun without you because I promise you it's not fucking true. You need to have a life offline. You need a hobby that doesn't involve the computer. Seriously. Go touch grass.

[passionthatmoves]

In any case, in 2024 it is possible to eat delicious food you didn’t make yourself, watch movies that have recently come out in the cinema, buy all manner of clothes, tools and fripperies, do the food shopping, speak to friends and family and earn a wage – all without ever leaving the house. Why should we, then? What’s in it for us? There are a number of ways to answer those questions, not all of which will appeal to everyone, but it is worth setting them out. Living a real, physical life outside the home is good because humans need friction. Convenience is alluring but it is dangerous, because getting used to it means forgetting that being alive isn’t meant to always be easy. We should run our errands in person and queue at the Post Office and eat in restaurants because it is good to remember that sometimes we have to wait around, or go to several shops because the first one didn’t have what we needed. Resilience is one of the most important traits a person can and should develop, and it works like a muscle. Glide effortlessly through life and, when something bad does happen, because it always will, you won’t know how to react. On a similar note, forcing ourselves to go out even when we’d rather stay on the couch can remind us that good, surprising things usually tend to take place when we least expect them. You may bump into an old acquaintance while out buying a pair of shoes or a carton of milk, or see someone you’d forgotten even existed. You may get to pet a very cute dog, or have a nice laugh with an old lady who struck up a conversation with you, or help someone else who got knocked off their bike and feel good about it, or, or, or – the possibilities are endless. That’s the entire point. The outside is where the unknowable can and will take place, and that’s what makes it so wonderful. A life without any serendipity is hardly worth living and yes, chance is precious enough that it is worth its cost.

Marie Le Conte, 'The Introverts are Winning' (25 July 2024) The New Humanist

[doberbutts]

I keep seeing posts about recent transmisogynistic events that are calling out horrible things people are doing to transfems, and every so often some people will list Transandrophobia Truthing as a crime/dogwhistle against transfems (on the same level as misgendering, death threats, etc) and I'm just so tired. How are we even supposed to defend ourselves without taking away from the issue at hand. I feel like they're just going "How can i make this about the people i dont like being bad so that people who agree with the main topic also agree with me" and not addressing the actual issue (rampant transmisogyny) It feels so callous

I've seen them too, though I have a couple folks who dm'd me about them and apparently a lot of the people claiming to be close to Avewy and also saying it's trans mascs' fault are people who she is not actually close with. I'm inclined to believe them since these folks have no history of lying to me in the past, so do with that information what you will.

As said before, on the heels of tumblr's ceo being as unhinged on main as possible and yet another child dead from transphobic violence, I am too emotionally exhausted and drained and frustrated to be coherent about anyone using these things to sew seeds of discord. I haven't liked how aggressive my notes have been getting and I'm also not really sure what to do about that.

In honesty, I am planning to uninstall tumblr for the duration of my surgery recovery. My blog will run from my queue and only my actual friends who I speak to off tumblr will be able to contact me. I'm also uninstalling my work apps for the same reason. I don't need the stress while recovering from major surgery during a time in my life that should be as stress-free as possible while I complete a stage in my journey I've been [somewhat literally] dying for for 18 years. I'll be back when I've got my dogs back again.

[heartsaturn]

Haii! I was wondering if you can do a Steve Randle x M!Reader? :3

“love grows where my rosemary goes and nobody knows like me”

steve randle x m!reader

warnings: so much fluff that its actually sickening (and darry being everyones father figure, queue disappointed darry)

summary: the four times reader wanted to kiss steve and the one time he did.

a/n: still trying to figure out the personality of the outsiders characters so i apologize in advance. also sorry for taking literally forever to get this out, i was so busy with school work and honestly was in a writing slump. ik you said male reader but its not very specific tbh. ps i loved writing this request with my whole heart <33

———————————————————————

one

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is!”

Steve and I were about twenty minutes deep into an argument about wether chocolate cake or vanilla cake is better.

“Tell me one reason why vanilla is better than chocolate!”

Clearly, Steve was very sensitive about this topic. The only reason I wasn’t giving him this argument was because it was honestly kind of funny seeing how angry he got over something so unimportant like flavour of cake.

“It’s just my personal preference! Why can’t you accept that!”

Steve’s face finally seemed to have contorted to a more calm expression. He probably had realized how silly of an argument this was and wanted to stop. Although, instead of him stopping he just simply… walked away.

“Steve! Where are you going?”

“I am going to get both vanilla and chocolate cake and we are going to test them together. If I like the vanilla better than you win, if you like chocolate better than I win. Deal?”

“Fine, just because I want this argument to be over.”

He slightly chuckled at that statement and I swear my heart stopped then and there.

His laugh.

His laugh.

Every time I heard his laugh it was like the first time I had ever heard it before and I fell in love with him all over again.

I just want to be more than friends.

two

The whole gang was currently having a sleepover at the Curtis house, it was a bit small for all of us but we make it work

Right now though, Two-bit, Steve, and Sodapop were having an argument about which movie we were going to watch.

what is it with Steve and arguing with people?

I had no clue what they were even talking about anymore as I just sat back and listened. Darry had gone out to get the snacks for the movie, which was a big mistake leaving everyone unsupervised. Johnny and Ponyboy were both on the floor leaning against the couch, about to drift to sleep. Finally, Dally was out on the porch smoking, probably sick and tired of hearing the the boys argue.

Even though I didn’t know what they were talking about, I was on Steve’s side. No matter what. He just looks so passionate about what he is talking about and he is the perfect volume between yelling and talking, to where its not annoying but he is still getting his point across.

He is literally perfect.

And then Darry comes back with the snacks and most definitely sees me looking at Steve with love in my eyes and I am now regretting the fact that I cannot hide my emotions.

God, I am so far gone.

three

It seemed that I couldn’t hang out with Steve alone anymore because it was the third time this week that one or more of the gang member interrupted us.

Steve and I were just as the diner by ourselves because we hadn’t had a one-on-one conversation in a while and we wanted to catch up. That is when the whole rest of the gang comes in and decides to plop themselves right at our booth, which could barely fit all of us.

Steve and I were still across from each other though, and we both gave look that said “I want to kill them for interrupting us”. We didn’t even engage in conversation with the rest of the gang, we just talked to each other.

Steve had just made a joke and I was now dying laughing. It wasn’t even that funny but it was to me and to him. After I was done with my laughing fit, I looked at Steve and we made eye contact.

Since when were his eyes so pretty?

We held eye contact for about three second, smiling like idiots, before both getting flustered and looking away.

Before either of us could say anything, Sodapop engaged Steve in a conversation.

four

I had been having an absolute shit day. First, I had woken up late, missed the school bus and inevitably had to walk to school. Second, none of the gang was at school today. None of them. Johnny and Ponyboy where on a class field trip to God knows where and Two-bit was sick with the flu. I felt more like an outsider than I usually do. Third, I got an F on an exam that is worth 30% of our semester grade. That was going to do damage.

Honestly, the only thing that I could look forward to was going to the DX after school. I wanted to see my bestfriend.

So, finally, the school day was over and I walked over to the DX, which is luckily only about a 5 minute walk from my school.

I walked through the door and immediately spotted Sodapop.

“Hey Soda! Where’s Steve?” I asked him, anxious to find my bestfriend.

“Gee, thanks for asking me how I’m doing Y/N. He’s in the back.” Soda replies sarcastically.

I just roll my eyes at him and head to the back where Steve is.

“Hey Steve!” I say, excited to finally be able to be with him after my long day.

“Oh, hey Y/N. How was your day?” Steve replies, turning around when he heard my voice. I always loved how considerate he was of my feeling and making sure that I’m okay.

“Honestly? Pretty shit.” I say nonchalantly, as if that was the normal response.

“Oh, why is that?” Steve asks, his face scrunches a little in confusion and worry.

“Just a lot. It was pretty stressful today.” I say exasperated.

“Well, how about this, we go to the drive in, just you and me, and we get dinner afterwards too. It’s all on me. Deal?” Steve offers.

“Steve you don’t need to do all of that for me.” I sigh at him. Sometimes he too considerate.

“Hey. Yes I do, it is my job as your bestest friend to take care you.” He says, grabbing my chin in the process. I genuinely thought I was going to faint. I mean like actually. Steve was grabbing my chin. And it sounded like he wanted to take me on a date? What a world I am living in.

five

The gang had just gotten out of a rumble with the socs and Steve was hurt. Bad. We had gotten to the Curtis house after the rumble and he just locked himself in the bathroom. This is very unlike Steve.

“Steve, come on, please let me in. I just want to see you.” I plead outside of the door of the bathroom, not caring that the others can see and hear me.

Quickly, the door opens and I get pulled into the bathroom and then the door shuts again.

Steve is shirtless with his wound on full display. Some fucking idiot soc had brought a blade to the rumble and had been able to get a clean cut right across Steve’s upper chest. Steve was looking to the ground, as if he was ashamed.

“Oh Steve.” I say softly, instinctively getting the first aid kit out.

“Can I please help clean your cut and bandage it?” I ask Steve lowering my head so I can look him in the eyes. He nods softly, still not looking directly at me.

I disinfect his wound, trying to be as quick and careful as possible because if I heard one more sad whimper from him, I was going to cry.

“Hey, look at me Steve. I know it hurts but you will be okay.” I say trying to comfort him because seeing him so sad and hurt, pains me.

“I’m just, I feel like I disappointed everyone tonight, you know? Like, I should have been able to protect myself, protect you but I couldn’t do it right.” He says, tears now rolling down his cheeks.

I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand the fact that he was here, in front of me, talking bad about himself. He was as perfect as human can be and he is worried about protecting, me? I’m not even injured.

In fact, I couldn’t stand it so much, that I did the only thing I could think of to comfort him.

I kissed him.

I captured his lips in a very light and soft kiss that was barely even there, yet it lasted for a while and was so electric. At first, he was just frozen with shock and I was worried I did something wrong. Then, he melted into the kiss just as I was and it was a beautiful moment.

We eventually broke apart and looked into each other’s eyes and I finally saw his dopey and joyful smile that I loved so much.

“Boy, do we have some explaining to do to the gang.”

———————————————————————

word count: 1474

[mabelstone]

Undressed

matt stone x reader

your classmate needs tutoring, but theres only one way to keep his attention.

18+

this is my favourite trope ever (they're both of age!!)

arrogant/cocky matt <333

Your classmate, Matt, was bright. Like, insanely smart. From what you understood, he was getting straight A's in every subject, which was why you were so confused when he asked you to study with him. Turns out, he was failing english by a lot.

"You're serious?" You laughed in his face, expression dropping when he folded his arms, deadpan. "Oh, you are serious."

"You owe me," he retorted matter-of-factly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You wouldn't have passed math without me."

"Fine," you huffed, defeated by the stupid look on his face. "Then we're even."

"Sure, if that makes you feel better."

So here you were. Patiently awaiting his arrival with The Crucible by Arthur Miller sprawled on your desk, filled with a thousand sticky notes and a practice quiz you'd made for him.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when your bedroom door swung open, revealing the arrogant, gangly boy from class.

"Jesus christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack," you gasped, already annoyed with him. He set his bag onto the floor and made himself comfortable on your bed, giving you nothing more than a shrug. "How'd you get in?"

"Your mom let me in," he raised an eyebrow as if you should've known. "I see where you get your looks from."

You cursed yourself for the blush that spread across your cheeks, rolling your eyes before grabbing the mock exam.

"Shoes off," you grumbled, earning a groan from Matt. "Okay, did you read the book or not?"

"I did, it was just painfully, painfully boring."

You situated yourself beside him, eyes bashfully wandering over his body. Toned arms holding himself up, the light brown happy trail exposed as his shirt rode up. Beautiful auburn curls that took the attention away from that breathtaking face. God, that nose.

"Well, no shit. I made you an exam buster to see what we need to work on." You handed him the paper for him to look over, but instead, he just stared blankly at you. "Don't give me that look. Just give it a try."

"Fine," he sighed, laying back on your bed with his hands behind his head. "Go ahead."

"Okay. Question one; how is Salem governed?"

"What? I don't fucking know?"

"Theocracy. Question two; why did Elizabeth fire Abigail?"

"She was a whore," he laughed, earning an eye roll from you. "What? She was."

"Why aren't you taking this seriously?" You pouted, folding your arms over your chest. God, you really were like your mother.

"Look, dude, the whole tutor thing is really doing it for me, but this is stupid. I'm bored already."

"Then how do you suggest I make this more interesting?"

This prick. You were trying to do something nice for him. But he was always, always so damn hard to please.

"You could take your clothes off," he suggested, sitting up to face you now.

"What? Take my clothes off?" You laughed, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze as he scanned our figure. "Can you be serious for five seconds?"

"I am being serious," he continued to undress you with his eyes, not ashamed in the slightest. "If you take your clothes off, I'll be more inclined to try harder."

You pondered for a moment, watching your mums car pull out of the driveway right on queue. It had to be a sign.

"Fine," you finally decided, standing to lock your door. "And if you get a question wrong?"

"Then- then I'll take my clothes off. Deal?"

He had that same smug look you'd grown so familiar with, except this time, it sent a jolt of electricity straight to your heat.

"Deal," you grinned, snatching the mock exam off the bed as he repositioned himself against your pillows. "I can't wait to see you in nothing but your socks while I'm putting on extra layers."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. This could be my favourite book." He grinned up at you, making you question if him failing was all just a rouse to get in your pants. It was working.

"Okay, smartass. What does Mrs. Putnam blame the death of her children on?"

"Easy, witchcraft," he answered fast, responding to a text on his phone before gesturing with his hand. "Why don't you take your shirt off first." Still, eyes glued to his phone.

Frustration at his attitude rose within you, but was soon overloaded with excitement as you followed his request, throwing your shirt at him. "Off your phone. No cheating."

He dropped his phone on his chest and threw his hands up in defence, eyes raking over your chest. "Cute bra. Take it off next."

"No, that's not how this works." You rolled your eyes for the hundredth time, it was like a reflex when you were around him. "What commandment does John Proctor forget when Reverent Hale questions him?"

"Uh... thou shall not kill?"

"Uh-uh. Shirt off, thanks."

You stared as he sighed, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head, throwing in on the floor before your feet, laying back where he was now. He was quite thin, but toned. Big, broad shoulders with prominent collarbones. That happy trail alone almost made you fold.

"Okay," you swallowed thickly before continuing, "why can't Elizabeth be hanged if found guilty?"

"She's pregnant," he smiled wide as your expression dropped. He was totally pulling your leg, he had to have been pretending to not know the answers. "Take your underwear off before your skirt. And chuck 'em here."

"You're a creep," you huffed, obliging nevertheless. You slipped them off from under your skirt, flinging them in his direction. You couldn't suppress the shaky breath that escaped you when he pocketed them.

Just as you opened your mouth, Matt cut you off. "I'll ask you one now. What happens to John at the end?"

"He's hanged," you laughed at his poor attempt to catch you out. "For that, take off your pants."

"Fair," he grinned, standing to pull off his pants, revealing a sizeable tent forming in his briefs.

He towered over you, eyes shamelessly wandering your frame, that gapped toothed smile that made you queasy on full display. His fingers grazed your waist, goosebumps forming under his light touch. You grabbed his wrist and gently pushed him back onto the bed by his chest.

"That bra comes off next," he commanded, eyelids hooding as he gazed up at you.

You nodded, offering, "if you get this right, you can take it off for me."

He nodded eagerly, a wet patch now formed on the front of his briefs.

"What did Parris catch his daughter doing in act one?"

"Dancing, right?"

You nodded meekly, stepping in between his legs. His eyes lit up as he reached around your back, slender fingers unclipping your bra with ease. You slipped it off, dropping it into his lap.

The quietest profanity fell from his lips, pupils fully blown at this point. You grabbed his wrist and guided it to your breast, the warmth of hand making you shiver in contrast to the cold air of your bedroom.

"What's Parris' position in Salem?" Your voice was softer than before, heart beginning to race under his touch, and he could no doubt feel it.

"Who gives a fuck." He grabbed your hips, pulling you down to straddle him, smashing his lips into yours.

"I'm sorry, that's incorrect," you mumbled against his lips, fingers hooking into the band of his briefs.

He chuckled deeply, tapping your waist for you to stand up. He pulled his briefs off while you discarded your skirt, grabbing you by the wrist before pulling you back onto him. He brought his fingers to your lips for you to spit, before lathering it over his length. He then dipped his fingers into your heat, collecting your wetness before doing the same with it.

"Thank you for helping me study- very effective." He grinned, lining himself up with your hole. He slid into you forcefully, both of you gasping in unison. His hands found their way to your ass, fingers digging into the plush skin hard, urging you to bounce faster in time with his thrusts.

"God, like that," he groaned, one of his hands grabbing the back of your neck, connecting your lips again. His kisses were rough, messy. Tongue exploring the expanse of your mouth, his teeth digging into your lip occasionally, struggling to keep your lips locked with the rapid pace he was fucking you at.

He flipped you onto your back, hands still pawing at your ass. Catching you completely off guard, he lifted you off the bed with him, slamming your back into the wall. He continued his pace, using one hand to brush your hair from your face.

"Matt," his name; a warning, escaped your lips in a whimper, your forehead falling against his as you reached your peak embarrassingly fast.

"Tha's it, good girl," he coaxed as you came down, legs trembling around his waist, mouth uncomfortably dry from panting.

"Fuck," he warned you this time, picking you up even higher, pulling out before shooting hot ribbons all over your chests and stomachs. Exhausted, you both stood there panting momentarily, your harms draping his shoulders as you rested your forehead against his. He set you down on the bed before collapsing beside you.

You hadn't even finished the game you were playing, both still in your socks.

He strung his arm over your sticky waist, breaking the silence.

"Now we're even."

[pawborough]

June 2024 Check In

Hello everyone! Happy update day! 

First off, Alpha news! 

We are closing applications Monday 06/17 at midnight EST! We will be taking the time then to sort through applications and hand out acceptance emails. 

Currently we are working on player markets and forums. We’ll describe more on those in the Development section of this update! But here is what we have left before the full loop is complete:

Site Markets (very similar to player markets.)

Cooking / Crafting 

Farming 

Item Seeding (inputting item gains with the how and where) 

And then that's it for a full loop! We are very close to finished! No date yet, as we're hesitant to overpromise in case anything goes wrong, but we’re on track to wrap up with a start date by the end of this month. 

There have been a lot of bumps and unexpected new challenges during our development. Particularly, different team members being infected by Covid at different times. But we’re all very excited for how close things are going! We’ve come a long way, and the game sports many things we can say that we're proud of! 

FAQ Update 

We posted a small sub-update in the form of an updated FAQ! Kickstarter does not let us edit the FAQ tab on this page, but backers may read our new and improved FAQ: 

Here! 

Update on Moontails: 

So far, Moontails are completely done save for a single gene illustration and glow colors. 

Moontails were a heavier task because we dedicated ourselves to five different wing colors per palette. This meant that we had to hand pick over 1100 more hex codes! However, those are done!

Here are some examples of palettes we made with this five-color system: 

Nutmeg, Ocean, Oak, Chameleon, Wolfsbane, Arctic, Vanilla

We call these palettes the "appendage palette." This means that, in the future, these colors will sometimes accentuate custom mystic traits. For example: a fish tail, horns, or wings!

We don't know when these will be completed, but we’re starting file formatting now! To be clear, Longhairs started file formatting about two weeks before they went on the site. 

And when Moontails go up, any errors of the other breeds should be fixed. We’ve been slowly updating the queue, including writing a script for catching and fixing white coverage problems, and our next push should have everything covered! 

Asset Updates

Users have noticed little tweaks to the mystic breeds. This is true! We've slightly updated the Bovines and Fyrets before allowing them to enter the queue. 

Bovines

Fyrets

+ previews on experimental eye coloring!

These breeds have entered the queue!

New Backdrops!

New backdrops! 

The Metropolis Outskirts 

Illustration by Giulia (@giuliabiazus on Instagram)

(That's Cogwheel in the back!) 

Cogwheel Outskirts 

Illustration by Kzart

Cogwheel and Metropolis, being right next to each other and cross-sharing the majority of their populations, have largely similar architectural, color, and cultural aesthetics. We're excited to explore the differences as we render out more inner-location backdrops. 👁️⚙️

And with that, that's all our Outskirts backdrops! We’ll be working on a few more individual backdrops, then move onto the inner locations! 

Incense

We’ve completed icons for all seven of our incense items! 

Illustration by Tybaxel

As a reminder, incense is the method of obtaining an instant generation 1 cat. There is a separate incense item for every Borough. 

Incense items will be rare craft-ables, made with different plant items! I'm particularly tickled by just how much personality having scents associated with each Borough adds. 

Accessory Recolors

We are beginning to make a dent in accessory recolors! 

All accessories will have 12 standard recolors. Here is the official list: 

White, grey, black, red, orange, yellow, green, teal, blue, purple, pink, and brown

Below are finished recolors for the Jute set and the Sweetheart set! 

Flea Market

We have updates on the Flea Market: the player-ran marketplace! 

Our MVP will start with two listing types! Flat Sales and Bundles! 

Flat Sales will allow users to sell stacks of items at a price per item, while buyers can choose how many to buy at a time.

Bundles are a set amount of several different items for a single price, which users can only purchase all at once.

Listings will have user comments, which can help provide extra context, especially for cat listings!

We're especially excited to show off our Price History feature! 

Price history will show up whenever you list a single item. This history will give you the lowest price listed for the item, the highest, and a median of the two! But, we know this data can be messed with. And inflation effects these numbers on a holistic scale. So, price history can be searched in a timeframe of your choosing. You can choose to look at the history for just last week, or for the entirety of the site! 

Note: These are mockups! Sizes may differ on your screen when browsing the game. 

Forums and Forum Boards

Next, we want to show off our forum designs! 

Users will have access to a host of official boards which will cover the majority of game-relevant topics. 

Users will be able to create boards which may foster more unique topics. For example, perhaps you want a board dedicated to fancats! Or a board dedicated to collecting odd cat IDs. A board dedicated to a hyper-specific cat breeding program? You can make it! 

Lastly, we've implemented a reply and "upvote" system as a way for threads to feel more like engaging conversations! 

We want to stress that downvotes will never be visible, as we're hyper-aware that visibility can lead to bullying and dogpiling. We may choose to remove them all together, depending on player opinion and feedback during testing. Right now, our intention is to make forums more entertaining to read through by allowing players to uplift discussion, art, or community contributions that they deem worth recognition. You may also choose to filter by most recent or oldest comment instead. 

We'll potentially be experimenting with emoji interactions and general size formatting to make things feel more cohesive. 

We want to stress that this is incredibly experimental. We don't expect it to immediately appeal to all players. And what we're doing here may change as we test and recieve feedback. 

Forums as they have been historically done in our genre have been on the decline in usage for some time, and this is in part due to modern UI setups having more sleek and easier to navigate methods of interaction and discussion. We're not blind to these statistics, and we're trying to combat the issue at the source. We understand that there are pros and cons to a system like this and that it's very new. 

However, we're setting out to push the envelope and create something invigorating for our genre of game. This first and foremost means a refreshment of old systems. We feel it's worth a shot!

We've heard discussion on the plans to close our Discord, and how little traditional forum formats tend to keep player engagement in comparison to modern socials. We stand by that we will not rely on a third party to officially host our community, but we hope that we can provide more tools from the start to foster and nurture the community in our game. 

Please note that while this does look modernized, we will never be incorporating ads into these threads, nor scrape data. The often predatory practices of modern social medias are practices we are actively avoiding. We're just trying something different that seems to work this day and age!

Also note that this does not replace traditional posting. We are working on a notebook system which would allow players to post longform, customized "notes," and for other players to comment on said notes in a more traditional format. We believe a system like this will better accommodate things such as status updates, user lore hubs, and anything which a user wants to store on their page for a long time. Think traditional web journal systems! 

To summarize: We shared our expectations for Alpha in the coming days, Moontail progress, Bovine and Fyret adjustments, new backdrops, incense icons, and UIs for the market and forums!

What to expect next month: Functionality updates, further UI and asset renderings, general meaty beginnings to letting players on the site! 

[kurtbastianarchive]

We're Back!

After taking some time away to rest, we're happy to announce the end of our hiatus! The queue is filled with all the posts we've missed while we were away, and we will be tracking new posts in the #kurtbastian tag.

A couple housekeeping things we'd like to share:

We will no longer be tracking the #kurtbastianarchive tag. It wasn't used very often, and anything there is generally also tagged as #kurtbastian, which we were also monitoring. It's easier for us to just monitor the one tag, so that's what we'll be doing.

We would love some help running the blog! We love sharing content with this community, but combing through old blogs to find and queue up old posts can be time-consuming, and to make sure we don't burn ourselves out again, we're looking for one or two people (or more!) who would be interested in helping us with that task. This would likely involve about a couple hours of your time per month. If you're interested in helping or have any questions, please let us know - either via an ask, or DM the blog or one of the admins (@backslashdelta and @thnxforknowingme) directly.

We're excited to be back and bringing your favourite boys to the dash again! And if you want more Kurtbastian content, please join the Kurtbastian community on Tumblr, and our Discord server.

- @backslashdelta and @thnxforknowingme

[daddycardan]

hey um i LOVE ur content!! okay so i have a head canon that my freaky children jude and cardan are super into giving each other hickies and jude will try to cover them up as best as she can but fuckin cardan will show them OFF and be like LOOK WHAT MY WIFE DID TO MEEE like if he’s got hickies on his chest u best BELIEVE his shirt will barely be buttoned

i fucking love this idea, sorry it took me so long to write it!

they love giving each other hickeys, for several reasons

first, they are sloppy and hot

second, kissing each other so hard that it causes small-scale internal bleeding and bruises is the type of harm they love to inflict upon each other

third, it leaves a mark

a mark that sends a very clear message to everyone

jude, though she doesn't like to admit, loves marking her territory, and cardan loves being subjected to it

but when it comes to bearing the mark herself, she prefers doing it discreetly

after a particularly hot & heavy night, she makes sure to wear a high-collared dress the next day

she applies a layer of concealer on areas that aren't covered by clothes—her jawline and the base of her ears

cardan frowns at her. "why are you doing this? are you embarrassed of the mark of my lips, my love?"

"no," says jude, a blush creeping across her cheeks, "i just prefer keeping our business to ourselves."

he cackles. "there's nothing about the king and queen's marriage that ought to be concealed from the court. they expect us to produce an heir any day now. surely, a few hickeys won't trigger a scandal."

jude shoots him a sharp look. "are you familiar with the concept of public decency? i hide hickeys just like i wipe your cum off my face: because the sight of it might make someone uncomfortable."

"why bother?" a lazy smile spreads on his face. "i wouldn't mind going into public with my lips drenched in your juices. i would wear you like a jewel."

jude snorts—the fact that he can't lie yet is able to make such a statement is... oddly charming.

and a little concerning.

as the day goes on, jude's attendance is needed at living council meetings, in the court of shadows, and for a brief visit in the tower of forgetting. she keeps busy, as always

cardan holds the front at being picturesquely lazy, as usual

in the evening, when jude returns to the throne room, she finds cardan lounging on his throne, listening to complaints and requests from a queue of courtiers

she makes her way up the dais, and takes a seat on her throne, next to cardan

he leans over and places a soft kiss on jude's neck, while the courtier to continues her long tirade

jude assumes the kiss is just a form of quick greeting

but he continues

his hand reaches over, palm sliding across her abdomen and hips, while his lips leave a trail of increasingly sloppier kisses along her jawline

jude's face hardens, but she doesn't pull away

her gaze fixes on the courtier and she attempts to focus on listening to her long-winded tale about her cursed kelpie, pleading for a solution from the high king

when cardan begins sucking on jude's neck, she finally nudges him away

"cardan, we have a job to do," she whispers.

he acknowledges it with an offended groan

"your story is dull!" he raises his voice at the courtier. "i don't care for your dead kelpie."

"it's not dead, it's cursed," the courtier corrects.

"well, i hope it stays cursed," cardan sneers. "it's the least you deserve for distracting my queen. now, get out of my sight."

the courtier scurries away, and the next one seems hesitant to step forward

"i'm not the one who's distracted!" jude protests in a hushed voice

only now, when she fully turns to face him, does she notice his loose, open collared shirt, which exposes an ungodly amount of hickeys

calling it open collared is a conservative term—it's split open in the middle, almost all the way down to his navel

the small, dark bruises span from his jawline and neck, through his chest, all the way down near his lower abs

jude's cheeks bloom deep red at the sight

anyone who casts their gaze at the high king—and let's be honest, everyone does—can clearly tell that the high queen has been busy with her mouth recently

jude's eyes dart around the room, and she can see several familiar faces

nicasia is feasting at the dinner tables, taryn and the ghost are dancing together, and her knight fand is standing at attention near the dais

"i hope you're happy," she scolds cardan. "i hope it does it for you. displaying yourself for everyone to see. not a decent bone in your body, cardan. you're truly the worst."

"oh, this isn't the worst i can do," he snickers. "i can show you more, my queen."

he stands from the throne, pulls his shirt apart completely, and pushes his pants down his hips, exposing a dangerously low part of his abdomen

"cardan, what are you doing?" she asks, throat gone dry in horror. it isn't hard to imagine that he will shed his pants completely

"look!" he says with a wide smile. he dips the edge of his pants to reveal a hickey there, just near the right side of the base of his cock

jude remembers when she put it there, of course

but now, everyone else in the room will also know

and jude is on the edge of losing her mind

but he looks so proud of himself

he wears those goddamn hickeys like badges of honor

and jude can't help but find it a tiny bit amusing

and finally, her mouth twitches, in what looks like a supressed smile