#Steam deck my beloved

[bs0da]

Came to see his husband in action✨

[thejediexile]

I cant believe i missed the owlcat pathfinder games

Ive been playing them all weekend, WotR is legitimately a better crpg than bg3

[the-foley-knoll-horror]

Barring any bullshit, I'll have my beloved steam deck back before the end of the work week

[yourpaceangel]

Sure you guys are mutuals but did they send you a steam deck for Christmas?

[intertexts]

sorry for complaining so much about my current situation however it's kind of like my personally tailored saw trap or something

[writefightandflightclub]

Blurb request?

What if you stole Santiago's favorite hat, and he caught you wearing it, very casual, nothing to see here, nothing at all.

Make you mine: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN!reader

Thanks so much for sending this, Rally! 🧡☺️ I wrote a hat-based thing with Frankie x reader, but I gave this a bash too as I love the concept with Santiago (my beloved) too! I hope you like it!

Warnings: fluff, steam, lots of mentions of erections, cum kink sorta (brief), light-hearted. 🧢 🍆

A hard swallow trails down Santiago’s neck as he clocks you. Wearing his hat.

He’s arrested by the sight of you, an instant flare of heat blooming across his skin as he realises, in no time at all, that he likes it. Likes seeing you in something of his. Or more so, looking like you’re his by association.

The attached and very intrusive thought is powerful and sudden on the heels of that realisation.

He’d love to see how you’d look wearing his hat and nothing else.

He quirks a brow in interest. He didn’t know that, specifically, would do it for him, but in fairness, he’s pretty sure you are the common denominator here. With you, he’s always discovering new ways that you turn him on.

Shame he can’t act on it though. You and he have been flirting back and forth, sure. But, you’d told him, not long after you’d met that… things were complicated for you. You and him? Maybe there was an instant spark, but you’d been clear the two of you would be nothing outside of friends.

So, he tries to compose himself as you walk over to him. A glass in each hand - one for him. “Thank you,” he smiles smoothly, clinking his glass with yours in a “cheers”.

The other boys have retired inside, after a poker night out on the deck. But you and he have lingered. For some air.

He lets his gaze linger on you, confident enough to drink you in for a stretched moment, your coy gaze even more alluring than usual from beneath the brim of his hat. He tries his best to ignore the blood thudding to his crotch. But you make that difficult to do - no-one else could ever.

“I’m cosplaying you.” You tease, brazenly acknowledging your blatant and unforgivable theft. “Pass me a stick of Wrigleys, Santi? It’ll really up my authenticity.”

He chuckles. Unable to take his eyes off of your bright smile. Your gaze flits gently over his face in return. Lingers on the creases radiating out around his eyes. Dips to his mouth. It makes him self-conscious - which he isn’t used to. Then again, he’s never met anyone who has quite the effect on him that you do.

He perches himself on top of the wooden porch rail. Gestures for you to join him and you seat yourself there too, body angled in towards him.

He can’t help it now. Looks up at his cap perched on your pretty head. He spreads his thighs a little to accommodate his growing bulge between his legs. “-You know. If any of the boys touched my hat…”

“Oh, I know,” you pout comically, shaking your head side-to-side. “Dead to you.” So you know his hat is famously off-limits then? In that case, either you must have put together that he’s a soft-touch for you; or, you’re trying to provoke him. But hey. He doesn’t exactly mind either option. “So.” You take a casual sip of your drink, your eyes flashing with mischief from over the brim. “The boys would be in for it. But what will my punishment be?”

Santiago takes a deep, steadying breath he dearly hopes is subtle as the bulge between his legs grows uncomfortably swollen, pressing up against the seam of his jeans in a way that makes his eyes prick with tears.

Fuck, he doesn’t normally have this much trouble controlling himself; but there’s something about you. Lord knows, he’s trying to keep his internal monologue clean but all he can think is: mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Undoubtedly, he can think of a few (hundred) ways he could “discipline” you, if that’s what you’re into. His palm itches where it rests against his thigh, becoming suddenly tacky.

“Well. First of all. Here,” he offers, pulling a pack of gum from his pocket. “You’re not really nailing ‘me’ yet. Needs more work.”

Nailing him? Fuck, that’s an unfortunate choice of words when he’s trying to take his mind off of ravaging you.

“No?”

“Not seeing the resemblance, cariño.”

“Well. That checks out.” You tug performatively on the brim of his cap as though you know exactly what you’re doing to him, actually. “I am a hell of a lot cuter.”

Fuck, you’re not wrong. You’re fucking adorable.

You take a piece of the offered gum, beginning to chew rather obnoxiously on it. “How about now?”

An easy laugh bobs in his neck. “Holy shit. Now it’s like looking in a mirror.”

You slide closer to him, shimmying yourself along the porch rail. An urgent heat prickles at his skin. Your proximity slips a warm snake down his spine.

“So, you approve, Santi?” Santiago could swear your voice has taken on a lusty quality. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part. “You like me wearing your hat?”

He almost chokes on his masking swig of his drink. Christ, if you only knew how much he approves. If you could see the sordid images playing on a loop in his head right now? Well, you’d probably throw your drink in his face, to be honest. Actually - he could do with it, to cool off. Maybe he can pour his own drink over himself if things get really dire.

“You think Frankie’s cap would suit me too? Or do I look better in yours?”

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Even the drum of his heartbeat feels like it’s trying to claim you. Trying to bust out of his chest to reach out for you.

Fuck. Are you trying to kill him? He doesn’t have a gasket, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to blow one all the same. “You know you look good,” he assures huskily, voice hollowed out by want, though still trying his damn best to toe the line.

Friends. You don’t want him to do the things he’s doing to you in his head right now. Right?

You smirk, looking all too pleased with yourself before taking a swig of your drink. His gaze is fixated on you as you wrap your plush lips around the mouth of the bottle, your fleet of pink tongue poking into the rim. The image certainly is… inspiring.

Fuck, he’s sweating. Swipes the back off his hand across his forehead, catching the moisture gathering inexplicably at his temples.

Then, to his horror, you stand, slinking towards him and slotting your hips in between his spread thighs. You crane around his form, careful that the brim of his own hat doesn’t poke his eyes out, and you dip your plush mouth towards this shell of his ear. Your whisper beds down right under his skin. “How do you think I’d look wearing this and nothing else, Santi? Would I look like I was…yours?”

Wearing my hat. Wearing my hat. Wearing my cum.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Santiago’s brain fully short circuits. He blinks dumbly at you, mouth slightly agape, as you simply look on in amusement, biting down on your lip.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to jump at the chance to find out, but…

He sniffs. Shoots for non-chalant and doesn’t pull it off. “I thought we… I thought. Just friends?”

“Santiago,” you purr. “I stole your hat. Catch-up.”

Catch-up? Holy shit. Maybe he’d have a clue what you were up to if he could think straight. His erection is straining against his pants so hard now he has to shift his hands to cover it. Has to bite back a strangled whimper at the painful pinch.

Your mouth twitches around a delicious self-satisfied smirk as you clock the state he’s in. You giggle, brazenly eyeing his bulge with interest. “Benny told me this might do the trick.”

Santiago’s eyes tighten then. He pouts up at you, eyes twinkling, almost wistful. “Honey.” He lifts the hat from off of your head, setting it down on his own instead. “You? You don’t need any tricks.”

“No?”

Fuck, the way you’re both so devious and so shy at the same time is killing him. “Nuh uh. I’ve wanted you for a long time. You’re gorgeous.”

He boxes you in a little more tightly with his sturdy thighs. Slips his hands on to your waist. Your breath hitches, and he likes the fact he’s finally managing to turn the tables. He dips his mouth towards you, and you manoeuvre around the brim of his cap until your mouth is a whisper away from his kiss. “Wait,” you urge. “I have gum.”

He can’t help but laugh - a resonant chuckle shucking in his throat- as you take a moment to toss it aside, and then he’s just looking at you again. Gaze flitting softly over your face. Arms drawing you close to him once more until his lips brush yours. The contact sends tingles all the way down to his toes; he’s waited so long for this.

He deepens the kiss, soft and more tentative than he’d usually pitch it, his tongue probing into your mouth, but you return his growing fervour. Your palms brace against his sturdy thighs, and he swallows the smooth moan which blooms from your mouth as he clasps you to him.

You pull back for air, looking slightly giddy, and you survey him, a cheeky, devilish glint in your eyes. “You know. You look really fucking good in my hat, Santiago.” Your dark, teasing voice is like honey poured into his middle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You look like you’re mine.”

He shucks air from between his teeth in surprise, his face splitting into a lopsided, awed smile. His eyes turn dark with hunger, pupils eating away at warm umber.

He is. He is yours, if you want him.

He decides then, that he can push this a little further. You seem keen - and Lord knows he is. And so, with a knowing, playful smirk, he dips his lips forward towards the shell of your ear. Whispers to you. “So, how about I wear this and nothing else for you?”

You visibly shiver as his words wind their way into you, your smooth facade cracking apart. “Santiago. Fuck. Are you trying to kill me?”

With his erection continuing to throb against the seam of his pants, he really thinks it’s the other way around.

“No,” he promises. “Only trying to make you mine.”

Mine. Mine. Mine.

That’s all he’s wanted since he met you.

He devours your mouth in another hungry kiss, tongue shoving against yours, opening you up. Stubble raking over your skin.

And, before your delicious kiss knocks every other thought - and word and concept - right out of his head, he logs the fact he definitely owes Benny a favour.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He always wanted to be more than friends.

[theblueflower05]

Heavy In Your Arms

A/N: We didn't get enough time at High Camp. I swear, it was the perfect setting for hurt/comfort. Forever upset about it.

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Explicit smut. Aged Up characters. Talks of PTSD and war. Injuries. Blood. Angst. Cursing. Oral Sex(male receiving). Riding. Service Top Neteyam. Reader with a praise kink.

Summary: You and Neteyam find moments of peace during the war. Neteyam x Fem! Omaticaya Reader

I was a heavy heart to carry,

My beloved was weighted down.

My arms around his neck,

My fingers laced a crown- Florence & The Machine

Life can change in an instant.

One moment, things are as they have always been. Your existence a well loved pattern, easy and comfortable in the Forests of Pandora.

You had been born after the Long War, after the evil Tawtute had been sent back to their dying planet. You had only ever known peace and kind humans like the scientist that lived in the rickety out post. You’d only ever known the rich and abundant rule of Toruk Makto, Jake led your people to victory and prosperity. The Omatikayan Village had been a beautiful one to grow up in, colorful and cheerful and thriving despite all that it had endured.

Your days had been filled with community and childlike wonder.

That had all changed when the Sky People returned. When they set fire to the Forests just to watch the Great Mother bleed.

Your naivety had been stolen, snatched away by uncontrollable circumstances.

By war.

High Camp is nestled deep within the Ayram Alusing hidden in a twisting impenetrable cave system.

It is bustling and busy and just bit cramped.

The Omatikaya are a resilient people and even through forceful uprooting had managed to make due of the space given. The Stronghold is littered with Canvas tents and woven mats. Small burning fires, and a larger one for the communal meals that are so desperately needed after long days battle.

You spend most of your time in the main healers keklu, working tirelessly with Mo’at and the other medicine leaders. You’d never been much of a healer, always more of a story teller. You’d get lost in the tales of old, in the songs of the ancient ones, but since the invasion, most had honed their medical craft.

It was all hands on deck, wherever you could be helpful you would be.

It’s good. Keeping your hands full is a good thing. It helps to distract your restless mind.

The War Party had left early in the morning- the sun still hiding behind the shadow of the eclipse, and had still not returned yet. You fear that it might be one of those missions, the kind that lasts days and leaves the village in shambles as they wait for the return of the warriors.

You’re grinding Ti’ku’klu seeds into a fine paste, your arm tired as you stare wordlessly into nothing.

The healers tent is quiet, filled with only low chatter and the crackling of the fire, the boiling of the pot that contains a potent medicine. One that needs to be kept hot and steaming. You cant seem to be present, to keep up with conversation when your mind is so far away- soaring over the forest. Focused on the unseen battle

This would be a dangerous one, you’d heard the whispers of the people. The humans were growing sick of the raids. They had heavy precautions laid out- would kill any Na’vi on sight. You trusted your Olo’eyktan whole heartedly, truly, you did.

But the thought of having to lay any more of your brothers and sisters to rest made bile raise in your throat like acid. There had been so much death, so much loss.

You sneak a peek at the woman next to you as she works in sorting bandages.

Zephya is only a few years older than you- and yet the light seems to be gone from her eyes. Dimmed down to something small and wilting. You’d never forget the piercing sound of her cries, echoing off the rock cave walls as her munxatan’s (husbands) body was brought back from the last raid.

Another round of nauseating anxiousness churns in your stomach.

You dont know if you could survive it…

Would you be forced to? Would this war force you to watch the ones you loved die?

The thought of losing your own lover is enough to send you free falling. Spiraling into your own mind.

“That is quite enough” Mo’at tuts her tongue in your direction and you stare at her with a wide, almost guilty expression. Had the Tsahik heard your thoughts? Sometimes you didnt doubt the elderly woman could, with all of her boundless knowledge and those all knowing amber eyes “You will destroy the paste, it is not meant to be so thin”

“Oh” you feel like dunce as you look down at the mortar and pestle in your hand “I apologize, I just wanted to make sure it was well mixed”

“Hmm” she doesn't call your bluff “Why dont you take a break. Go find more herbs, the fresh air wll clear your head. You’re no used to me here with thoughts so loud”

Her words are casual but her gaze is knowing and warm and you nod eagerly “Of course, Tsahik”

You’re happy for the break and the opportunity to stretch your legs, you stand quickly and exit the incense heavy area.

Everyone has gotten good at pretending.

At pretending they’re not terrified, at trying to go on with any semblance of normalcy. The scientists still gather near their trailers, facemasks on and typing away at holo tablets. The karyus’ still teach the younglings, their little giggles can be heard in the distance. You smile, a very practiced mask, at any you pass. Are pleasant. Friendly. Not betraying the inner turmoil you feel-

You’re jostled out of the heavy thoughts.

Nearly rushed straight on your ass, more like it.

“Oof-” the wind is knocked out of you as a small but solid weight collides with your side. You look down and find big golden eyes string up at you- golden eyes so familiar.

“Y/N! Hi!” Tuktirey is the youngest Sully, and probably the one you’ve always been the cloestst to. Back home, years ago, she’d become a bit enamored with you. More specifically, you’re weaving and jewelry crafting skills. Many teased that she was your shadow. “Look, look’it what I made”

You cant help but grin. Her joyful energy is contagious and you’re glad for the distraction. You take the necklace she shoves into your face delicately. Run your fingers over the rows of mis matched beads. She really is quite good.

“Very pretty, Tuk. You’re getting so good! Soon you;ll take my place- the whole clan will be trampling over themselves to wear one of your pieces” You’re words make her blush, make the smile on her face go a bit shy and bashful.

She looks so much like her brother it hurts.

“I did that thing you showed me! You’re right- sometimes the bigger beads need the little ones to anchor them”

Tuk is rarely quiet, always a babbling brook but even she isnt immune to the tense atmosphere that looms, to the toretoure that is waiting for the warriors to return. She talks about the necklace, but her tail flicks nervously behind her. At her side, a carved wooden Toruk toy hangs in her loose grip.

You figure, maybe you can distract her too.

You reach for the toy and she holds tight to it before sighing. You’re probably going to take it, she thinks. Tell her to stop being annoying. Chastise her the way that others had when she’d tried to get them to play with her. All day long, everyone had turned their heads or sighed in annoyance when she’d approached-

You raise the wooden Toruk above her head- and let out an undignified squawk. Your best impression of the mighty beast. It’s dismal, but it seems to satisfy the little girl who instantly breaks out into giggles.

“You better run, Tuk Tuk” you grown payfully, sending the toy into a nosedive “Before I eat you whole”

She shrieks and sets out running in the opposite direction and take after her, ignoring the stares. Should you be back in the medicine tent helping? Maybe. You’d rather play with the seven year old instead.

The two of you play for a while, until your thighs burn and your lungs hurt from laughing. You dont have the endurance of a child, she runs absolute circles around you. She’s fast and agle and quite obviously takes Neytiri’s lessons to heart, even at her young age. You can only use your size to you’re advantage, picking her writing squirming body up and spinning her round-

The horn is loud and echos through the rock walls of the cavernous case.

Both yours and Tuk’s ears swivel, perk up and stand to attention.

There it is. The calls of your people. The sounds of ikran wings flapping.

Tuk writhes in your hold, the back of her head connecting with your lip painfully as she hollers joyfully “They’re back!”

Shes off then, only sparing you a quick glance as you seem to stand there in daze, rubbing your slightly split lip lightly as your stomach does somersaults.

“Come on!” The little one hollers back at you and your feet carry you forward, seemingly of their own volition.

The crowds are building as the people make their way for the edge, where ikrans land by the dozen. Carrying the warriors on their back. Along the way, Kiri and Spider join you. Eagerly bouncing along, following an over animated Tuk.

Excitement and dread bubbles in your stomach, a horribly potent and toxic mix. It’s always like this when they return. When he returns. You’re so anxious to see him, physically there. Alive. So anxious that he might not be-

Your eyes are peeled for the familiar swirling green and blue patterns of Atanzaw, his ikran.

“Mom!” Tuk screeches, of course she spots them first.

Your eyes follow her,

Straight to him.

Neteyam.

He dismonts his ikran, alot less gracefully then his mother did. His actions sluggish and unlike him- it only takes you a moment to notice how injured he is. The bleeding wounds and bruises that litter his body arent pretty and hes limping, not putting his full weight on his right thigh. His face in smeared war paint- blacks and yellows and greens. They make him look intense, as he stangs tall and muscular and still fully dressed in his tsamsiyu(warrior)garb.

When his gaze meets yours your breath gets stuck in your throat.

Usually when he returns they’re bright. The adrenalin of the fight still cursing through his veins like wildfire- this time thats drained. His eyes are filled with barley concealed dread. Sharp with pain.

Your fingers itch and your chest aches, the invisible string that ties you to him taught. You want nothing more then to go to him-

“Sully’s, fall in” Jake’s voice is booming and stern. All Olo’eyktan. Marine. War leader. You can barley recognize him like this. So far away from the carefree doting father he’d always been.

-Its a small thing. A barely there shake of Netryam’s head but it sends a clear message. He doesn't want you to approach. When he turns away from you, giving you the necessary but cold shoulder your unsettled stomach lurches.

It’s like it plays out in slow motion, you watch the family from the edge. An outsider. Not welcome in their obviously private conversation. Even Spider, a human, get’s to be closer than you do.

You’re unwelcome.

The heated words. The way that Jake scolds his sons, you’re not supposed to be privy to it.

“Jesus, I let you two geniuses lead a fleet and you disobeyed direct orders!”

Those words hurt you, for him. You know that they must peirce right through Neteyam. He still hasnt looked back in your direction and you are sure he doesnt want you to bare witness to any of it.

You slink away, slowly falling back. Fading into the background of loved ones reuniting. Warriors returning, alive and dead. The clan welcoming them back with open arms. You wish, as you so often do, that you could welcome Neteyam the same. That you could run into his arms. Hold him the way you ache to after these difficult and dangerous missions-

You convince yourself that you are content with just knowing that he is alive, and make your way back to the healers tent where your presence is wanted.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It gets so cold in the mountains. Frigidly so.

The wind whips through the caves, leaving a bone deep chill in their wake. You keep the fire at the center of your tent going all night long, and can normally be found crouching at it’s hearth. It’s been raining on and off all day, torrential down pour to drizzles- from the sound it seems as though it has finally stopped. Quieted down.

You wonder if the sky is clear and the stars are bright. You miss climbing high into the trees after the evening eclipse. Miss gazing at the constellations, miss basking in the Pandoran night and listening to the sound of the forests.

Mo’at had sent you home, demanding you get some sleep.

It had been three days since the soldiers had returned and they had been very busy. Full of tending to the wounded, and organizing for the dead. You’d thrown yourself headfirst into anytask that was given to you. Kept yourself busy. Useful.

You didnt have the time to mope and obsess over a man that was not yours.

That is what you told yourself at least.

This…thing that you and Neteyam shared didn't have a name or a definition. It had started out of loneliness, out of the desperation for comfort. Before the humans had come back and brought their war upon the clan, you dont think the future Olo’eyktan had ever really looked at you twice. Violence and hurt had pushed you into eachothers arms, both of you seeking companionship. Someone to weather the storm with.

It wasnt love. Not to him, you know that. He would marry a woman with high standing one day- one that could be his match. Become Tsahik.

That wouldnt be you.

For Eywa’s sake, you could barely do stitches. You messed up simple tasks like making salves. You would not delude yourself into thinking it was anything more. Many Na’vi couple without mating, pleasure isn't stigmatized in your community. That was all it was. A need for pleasure. Your body satiates him and that is all.

You cant go looking for him. Begging for his time or his touch.

So you sit by your fire, thread your necklaces, and long for the stars.

You’re humming a tune to yourself, something soft and gentle and melodic when theres a sudden shift. The canvas wall of your tent shakes and your stiffen, reaching for your knife that lies on the makeshift table next to your bed-

Neteyam slips through the flap- easy as anything. Smoothly, his motions fluid from all of those years of training.

Your eyes and mouth are wide open, ears lying low to your head.

“Hi” the man grins, boyish and handsome as ever.

As though he hadnt just broken into your home. It’s not like the two of you hadnt done this before, he’d spend many nights sneakily tucked inside your tent but he usually came through the front entrance.

“Vonva!(asshole)”you hiss at him, exasperated “You- ugh! I couldve stabbed you!”

He’s so handsome it makes you sick. He’s so tall and broad, a few of his braids falling into his face as his eyes sparkle with mirth “That would not be very nice of you, what have I done to deserve such a fate?”

“Breaking and entering is grounds for stabbing” you huff “you scared me!”

Neteyam steps forward a bit, hands out stretching to you, tone gentle “Hey, I didnt mean to scare you. I just wanted to see you is all, Im sorry”

You hate the way that you’re so easy for him. He ignores you for days, and then shows up unannounced and you’re jumping at any and all attention he may give you.

The way that as his large hands engulf the tops of your arms, you lean into his touch greedily.

“It’s fine. It's just- very late. I wasn't expecting anyone” you try to keep your tone even “I was actually about to go to bed”

“Oh?” Neteyam wonders, his tail flicking behind him “Can I join you?”

Your heart speeds up, if thats even possible. Both at his words and his tone. The insinuation right there. He had spent too much time in your bed that really, it shouldn't be a question. You'd always welcomed him into your nest of blankets, your warm arms. In between your soft thighs-

“I'm not sure that would be a good idea” you respond, stepping out of his hold.

Neteyam sags a bit, surprised. His ears swivel and his smile weans, tugging downwards at the corners of his full lips “Not a good idea? Why not?”

You shrug, not able to look directly at him. Instead focusing on his shoulders. His abdomen. He’s still all banged up, the bandaging covering his bruises are expertisley wrapped. Done by the Tsahik herself, obviously.

It’s the perfect excuse.

“You’re still hurt,” you insist ”You need to be careful, you don't want to reopen anything”

A smooth chuckle escapes him and makes a tingle run down your spine. He reaches out again, this time he grabs at your hand, leading it from its place awkwardly at your side to his chest. Pressing your palm gently against his warm skin.

“I'd like to stay with you tonight, if you’ll let me” Neteyam starts, you can feel the vibrations of his strong voice in your palm, pressed against the muscle “I may need you to be a little bit gentle with me though, paskalin”

You're quiet, lips quirked, stuck in your head for a moment as your fingers lightly trace over one of his stripes.

“Y/N, hey-” He seems to be more serious than before as he urges you to look at him “I'm not sure what’s wrong, but If you want me to go I will”

Everything in your body, your soul, protests at his words. There is no part of you that wants him to leave.

You’re being so stupid.

Neteyam could have anyone. Anyone. And he’s here, with you. So what if he doesnt love you. You have to take whatever you can get. You dont want him to find solace with anyone else, dont want him to leave and never return-

You lean in, where your hand is, on his strong chest and place a kiss to the edge of the bandaging. Its a small little thing, a barley there brush of your lips but still. When you look up at him through your lashes you know you must make quite the sight.

“Stay” you urge. “I want you to stay with me tonight,” everynight. ”Please?”

He looks unsure for just a moment, clearly thrown off by your conflicting mood, before he nods. He cups the side of your face then, forcing you to make eye contact with him. No matter how uncomfortably intense- you cant turn away.

“Can I kiss you?” His words make you quake. He hadnt asked, so explicitly, for months. Since the two of you were still fumbly and newly exploring eachothers bodies.

It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, makes you giddiously nervous. You nod, way too hard “Mhmm”

And then he’s bending down, having to crouch because of how much taller he is, to capture your lips with his own.

Its always so good.

His mouth and the way it tastes and the way it makes you feel. Neteyam seems so sweet, everyone in the clan knows him as the Golden Boy. The perfect soldier- in privacay, in these stolen moments of intimacy, he’s anything but.

His kisses are dirty, all demanding tongue and nipping fangs. He kisses like a man whos trying to get his dick wet. Like he wants to pick you up, crush you to him. Rut into you-

And normally he would. Normally he tosses you around like nothing but a child’s ragdoll(and you let him), but he’s still hurt. Still tender and healing. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug, trying to climb him like a tree, he hisses in pain,.

“Shit” you pull away from his mouth, your lips wet with his saliva “Sorry, I didnt mean to”

He just shakes his head, nuzzling at your cheek “It’s fine, I’m okay”

“Im hurting you” you argue.

“You’re not. Just- be gentle, okay?” Neteyam urges, trying to lean back into the kiss “Grandmother thinks they’ll heal quickly, but my ribs-” he breaks himself off, laughing a little strained. “I fucked them up pretty good”

You frown.

He always does this. Always downplays his pain. You will have none of it, you grab his hand and tug “Come, I will make you tea”

Neteyams hairless brows raise “You dont have to, I’m really fine”

“Bah” you lead him to your bed and push gently on his shoulders until he sits. “Enough, it is no trouble”

You keep an ornate clay kettle next to the fire, boiling water always ready. He watches you as you fiddle with the many little jars in your arsenal, collecting herbs here and there. Steeping them in the hot water before pouring him a steaming cup.

“Here- it is bitter, but it will dull the pain”

Neteyam accepts the tea with a small smile “Irayo(thank you)”

It’s nice having him in your space. In your bed amongst all of your softest things as the fire crackles and illuminates the tent in a warm glow.

The shadows it casts over his angular face make him look haunting. So beautiful.

You like to take care of things. Instruments. Broken pottery. Children. It comes naturally to you.

You dote on him even though he protests, check his bandages and make him drink the whole cup of strong leaf tea, before he lies down. You're perched beside him, still on the edge of the bed mat.

“I didn't come here to be nursed, Y/N” he sighs as you rub salve on one of his nastier bruises.

“Humor me” you reply wryly, your dainty fingers all over him.

It takes him a while to relax, as it always does.

But oh, its your favorite thing.

Watching his walls come down and the facade of Olo’eyktan in training slip. Neteyam is funny and witty and a downright gossip. You enjoy talking to him as much as you enjoy getting fucked by him.

You like that when given the opportunity and the ear to do so; he loves to talk. About any and everything. His deep voice is like a blanket, warming you up from the inside out.

“I feel bad. I sneak in here; scare you and then make you take care of me” He snorts, “You must be so sick of me”

“No” you reassure with gentle touches “Never that”

You dont really know what Neteyam sees in you.

You’re pretty enough- but far from the gorgeous warriors and dancers that throw themselves at him. But when he looks at you, like he is now, you know there must be something. Something that turns those eyes of his to molten amber. They’re hungry, you’ve never seen him look at anything the way he looks at you. Except maybe the prey that ends up victim to his arrows.

He makes you want to be good to him. Be good for him.

“I enjoy taking care of you” you whisper as you trace the leather cords of his tweng, your fingertips dipping dangerously below them. “Can I take care of you tonight, Neteyam? You want me to?”

Neteyam nods slowly, making room for you as you climb carefully over him. Spread his legs enough for you to settle between them.

You cant help it, cant help how much you touch. You cant get enough of the feeling of his strong body under your hands. All of that corded muscle, all of his pretty deep tahini speckled skin. His strong calves, his well built thighs.

When you reach where he’s hard, straining against his cloth, his eyes flutter closed. You rub him until he chubs up, all plump and hard. Until a patch of wetness starts to darken the cloth-

“Help me a little, sayrip(handsome)”you urge as you tug on the strings of his tweng. Neteyam lifts his slim hips, helps you shimmy it down his thighs-

You’ve seen him naked more times then you can count, now. But still. You’re always struck by it.

His cock springs free- thuds against his well toned lower stomach. Drooling and pulsing, the tanhi there exceptionally bright. He’s so pretty, so vulnerable that it goes to your head. Your leaning in, tongue first-

“Wait,” Neteyam gruffs, “I want to see you too”

Ah.

Neteyam was very partial to your body. He’d told you many times- would try to wrangle you out of your skirt whenever he got the chance.

You smile, raising up on your knees before tugging the gossamer top off, over your head, Your nipples are hard and peaked, reacting to the cold. You run your fingertips over them, knowing that he likes a show. He likes to watch. He props himself, arm behind his head as he does so, it feels so lewd to play with your breasts for him. To trail your hands slowly down your tummy, to your full hips- tugging on the strings of your own tweng.

When the mound of your pussy is revealed he groans, he can see the way your slick shines in the low fire light.

“Good Mother” Neteyam’s rough and demanding as he yanks on you, pulls you into a kiss “You’re so fucking sexy”

His kiss is fervent and you could so easily lose yourself to them- you know what he wants. He’s already inching closer to your hot wet slit, his big fingers kneading at your plush asscheeks.

“Lemme take care of you” your mumble is insistent, and he sighs. Letting you pull away. Letting you re situate yourself between his legs.

He just lays back flat once more, a lazy grin on his face. “Okay, baby. Take care of me”

You’d always loved giving pleasure with your mouth, and lovers you’d had before had told you how good you were at it. You liked the taste and feel of a heavy cock on your tongue.

With Neteyam, as everything seems to be, it’s different. You dont just like giving him head, you love it.

You love the way that he jerks when you give his rosy tip that first little lick. You love the salty tang of his precum, so much that you spread it all over. Your lips, your cheeks. You rub his cock along your face, nuzzling it. Your cheeks, chin and nose wet with him. You love the way it stretches your lips as you take him into your mouth- he’s the biggest you’ve ever had and it pushes you to your limit. The hinge of your jaw aching as you force him down your throat.

“You’re such a good girl for me” Neteyam praises you, all choppy. His long fingers tangled in your waist length hair.

That is what you adore the most.

The Omaticayan prince is so vocal. He’s all whimpery moans and deep gritty groans. He lets you know exactly what he likes and doesn't like. And he rains down praise on you like its his job.

You’re his good girl. His sweet berry. His little whore..

You take it so well. So- ah- determined for him. You ram him down your tight convulsing throat ,until you’re sobbing around his dick. Never trying to pull away. Eager to get him off.

It is the most shameful position you’ve ever been put in. You’re addicted to the way that me makes you feel- you could never allow yourself to be this with anyone else.

“I-Im close” He warns as though that's not exactly what you want.

“Good” you hum, before diving back in. Suckling on the head and the sensitive sides of his shaft over and over. Just like you know he likes it.

It doesn't take long at all, you can feel him twitching n your mouth. His balls, so full and swollen, start to pull up, taught and ready to blow.

“Oh fuck, Y/N. Fuck”

He gasps as he knots his fingers at your scalp, as he holds on for dear life, his hips swiveling madly. His belly concaving with his heaving, rapid breaths as as his orgasm rips through him.

It’s a good one. You can tell. He’s biting his lips bloody and grinding his head back into your pillows, eyes tightly closed as he rides the waves of pleasure. The whole time, he fists your hair, holding your face to his crotch.

You take his cum, all of it. Popping the tip on your mouth and catching the thick spurts with your tongue. He tastes so good, it feels so intimate to get to have him like this. You close your eyes and savor it, dont pull off until he's twitching and whining with over sensitivity.

You sit back on your haunches, wiping your messy mouth clean with the back of your hand and assessing the damage.

Neteyam is all shivery, his arm thrown over his face as he comes down from the high. He’s still struggling to catch his breath and you cant help the pride that

“You feeling any better, baby?” the human term of affection rolls off your lips, smug and sultry and he laughs behind his arm.

It takes a few moments, but he finally collects himself “You are way too good at that” he’s told you before, but repeats it as he pulls you close. You’re perched in his lap, his strong arms around your waist as he holds you close.

“I like watching you” you admit between the pecking kisses “I like the way you come”

He smiles into your mouth, you can feel his sharp canines on your lips “That’s my good girl”

You full body shiver at the praise, gritting your forehead against his and breathing through your nose in an attempt not to lose it. You're gushing between your legs, your thighs a sticky mess and your cunt swollen and blood hot.

“Your turn, huh? Come on, I know that pussy has to be needy. You want me to eat it?” Neteyam whispers hotly in your ear and you just groan.

And while his skills with his tongue are legendary, you’re feeling particularly empty, needing to be full of him after weeks of distance “Mmm, no. Want you inside of me”

“Can do” he affirms, his hands going to your hips, nudging you “Lay down, I’ll fuck you, paskalin. I’ll fuck you so good. Wanna’ stretch you out”

“Wait” you press a hand to his chest when you notice the grimace on his face. The one he’s trying to hide as he attempts to lift you “You’re still hurting, Nete”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got you” He assures, stubbornly “I want you to feel good, too”

He’s not the only one who's stubborn. You wiggle out of his grip, pressing down firmly on his chest.

“We can try something else” you suggest, really not wanting him to hurt himself even worse. Neteyam can get…intense when hes fucking you. It’s all very physical, he pours buckets of sweet down onto you as he works your body.

“You want to get fucked” He reminds you, his hips jerking up pointedly so that you can feel his erection between your legs.

Eywa, yes you do. You want him, you want him to carve his way into your body. To bully your tight walls until they accommodate his wide girth.

You bite your lip and reach for his length, pumping his cock thats still wet with your spit before leaning in close so that you can whisper in his ear “We’re just going to have to compromise”

Neteyam is huffy until you sink down onto him and ride him until neither of you can formulate thoughts.

Until you’re boneless, tangled limbs and buried under your quilts.

The afterglow is your favorite.

Neteyam is always so gentle and tender after sex. He holds you, lets you lie your head on his chest and listen to the steady thrumming beat of his heart as he plays with your hair. The only thing that could make this better is if he reached for your kuru. Is if you got to experience Tsaheylu with him-

It’s not fair,

How could he expect you not to fall in love with him?

The quiet stretches on. The fire is dim and dying and the tent is mostly black, night creeping in and covering you both in darkness.

“I’m sorry” his voice almost startles you, his words confusing and unexpected “I’m sorry I ignored you- the day we came back. I was trying to figure out how to calm my dad down. He was so pissed and Lo’ak’s attitude only makes it worse-”

You don't say anything. You just keep listening to his strong heart.

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings”

You don't respond for a while. You don't want to shatter the atmosphere that is shimmy fly wing delicate “I was just happy to see you alive. It terrifies me, that you’ll leave on one of these raids and never come back. I dont- I wouldn't know what to do if that happened”

“I'm not going to leave, Y/N” his arms tighten around you and you close your eyes, relishing the way he holds on to you. It makes you feel like maybe you're not the only one desperate for this to never end.

“Do you promise?” You sound young, look so small in his big arms.

“I promise”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Weeks later, The Sully’s leave the tribe.

They’re running, fleeing for the good of the Omaticaya people- that is what Jake says. He claims it is for the best. You have never doubted his prowess as Olo’eyktan until that moment.

The tribe mourns, falls into great sorrow as the family says their goodbyes.

You can not bear to look. You drown in your tears and hide in the crowd. Will not meet Neteyams gaze no matter how much he tries to get you to.

When he mounts his ikran and takes to the skies you feel something inside of you shatter. He disappears into the vast horizon.

Neteyam leaves.

You were a fool to believe he’d keep his promise.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp. Um hi guys lol. I was like let me post something short and sweet to come back with before I start hitting you guys with all of my Kinktober prompts next month. Somehow I ended up with a 5k angst filled what could be first chapter of a series. LOL I HATE MYSELF AND THE FACT THAT I CANT WRITE ONE SHOTS.

I literally don't have the time to work on another story, but if this one was a little too much angst, I'd be glad to give us a fix it Part Two.

This will be the last kind of stand alone update until after October. If you havent alread, check out Luna’s( @pandoraslxna )Kinktober prompt list. She is such a gem for cultivating it and helping keep this fandom alive and thriving.

As usual, please leave me some feedback. Good, bad(not mean though lol my psyche’s very fragile rn) I want to hear your thoughts!

Love ya, pretty babies!

[umbracirrus]

He does, indeed, look fine.

I need to see what Balgruuf looks like wearing the fine clothes. Like the ones Brynjolf wears. For science.

[ryuryuryuyurboat]

sunsettias n' apples

synopsis: you always hated birthdays. but now? you're not so sure.

genre: fluff (slight comfort)

characters: cyno x gn! reader

warnings: established relationship, reader is referred to in 2nd person

a/n: @thexianzhoujade happy birthday kaikai >:) you thought you got enough gifts? yeah, well, here's another! ilysm big bro mwamwah may today be a good day for you💗 | likes, reblogs and comments highly appreciated!!

©2024 ryuryuryuyurboat. do not repost, translate, plagiarise, or modify in any way, shape or form.

masterlist

oh, how you loathed birthdays. were they special? no, not really. what purpose did celebrating birthdays serve, anyway? weren’t they just… reminders of your age? 

you lay on your bed with your eyes closed— if i don’t open my eyes, the day hasn’t come yet— and an aroma wafted into your nostrils. huh.

you entered the kitchen to the sight of your boyfriend standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand, proudly donning an apron that said ‘kiss the chef’. at the sound of your footsteps, he turned. “good morning! sleep well?”

“not really.” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “you’re making breakfast?”

“of course.” cyno replied without missing a beat, setting down a plate of still-sizzling mushroom omelette and steaming tachin in front of you. “c’mon, eat up, we’ve got places to be.”

“???”

the second you cleared your plate, you were immediately shooed into your bedroom to change into clothes, and then forcibly dragged out of your shared house. 

your itinerary that day was packed to the brim, to say the least. cyno took you on a shopping spree at the grand bazaar– anything that remotely appeared to catch your eye was promptly picked up and paid for by your beloved, then took you to watch a dance performance put together by the zubayr theatre troupe, where nilou specially dedicated one of her dances to you, followed by a huge lunch at puspa café, some more sightseeing around sumeru after…

by the time evening came around, you were sitting at the top of a hill just by the outskirts of sumeru city, watching the sun as it began to dip below the horizon. saying you felt exhausted would be a bold understatement, what with everyone who came forth to wish you ‘happy birthday’ and all the walking you did throughout the day. 

the grass rustled as your lover moved to sit next to you. “hey,” he offers you a sunsettia, “y’know, it’s a good time to eat this.”

“why?”

“because it’s sunset. get it? sunsettias and sunset?”

“babe…”

as you watched dusk fall over the world, for the first time in a very, very long time, your heart felt at peace. when was the last time you’d had a good birthday?

an apple blocks your vision of the sun. “almost forgot to say something.” 

“mhm?”

“you’re the apple of my eye, y/n.” 

“cyno!!”

“c’mon, let’s go home. everyone’s waiting for us, and i can’t wait for you to see the tcg deck i made specially for you.”

“there’s… wait, who’s ‘everyone’??”“you’ll see when we get back.” cyno stands, dusting off his clothes, “it’s your birthday, after all. you couldn’t possibly have thought a date sufficed, right?”

taglist: @xianyoon @lynyluvr @kazemiya @meidnightrain @dailypenpen (send ask to be added to taglist!)

if you liked this, do consider dropping me a follow for more :>

[pyritefes2]

Wip Wednesday

Tagged by @salsedinepicta and @pinkfadespirit ❤️ Thank you!

Have some Awakening era beloveds. I don’t know if these are wips per se, more like warm ups for something I want to do but I feel it still counts..right? kinda? Kinda. I do want to color them, especially the one of Justice.

Also, after my laptop kicked the bucket and being so very bwave by modding my steam deck in order to play the damn thing, I’ve finally returned to my DA:I replay! So I’ve been drawing a lot of the DA:I companions, here’s the egg as proof.

Tagging: whoever wants to participate!!

[thatwriterchick222]

coffee (joel miller/f!reader)

summary: “What are you drinking?” Ellie asked quietly, leaning on the railing of the deck. Joel had a steaming cup of something in his hands.

“Coffee.” He walked up beside her, leaning on the railing and mirroring her.

Ellie looked at him, confused. “Where’d you get that?”

“Uh, those people that came through last week.” Joel chuckled.

“Oh.”

Joel rocked back and forth on his heels. “A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it, but…” He raised the mug, about to take a sip.“It’s not bad.”

a/n: today we finally learn the truth... what DID joel have to trade to get his beloved bag of beans??? read ahead to find out ;)))

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

You and your group were passing through the small settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. Your leader had mentioned it a few times, since he was familiar with Tommy Miller, the man who founded the small town with his wife, Maria.

The group had lots of supplies, and so did yours, so your group figured you could pass through and stay for a few days since they had allowed it before. Everyone would do some trading, and you would get to sleep in a warm bed for once…

When you all arrived, you were in awe of the state of the place. Lights that hung from old telephone poles illuminated the snow-covered streets in a warm yellow glow, and kids ran around playing tag, weaving between the various civilians huddled by the fire pits.

Your shoulders ached, the backpack you were carrying was filled with nothing but food, seeds, and a large bag of coffee beans. 

One thing about your group was that you were always stocked in food and natural resources since you mostly lived off the land, and the Jackson group was stocked in weapons and supplies, something you had very little of.

When you were invited to one of their weekly dance-potluck-party events, you were frankly nervous as hell. You hadn’t been to something like this since before the outbreak, and large groups had become a rarity unless you were all fighting for your lives.

You had been given a room in a large house and took a long shower, the feeling of the hot water making you tear up. You missed it.

You arrived slightly late since you were pulled aside by a few people wanting to trade with you, weapon parts for seeds, and the like. One person had asked for your bag of coffee beans, but you were hesitant to give them over just for a few bullets.

When you got in, you immediately went straight to the bar. The lively crowd inside was already whittling a hole in your chest, and anxiety bubbled in your stomach as you walked around the dance floor. People laughed, clinked glasses, hugged… it was just like the old world. 

Only it wasn’t the old world, and the way that these people smiled and partied like there weren’t infected all around them outside these walls had you on edge. How did they do it? Is that what living in a place like this did? Did it make you ignorant?

You took a long sip of the beer you ordered and got the sudden urge to get out. It was all too much. The loud music, the bright lights… 

As you turned, you crashed into someone.

“Shit! Sorry!” You exclaimed, pulling back and immediately looking up at the tall figure. He was leaning on the bar and seemed to barely even notice you crashing into him because he was so large.

“It’s okay.” He said, smiling at you, his gaze soft. You swallowed, looking at the man, his hair grey, a stubbly beard on his face. He looked to be in his mid-fifties. Not that you were complaining. 

You leaned on the bar beside him. He had a whiskey in his hand. 

“I don’t recognize you…” He trailed off, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“My group and I are passing through.” You smiled nervously, taking a sip of beer. “Tommy likes to trade with us.”

The man put his whiskey down and stuck his hand out to me. You noticed the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing a long vein in his forearm. He was also wearing a watch, but the glass face was cracked and it seemed to be stuck in time. 

“I’m Joel.” He said, and you grabbed his hand, shaking it slowly. “Tommy’s my brother.”

“Oh!” You laughed softly. “I’m Y/N.”

You held onto each other’s hands for a beat longer than normal, his palm warm against yours. You pulled away, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you looked down. 

One thing about living in a world like this… was that human affection was hard to come by. Attractive men, even more so.

You swallowed, and Joel cleared his throat, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Sorry… I– I don’t often find myself talkin’ to beautiful women. I don’t quite know what to say.”

You felt your stomach swirl and looked up at him through the corner of your eye. “Who, me?” 

To be quite honest, you were surprised he found you beautiful. Not because you hated yourself, but because you hadn’t thought about your looks in so long. You learned to forget about those things since they didn’t matter. A pretty face didn’t keep you alive. 

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I’m glad you bumped into me.”

You laughed, turning to him. Something about him felt extremely warm. Despite his nervousness and guarded exterior, you were drawn to him. It wasn’t every day you got a compliment from an older man. Was he probably way too old for you? Yes. Did you care? No. Life was short, and you were only here for a few days...

continue on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53698717

[jvnebugflac]

40fps on steam deck my beloved

[squirrellyshorrorreviews]

Silent Hill 2 Remake (2024)

Investigating a letter from his late wife, James returns to where they made so many memories - Silent Hill. What he finds is a ghost town, prowled by disturbing monsters and cloaked in deep fog. Confront the monsters, solve puzzles, and search for traces of your wife in this remake of SILENT HILL 2.

Platforms: PS5, PC

(Note: I played it on a Steam Deck with an FPS limiter and it handled BAFFLINGLY well.)

Rating: 9/10

I had incredibly high standards for a remake to a game that was SUCH a formative experience for me. Silent Hill 2 was my gateway drug into body-horror-as-symbolism, and I’ve never looked back. I approached the announcements of this fully expecting to be disappointed like I was with early attempts to remake SH1 (looking at you Shattered Memories).

And holy SHIT was I the opposite of disappointed.

I’ll be honest, I was keeping my distance from this one. It made me so nervous given how personal and important the original was to me and how the PS3 remaster managed to totally fuck up. But the way people talked about it in the days leading up to the release (I did a whole post about it) struck me as… odd, to say the least. And I knew I had to play it myself.

Not only was I pleasantly surprised, I was thrilled by how it took something so familiar to me and made it feel brand new while still keeping the beloved core intact. I was delighted and shattered and teary by the time I got to the end even though I knew what was coming.

I fully intend to do a long form review of this with a whole breakdown. I simply enjoyed it that much. I’m currently collecting screenshots for that purpose on a completionist New Game + (though I want to wait until I see ALL the new stuff Bloober added before I do more complex final thoughts, which means I’ll need a third run to get that last ending)

I’ve recommended this game to all my friends that were fans of the original. It truly is the lovingly crafted remake a masterpiece like SH2 deserved and now I am chomping at the bit to see if bloober does SH1 and SH3 as well. If they handle those with the same care we could see the revival the franchise desperately deserves.

[dipstar1489]

Steamboat Willie Retake

I found out people are making horror versions of Steamboat Willie and I decided to do my own take. The only warnings I have are non-graphic character deaths, knives, swords, drowning, rope used for strangulation, and injuries involving blades.

The water was unusually calm today. I usually find luxury in this pleasantry, not having to worry about the steamboat hitting rocks, but not even the minnows leaped from the steam to avoid becoming lunch. My beloved Minnie was supposed to share a song with me before I left for work, but old Pete would have scolded me for being late to peeling potatoes instead of steering. A slight chuckle escaped my lips as I recalled how often Pete would be blinded by his own thick spit. The look on his face was priceless.

I glanced at Minnie, peacefully asleep, soon to be disappointed in her husband for not being there to hear her completed song. It was call “Turkey in the Straw,” rooted in the time we were on a farm to have a friendly conversation with our buyer, when a turkey the size of my thumb escaped the coop and scurried straight into a hay barrel. Of course, that was before work took over my energy, when most of my time was spent living life to the fullest. Maybe I’ll listen to her tune again soon, the completed version.

I rushed to the steamboat, expecting the usual scolding from my Captain, but no one was aboard. Eh, Pete usually preferred rough water anyways, and the hypocrite always took “vacation days,” when he couldn’t spare me a second of free time. His lack of respect for me went as far as my name, with him calling me Willie when I told him it was Mickey, but I tolerate it. I strolled along the damp poopdeck, and the wise-cracking parrot was still there. Of course he is, Pete puts more trust in a double-crossing bird than his only employee who stuck around when the checks were cut. I checked the rope meant to tether this old boat to the rotting deck, but someone beat me to it and we were floating.

I head to the steering wheel. Surely he was here, for why else would his parrot be on deck and the rope untied? There was someone else near the cockpit though. It was sitting on the frame, its figure covered by a pitch black robe. I assume it was a passenger who couldn’t wait to get to their destination.

My whistle alerted the hooded passenger, where I assumed the head should be turned to my direction, yet I saw nothing but darkness when I tried to take a peek. I got into the steering position and I whistled a “where are you going,” but the passenger didn’t respond this time. I couldn’t figure out if they didn’t understand my whistling language, can’t do small talk, or too focused on the destination to hear me.

I turn my head slightly to get a better look at the passenger, and whoever, or whatever, this thing was, turned my blood cold. The pitch black cloak cracked to reveal an outfit similar to my own, with the only difference was the passenger’s containing bright colors I never existed in this world of black and white. The thing that freaked me out though, was that it was mirroring my actions, not like a young child copying their parents, but as someone replacing their identity with another half-heartedly.

I whistled a “what are you doing,” hiding my fear with curiosity, and strangely enough, it responded with a noise I didn’t think was possible. This, THING, seemed to have echoed my question with the same hollowness present with his actions. “Who are you,” I whistled, and it went quiet once again. Whatever this thing is, I need to get it off the boat. Now.

I start whistling for the parrot to come help, but he didn’t come. Come to think of it, that bird would have flown to the cockpit with a sarcastic remark by now. I glance at the passenger, determining if I should leave it alone with the ship, and not taking any chances, I grabbed it’s limp arm and rushed to check the poopdeck to see what happened to that annoying bird. It wasn’t on its usual perch and the only place I could check was the potato room. I turn the door handle, and the bird was curled up next to the pile. And so was Pete.

Pete was a big guy, but he was buried underneath thousands of lumpy potatoes that would have tripled his weight, his chest struggling to rise. I released the passenger’s arm and ran to remove the potatoes off of Pete as the passenger stared. I lost count of how many potatoes I had removed before Pete was able lean forward, when he spotted the passenger, eyes growing wide with fear. I turn around, and this thing had its hood off.

It looked like me, but it was wrong. It’s eyes were wide but vacant, it’s nose as shiny as metal, and the ears were perfectly round, as if they were saucer plates. This imposter had a sword in its hand and was slowly moving towards us. I spot the knife used to cut the potatoes, and grabbed it. I steady my hands, focusing on the imposter, when it ran towards me. At this point, Pete had managed to get his footing and he and the bird managed to scurry away. Traitors.

The battle was rough, its skill mirroring my own, its eyes never leaving my own. I step back, tripping on the potatoes, and falling straight onto the box that contain the damn vegetable. I wince in pain as the imposter was standing over me, sword ready to be plunged into my chest, when I heard animalistic clicking. I open my eyes and the parrot was circling the imposter, and Pete had a barrel in his arms. He rolled it with great speed towards the imposter and I had to scurry to get out of the way. The barrel splintered on impact and the imposter was limp. I ran towards Pete and we locked the creature in with the potatoes.

We head up to the cockpit, and we realize we are in the middle of nowhere. “Nice going Wills,” the sarcastic parrot cawed. “Zip it ya pillow fluffer,” Pete spat, but there was a sense of desperation in his tone, wishing he was home. This is something we can both agree on.

I had found a map and compass, but there was nothing to see. All of us on ship knew how much danger we were in, with the only food on this ship being in the same room as that imposter. Me and Pete look at each other, and then at the parrot. We both knew he could betray us at any time, but he was our only hope of safety. Pete checked his pockets and pulled out a scrap of paper. He plucked a feather from the parrot, spat into his hand, and used it as ink to write a letter of help. He then cut a piece of extra rope with the potato knife and tied the note around the bird’s leg. “You better come back or I’ll turn you into a thanksgiving dinner, got it?” Pete spat, and the bird nodded, and away it went.

A few days passed, and no safety came. Pete was focusing on the boat, trying to ignore the hunger nibbling on our minds. I knew my mind should be focusing on survival, but it was concentrating on seeing Minnie and hearing her song. “Oi, Willie! You gonna continue thinking about that lady, or are you going to face reality and help me get out of this place?” Pete spat with bitterness. “Yeah, well it’s not like I was, oh I don’t know, saving your life.” “I thought I paid you back by knocking out that imposter.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you got that map working?” “Nope.”

I don’t know why that response was what got to me, but at that moment I felt my legs go weak and I felt the post of the cockpit scratched my back. Pete looked at me with shock at my state, and he went to put the anchor down. He came back and sat in front of me. I could feel the awkwardness in his face, lacking the experience of comforting others. “You okay?” he spat, and I could only shake my head yes tiredly. He could sense this, and asked me something I never heard him utter.

“So, what do you plan to do once we get to land,” Pete spat. I thought for a moment, and I whistled, “I wish to hold Minnie in my arms and hear her song, dance with my beloved in my arms, to assure her that I am safe and will always love her.” I start wiping small tears from my eyes as Pete looked at me.

“What about you?” I whistled. Pete looked down, and with regret, he spat “I considered going back to work, but I’m no longer certain.” I looked at him with curiosity. “Really? You don’t have a lover to go to?” I whistled. “I’m not interested.” “Family?” “I’m the last of my family and I can’t have kids.” “Surely you have a friend, right?” Pete simply shook his head and spat dryly “besides the parrot, I’m not close to people.” I whistled desperately “why?” “I was busy with work and I couldn’t find the time. You’re lucky to have found and kept love. Some people, just don’t know what they are doing when it comes to people.”

“You know we don’t have to be enemies, right?” “You thought we were enemies?” I looked at him with disbelief. “Yeah, you don’t use my name, you never let me work the ship, and that two-faced parrot gets better treatment than me.” He paused. “Oh,” Pete spat dejectedly. He stayed quiet and we were both speechless. We fell asleep in silence.

The next morning, I heard noise from potato room and I shook Pete awake. “What…?” Pete spat, but the tiredness in his eyes vanished when he too heard the noise. “Oh, no, no, no. Mick, get the knife ready. NOW!” I grabbed it and some rope, and handed the knife to Pete, but he grabbed the rope instead. We slowly head to the potato room, and the door was wide open, the door latch splintered. We start walking away, putting our backs together to avoid an ambush, when a hooded figure ran into me, blade in hand.

I whistled a yell and Pete turned around, rope wide open and managed to strangle the imposter, but before it closed its eyes one last time, it plunged its sword into Pete’s stomach. He let go and wobbled, falling to his knees and holding his stomach tightly.

The imposter turned its attention back to me and moves closer. In his final moments, Pete spat at the monster’s feet, keeping it in place. Seeing my opportunity, I move forward, ready to end this nightmare. I slide down to slit this monster’s ankles, with its blade cutting into my shoulder. I ignore the pain and kept fighting, with both me and the monster gathering scars. The monster managed to get free and its attacks managed to get me near the edge of the boat. I look at it, trying to understand what it is, when it kicked me off the boat as I drowned and heard it whistle my tune.

[kerbrobro]

This might be the year I finally get a Steam Deck, and I know in my heart that when I do, my beloved Switch will finally be lost to god in my eyes and heart.

[delicatebluebirdruins]

thunder child my beloved

Chapter Seventeen

The Thunder Child

"About a couple of miles out lay an ironclad, very low in the water, almost, to my brother's perception, like a waterlogged ship. This was the ram Thunder Child. It was the only warship in sight, but far away to the right over the smooth surface of the sea—for that day there was a dead calm—lay a serpent of black smoke to mark the next ironclads of the Channel Fleet, which hovered in an extended line, steam up and ready for action, across the Thames estuary during the course of the Martian conquest, vigilant and yet powerless to prevent it."

"A douche of spray blinded my brother for a moment. When his eyes were clear again he saw the monster had passed and was rushing landward. Big iron upperworks rose out of this headlong structure, and from that twin funnels projected and spat a smoking blast shot with fire. It was the torpedo ram, Thunder Child, steaming headlong, coming to the rescue of the threatened shipping."

"The Thunder Child fired no gun, but simply drove full speed towards them. It was probably her not firing that enabled her to get so near the enemy as she did. They did not know what to make of her. One shell, and they would have sent her to the bottom forthwith with the Heat-Ray."

"

A flicker of flame went up through the rising steam, and then the Martian reeled and staggered. In another moment he was cut down, and a great body of water and steam shot high in the air. The guns of the Thunder Child sounded through the reek, going off one after the other, and one shot splashed the water high close by the steamer, ricocheted towards the other flying ships to the north, and smashed a smack to matchwood.

But no one heeded that very much. At the sight of the Martian's collapse the captain on the bridge yelled inarticulately, and all the crowding passengers on the steamer's stern shouted together. And then they yelled again. For, surging out beyond the white tumult, drove something long and black, the flames streaming from its middle parts, its ventilators and funnels spouting fire.

She was alive still; the steering gear, it seems, was intact and her engines working. She headed straight for a second Martian, and was within a hundred yards of him when the Heat-Ray came to bear. Then with a violent thud, a blinding flash, her decks, her funnels, leaped upward. The Martian staggered with the violence of her explosion, and in another moment the flaming wreckage, still driving forward with the impetus of its pace, had struck him and crumpled him up like a thing of cardboard. My brother shouted involuntarily. A boiling tumult of steam hid everything again. “Two!,” yelled the captain.

Everyone was shouting. The whole steamer from end to end rang with frantic cheering that was taken up first by one and then by all in the crowding multitude of ships and boats that was driving out to sea."

"And all this time the boat was paddling steadily out to sea and away from the fight; and when at last the confusion cleared, the drifting bank of black vapour intervened, and nothing of the Thunder Child could be made out, nor could the third Martian be seen. But the ironclads to seaward were now quite close and standing in towards shore past the steamboat."