#but there's a whole world and so few regions

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 8 - Welcome To The War

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: use of weapons, death, cannon typical violence, bombs/ explosions, military inaccuracies, blood, mention of injuries.

AN: Taking a break from this. Got to work on main project (the next chapter so close to being finished i's haunting my dreams)

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

“I still think you’re crazy going after Makarov.” You say crossing your arms. “Why do you want him so bad?”  

“He’s a terrorist.” Price says like that’s supposed to explain everything. 

“The ULF and Al Qatala are terrorists, according to your country.” Price nods and moves back to the table. 

“We’re not concerned about Al Qatala, the ULF want the same goals as us.” 

“Is that why the Americans are working with Farah?” 

“They’re not.” Ghost says. “Not anymore.” 

“I assume you had something to do with the death of The Wolf?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. Price nods.

“I remember it happening. Konni helped sneak The Butcher and Khaled out.” 

“The Butcher? Jamal?” Price asks then looks at Ghost. The energy in the room changes. 

“What?” You ask, you don’t think you’re going to like the answer. 

“We thought he was dead.” Ghost says. Price braces himself on the table. That news seems to have put a wrench in whatever plan they had. At least they know now they know he’s alive before-

“Hold on.” You stand up out the chair.

“He’s going to be at the meeting with Ivan and Makarov. He was supposed to torture Alex. He’s already on his way to the base.”

“Makarov’s already changed his plans.” Price says.

“Yeah but The Butcher hasn’t, he’ll still be heading there. You take the whole building out. That's one hell of a blow to Konni, take out one of their strongest posts as well as Ivan who basically controls that whole region.” You look round at them with wide eyes and hands in the air like you’ve just come up with the best plan in the world. 

“That’s where Makarov was going to launch his attack from, it’s the only place they have on the border.” They’re just looking at each other, not saying a word. You look down at the plans on the table. There’s handwriting on one of the pieces of paper. It grabs your attention and you pull it out. 

It’s a diagram of missiles, they look new though. Konni doesn’t have new missiles, they’re still using cold war stuff. Then you remember what that man said in the room ‘he's planning a nice surprise for the ULF.’ You pull the paper towards you, turning it over. 

“It’s not been translated yet.” Ghost says. You ignore him, you recognise the handwriting it’s Ivan’s for sure. 

“He’s buying missiles off Al Qatala.” You say looking up at them. 

“No. Because then-” Price doesn’t finish his thought, his eyes flicking up to Ghost. 

“He would have American missiles.” Ghost says. 

Fuck.

—

Farah didn’t take it so well that Jamal was still alive. Alex went white as a sheet when he heard about the torture part. Soap seemed perked up looking over the shitty floor plan of the compound you drew for him from memory. 

“If we take this place out we’ll halt them in their tracks. They won’t have the missiles, the building will be gone and Jamal will be dead.” 

“Busy day.” Alex says. 

“How sure are we that Jamal is moving the missiles there, and not to some other place? Especially now you got Alex out.” Farah asks. Gaz turns a laptop around. 

“Spotted on the Russian border a few hours ago.” Gaz says, you lean over to look. It’s pictures of a convoy, big trucks going through the border. 

“We are still waiting for the satellite but it’s the best we have for now.” Price says. 

“Okay, we can be ready to leave within the hour.” 

“No. ULF has to stay here.” Price says, Farah opens her mouth to protest Price raises his hand stopping her. “It’s across the border, you can’t get involved. It’ll just be us.” 

“If it’s true that Jamal is alive, Al Qatala could regroup. This could change the outcome of this war.” Farah says. 

“We’ll get him.” Price says. You raise an eyebrow, he looks so sure. 

“What do you need?” She asks. 

“A car, explosives. We’ll be back before the morning.” Price says. She sighs standing back up and ordering someone around in arabic. Price moves with Ghost and they head out the room. You chase after them pushing past them and stopping in front of Price. 

“I want to come.” You say, he stops raising an eyebrow at you.

“You got stabbed-”

“You got shot.” you interrupt him

“-Less than 48 hours ago.” He finishes.

“I know my way around that compound. I can get you in and out without being spotted.” You say holding your ground.

“Just tell us where to go and we'll figure it out.” Gaz says, you shoot an angry look at him.

“I know that place like the back of my hand. I can get you through anywhere you need to go. I know where everything is. I know how to disable their systems, where all the gear is stored, where to avoid.” You feel like you’re pleading with him. They need you, there’s no way you’re going to sit around and not be involved with this. Besides you owe Caleb. 

“Can you shoot?” Price asks. You smile and nod. 

“Go with Soap, Farah has gear lying around he’ll help you with what you need.” He sighs, you look at Ghost and Gaz. You have no idea what Ghost is thinking, not with his mask. Gaz just has an eyebrow raised watching you.

“Thank you. I won’t let you down.” You say and rush past him to join Soap.

“You look cute when you get flustered.” Soap says his hand landing on the top of your back and leading you out the building. 

“Shut up.” You say elbowing him maybe a little too hard, hanging your head feeling heat rush to your cheeks. 

…

The gear you found was a little too big for you, the weapons in your hands feels foreign. You have shot a gun before, well, pistols. You don’t have time to worry about it though, as soon as you were finished with Soap you all piled into what looked like an old army 4X4. 

The drive took over 2 hours. Price parked the truck behind a different tree line and you all walked in silence to the back of the compound. There is only one way in the compound officially, but there’s a basement back from the cold war era. 

“It’s used for storage, most people think it’s sealed off but I’ve used it before, when things needed sneaking out without the rest of the base knowing.” You explain as you sit in the tree line with them watching the base. You can’t tell if there are more or less people around. Its evening and the sun is almost set, Price said the darkness will give them the cover you need. 

As soon as outdoor light starts coming on you move. They're quieter than you, more sure on their feet quick and silent as you cross the open grass to make it to the building. You silently point them over to what looks like a drain cover about a hundred meters from the base. 

They pull it off to reveal an iron ladder built into the wall itself. Ghost goes down first, then Soap, you and Gaz follow after leaving Price to go last. You walk down the tight hall which you were told once used to be part of an old storm drain system. Eventually it leads out into the main room. Crates and boxes are piled everywhere, some as old as the cold war. 

“That door leads into the kitchens. It’ll be closed by now. It's the best way in.” You say pointing at the door up some steps. 

If you thought Caleb was going to help you, you would have taken this route to get Alex out, maybe then he wouldn’t have died. All the guards you killed would have been alive.

“Gaz, Soap, start setting up the charges, we’ll clear the building.” Price says. They nod and split off in a different direction.

“Ghost take point.” Price says, Ghost pushes past you. You assume that means he’s supposed to lead. Good, you’re still not sure how comfortable you are with killing in cold blood. Most of the people working here are innocent, at least they’re just working here for a better life for their families, children. They’re not all in as deep as you or Ivan.

You make it into the kitchen and as suspected it's deserted at this time of day. It doesn’t feel right though, it’s almost too quiet. There’s movement, everyone's head snaps in that direction. A woman walks round the corner in a world of her own. Lights flick on when she looks up she freezes dropping whatever was in her hands.

Price and Ghost start shouting which just seems to confuse her even more as she slowly raises her hands.

“Where is everyone?” You ask in Russian. Her head snaps to you, her mouth opens but words don’t come out. You don’t have time for this. “We won’t hurt you, just tell us what’s going on.” 

“When Makarov arrived there was a lot of shouting. I don't know what happened. They didn’t stay long before he left.” You can see tears coming down her face. 

“What’s she saying?” Price asks. You almost want to shush him.

“Where were they going? Was The Butcher with them?” You ask.

“I don’t know. I only saw Makarov. They left a few hours ago.” She says with a sob. 

“Okay, where is everyone? Is Ivan here?” 

“He sent everyone home. Ivan is upstairs.” 

“Makarov was here but he left a few hours ago. Ivan is upstairs.” You explain to Price. He nods at Ghost who drops his weapon and goes over to the woman. You’re not sure what's happening, you just hope they don’t hurt her, you look round the rest of the room. You hear zip ties looking back over to see Ghost pushing her into a store room.

“Let’s go.” Price says. You follow them as they clear the rooms. Even the ‘prison’ wing is empty. Before you know it you’re heading up the stairs. The only people being left alive are the guards on the gate entrance. You wonder why they left the woman in the kitchen, maybe she can get away before she’s buried in the building when it goes down.

It’s dark upstairs, the only light coming from the conference room at the end. You’re moving slow, your heart hammering in your chest. You watch as Ghost and price check the rooms almost in sync before moving on. You’re at the back this time. That you don’t mind. 

Suddenly you hear movement behind you, before you have chance to react an arm locks around your neck. A yelp leaves your mouth loud enough to signal Price and Ghost who turn around. You feel the barrel of a gun pressing against your temple. Your hands fly up to his arm to try and pull it off but he pulls you backwards into a room.

His arm is around your neck squeezing just enough that you can’t get a breath of air. He pulls your body up, you feel a stabbing sensation in your side. You hope you haven't torn stiches. Weapons are trained on you both.

“Fuck me! 141 you’re taking the piss right?” He says in Russian. It's Ivan.

“Makarov’s looking for you.” He says to them in English. 

“Good, we happen to be looking for him too.” Price responds. He takes a step closer and Ivan tightens his grip. You drop one of your hands, you have a knife on your hip. You don’t know if John can tell where your hand is going, you just hope he doesn’t give you away. 

“How much are they paying you huh? Fucking traitorous bitch.” He spits in your ear, your fingers brush over the hilt of the knife. His grip is cutting off your oxygen, not that you could breathe right not anyway. 

“Where’s Makarov?” Price asks.

“Ha! Like I would tell you!” He shouts, jolting you. You use it as an opportunity to pull the knife up over the safety clip. You shift your hand ever so slightly so you can hold it more secure. 

“I thought you didn’t like him? What did Jamal steal your promotion?” You say through gasps of air. 

“At least I know where my loyalties lie.” He growls in your ear. You smile, that pissed him off. Before you can think too much about it you twist your wrist driving the knife into his thigh. 

His arms let you go immediately, you throw your body forward. Shots are fired, you can smell blood and gunpowder in the air. Someone grabs your vest pulling you up and out the way. You regain your balance standing up, Ghost holds the top of your arms as Price rushes into the room. 

"You good?" He asks, you nod.

You hear moaning. Holy shit he’s not dead. You turn to see Price hauling him to his feet, throwing him into a chair. Ghost pushes past you into the room. You follow him slowly watching as Ivan holds his hand on his shoulder. 

“Where are they?” Price asks again. You go over to the computer. He hasn’t changed his login and before you know it you’re in. You’re only half listening to Price and Ghost trying to get info out of him. There's the sound of skin hitting skin, the sound of his groans. 

He won’t talk. That’s not your job though. Your job is to find out what you can from the computer, maybe that will tell you where Jamal and Makarov are. You see a mail from a burner address, you recognise the program, it’s the one they use for secure communications. 

“They’re heading to Volgograd.” You say reading the email. 

“What's there?” You hear Ghost ask, you turn to see if they’re talking to you. 

“I don’t know.” You say going back to the email. 

“Charges are set Cap.” You hear Soap say over the radio. Now you don’t have long, you need to leave. A gunshot makes you jump. You turn to catch the end of Ivan’s body falling to the floor. You swallow hard looking back at the computer and opening a new program you don’t recognise.  

“Oh shit!” You say watching the countdown tick away. “Price!” They both come over and you stand up so they can see. 

“This is the missile program.” You explain, there’s markings on the map and a countdown. 15 minutes. 

“Do you recognise any of the targets?” Ghost asks. You reach over clicking on the map, it zooms in and pops up coordinates. You have no idea what to do with that. The map it’s using is old and black and white, you’re trying to make out points of interest. 

“That’s where they’re being fired from.” You say pointing at the screen. “There being fired from within Urzikstan.” 

“So what came over the border?” Ghost asks.

“Those missiles didn’t look long range, how far is their first target?” You zoom out, moving over to the first target. You’re squinting at the map, it’s almost like there's a straight line of targets across the land. 

“80 kilometers.” “He’s making a new border.” Ghost says moving away from the computer. 

“We need to leave.” Price says. 

“Wait, some of these targets have innocent people living in them.” You say finally recognising some of the locations. Price sighs standing back up.

“Nothing we can do.” He says walking away. 

“We can stop it!” You shout, turning back to type on the computer. He grabs your shoulder, turning you away.

“We can’t. Then Makarov will know we’re onto him. We can't let him know, as long as he is using this we have an advantage over him.” He’s gripping your shoulders. You let out a frustrated huff. 

“Innocent people will die.” You say. He lets go of your shoulders and walks over to the door. 

“Innocent people always die. Welcome to the war.” He says and walks out the room. You look over at Ghost, you still don’t know what he’s thinking, he waits a few seconds watching you then leaves the room. 

You look back at the computer, there’s only 5 minutes left on the countdown. You didn’t even know how to stop it really, you were just hoping you could figure it out. You can hear Price talking in your ear, but you’re not really listening. You look over at Ivan’s body on the floor. You walk over and kick his arm with your foot.

There’s blood pooling out his head. Maybe it would have been more satisfying if you had killed him, maybe not. You’ll never know, he’s dead now. 

“Come on! Let's go.” Ghost shouts at you from the doorway. You nod following him out taking one last look at the computer, only 3 minutes left. 

…

You leave the building out the front gate, catching up with Soap and Gaz on the way. It’s bitter sweet. Ivan’s dead the base will be destroyed but now you have no idea what has been coming over the border. Makarov and Jamal got away and managed to get their missiles off.

“What do we do now?” You ask as you make your way back to the car. No one says anything. Maybe you’re not allowed answers anymore. You look over at Soap walking next to you, he smiles. The sound of the charges going off back at the base rumbles through the ground. You hope that woman in the kitchen got out, you doubt it though. 

Suddenly everyone stops, you almost bump into the back of Ghost. You look past him you can see the car a few meters ahead of you. 

“What?” Gaz asks. 

“Shh!” Price snaps. You feel a pit form in your stomach. You and Soap look around, it's dark out you look up, the moon is bright in the sky. You don’t hear anything at first, then Price takes another step forward. You’re trying really hard to listen, then you hear a faint beeping. You look up at Soap, he’s frowning, he takes a step opening his mouth when the car explodes.

Banners by plum98

[yellosnacc]

What kind of art do the Sloman/Uniima make?

Very hard to answer in a single post so I focused on visual art here. Here are some few sketchy examples from both species.

There's a wide spectrum between the single species' cultures and even bigger between the two species. But there are many convergent art forms where the biggest differences lie in style as slomen and uniima see the world differently (color, space, person recognition...).

Slomen In slomen cultures, art is commonly created for a community. Either to decorate a space or gift to a group etc. The least rare exception would be gifts for family heads but those usually see it as an obligation to share it with the rest.

So portraits of only one person are very rare. Art pieces also tend to be large, as the average painter group (in Ciwa) consists of 5 members and a mural-making group can be around 20. When they agree on the base motives, each artist executes their part with the resulting piece having all sections equally over-detailed. Ciwan and general sloman visual art is often about fitting as much as possible experience and telling many stories without focusing on one single aspect (unless it's to highlight a higher-ranking member such as a matriarch). Art that can be touched is preferred.

Ciwan style of people drawing focuses on little facial detail, drawing people more idealistic with expression being shown more in body language. Individual indicators are primarily stripes and markings, sometimes holding a token of their occupation.

Uniima (sky) In sky cultures, visual art is very popular and used in practical senses too. Ueema cultures commonly exchange art as information in case of language barriers and use it for documentation when they can afford it. The structure of sky settlements, being that of thousands of microstates, leads many to compete in presentation. Having the most inspired architecture and decoration is why many become artisans which then bleeds into other parts of society. Art is a job for one and it's full of competition. A good artist acts as their whole company, creating advertisements inside and outside their home, traveling, and inserting oneself into events.

Sometimes, uniima stylization can be realistic and practical but very often it's not and becomes hard to read for outsiders (even other uniima cultures). Many artsy movements wash over regions in a year, inspired by people, cultures, and faded cultures like those of dead microstates that had little to no outsider contact.

The people drawing style spectrum over ueema cultures alone is overwhelming as they don't work as a single culture and many have a style native to their small area. Most honor the individual great, including self-portraits and private pieces. The best indicator of who is the painted/crafted individual is the crest and beak shape, after that marking spacing and color + often accessories showing off a uniimas status, skill, and faith stance. Some styles will include noise visualization to show the person's voice or other non-visual information to make the piece truly pact with context about them.

[teethsmoothie]

bit by the worldbuilding bug . was trying to think of a name for the pkmn fanregion ive been cooking off and on for a couple years &realized i never even considered the geography of the place

[anonprotagging]

I want to play SV so badly :(

I don’t even like....... actually care about the story or whatever at this point since I’ve seen so many spoilers (maybe 1/3 of the game’s “plot twists” if you can even call them that 🙄🙄🙄), and I don’t really like, like the pokemon designs this generation either, but I’m tired of my brain hyping it up constantly kjsdhfjksd

[beardedmrbean]

Russian military personnel still in Syria are experiencing a lack of food and drinking water as an evacuation of troops and equipment continues, according to the Main Intelligence Directorate of the Ukrainian Defense Ministry (GUR).

The Russian personnel are experiencing the problems at military bases in Tartus and Hmeimim and on ships anchored offshore in the Mediterranean Sea, the press service of the GUR said in a statement on Telegram on December 15.

The GUR also said that the remaining Russian service members were waiting for military transport planes involved in the evacuation that were supposed to deliver food.

The statement said Russia continues to withdraw its contingent from remote areas of Syria.

"At the same time, on some routes, the Russians are accompanied by armed groups opposing the Assad regime," the GUR said.

The statement added there are rumors circulating among Russian soldiers that Moscow has agreed to maintain its presence at the two bases, where the number of military personnel is up to 3,000.

RFE/RL was unable to verify the information from open sources. Russian authorities have not commented on this information.

The Russian Foreign Ministry said on Telegram that it had evacuated part of its diplomatic staff from Syria on December 15. It said the withdrawal was carried out by a special flight of the Russian Air Force from the Hmeimim air base.

Russian transport planes have departed the Hmeimim air base in recent days as part of the evacuation following the fall of Syrian leader Bashar al-Assad. The longtime ruler was overthrown last week following a lightning offensive led by the Islamist group Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS). Assad fled to Russia, which was his regime's main backer.

Satellite images taken on December 13 by the space technology company Maxar appeared to show Russia preparing for the withdrawal of military equipment from the Hmeimim air base. The images showed what appear to be at least two Antonov An-124 cargo planes on the tarmac with their nose cones open.

Russia also has sent several landing ships and civilian vessels to Syria, according to open-source information.

In Damascus, HTS has appointed an interim government, and its leader, Riad al-Asaad, told AFP on December 15 that he is confident the factions that helped topple Assad will unite as one force. HTS and the transitional government have insisted the rights of all Syrians will be protected.

U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken spoke with spoke with British Foreign Secretary David Lammy about the situation in Syria, State Department spokesman Matthew Miller said on December 15.

Blinken and Lammy discussed the situation "and the principles endorsed by the United States and countries in the region that should be upheld during the transition process and formation of a new government," Miller said in a statement.

Blinken on December 14 attended an emergency meeting in Jordan of foreign ministers from the Arab League, Turkey, and top officials from the European Union and United Nations.

He said afterward the United States had made "direct contact" with the HTS and other parties. He declined to discuss details of the contacts but said it was important for the United States to convey messages to the group about its conduct and how it intends to govern in a transition period.

Blinken said a joint statement had been agreed at the meeting in Jordan that sets out the principles that other countries want to see in Syria's political transition, including inclusivity and respect for minorities and women and ensuring that terrorist groups do not take hold in the country.

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[wanderingcritter]

Friendly reminder to never EVER let losers on the internet convince you that alterhumanity is wrong or will never be accepted by general society.

I went to my city's local renaissance faire earlier this week and I had genuinely such an incredible experience. I went with my tail, theta delta necklace, and mask (which I may post here once Im fully done with it lol) gear and received so many compliments. Not only that but I saw and talked to quite a few other alterhumans, like at least 10 and that was after only being there for 1 of the 2 days for less than 2 hours. Also please keep in mind that this was by no means a large ren faire (at least compared to others in the region) and the area I live in is very mixed in terms of progressiveness. But at one point I was walking past some vendors and an older lady running one of the booths exclaimed how much she liked my mask and asked to take a picture of it, and explained how her granddaughter was just starting to learn how to make some of her own. And then told me that the booth next to hers was "selling some therian masks" (yes she actually used the word therian completely unprompted!) and sure enough the couple in there were selling some masks made by their 11 year old daughter (which were absolutely gorgeous btw). Afterwards, as I was out near the parking lot waiting for my ride so that I could leave, I was practicing quadrobics and some 5-6 year old kids walked past me with their parents and looked absolutely awestruck. Shortly after another woman approached me and told me that her young granddaughter was completely overjoyed when she saw me me running around and had wanted to come play with me, and had said "Ive never seen a creature play like that before!!"

Not only was the ren faire itself super fun and cool to be at (I can't wait for next year omg), but it was unexpectedly the most positive alterhuman related experiences Ive had maybe ever.

There is a future where we are normal, where others see us as who we truly are and where we don't have to conceal ourselves to avoid judgement. The road isn't always going to be smooth, especially as we grow in numbers, in fact I fully expect things to get a whole lot worse for us in the years and decades to come. But one day, maybe even in our lifetimes, you will walk through a pride parade and see someone enthusiastically waving a massive theta delta flag through the crowd. You will hear strangers casually use species neutral language like it's the most normal thing in the world. You will sit down with your family to watch the newest popular tv show that includes a character who has received species affirming medical care. You will walk past a cozy locally owned business that has an "all species welcomed!" sticker on their window next to their lgbtq+ and poc welcoming signs.

We are everywhere, and we're not going away. There will always be those who refuse to understand us, but there will be more who choose to love and accept us in our entirety, I have absolutely no doubt about that <3

[some-israeli-guy]

I want to take a few minutes to talk about my connection to Israel, as a Jew. I want to do that because some people desperately need to understand this, and also I'm procrastinating on uni homework.

Some years ago there were calls to return artifacts from the British Museum to the countries they're from. I know Britain pretty much went anywhere and took anything they wanted, but it got me thinking about cultural identities and their connection over time.

The middle east was home to some of the world's most ancient civilizations, and I'm sure most people living there could trace their lineage back to those civilizations (theoretically of course, we don't have data going that far). But how are they related to them? Do modern day Iraqis have any connection to Babylonians? They don't have a common language, religion, holidays, costumes… there is no cultural connection there. Babylonians happened to live in the same place, but other than that…

But this is not the case for Jews. Wherever Jewish people ended up throughout time, we kept a direct connection to ancient Israelites. I speak the same language they did thousands of years ago, I celebrate the holidays they celebrated. Our holy book is localized to Israel. We have holidays where we use local flora as decorations. We remembered our home, wherever we were, and waited to return.

The city I grew up in has flooding every winter. The whole area does (the Sharon region). It's because it used to be a swamp. There are 3 limestone ridges blocking the rivers from getting to the ocean, and when the early Zionist pioneers bought lands in this area (which were uninhabited swampland at the time) they had to open up tunnels through the limestone and drain the swamps before people could live here.

Why am I telling you this? Because we already did it before. Ancient Israelites already dug tunnels and drained swamps and lived here. There was a prayer during Yom Kippur specifically for the safety of people living here. All of the towns in the Sharon were razed by the Mamluks in the 13th century, and it became a swamp again. Until we returned.

To anyone who call us "colonizers": These "ancient" Israelites don't just share a religion with us, they ARE us. We were expelled from our homeland, but we kept our identity, we refused to let go, we kept wishing to come back home. We were always indigenous to Israel. We don't belong anywhere but here.

And now they're are trying to tell us that some people with a name invented by Rome to erase Judea and Israel, with a religion and language from Arabia, who didn't have a distinct cultural identity other than "Arab" until a few decades ago, belong here more than we do? I don't think so.

[paleopinesofficial]

An important update to our Paleo Pines Community🦖💙😞

Transcript Below;

Paleo Pines Needs Your Help

A lot of you have been asking what’s next for Paleo Pines and we wanted to provide our community with an update on the challenges we are facing. The sad truth is, the future is uncertain. 

For the better part of this year we’ve been working behind the scenes to create a plan for the next iteration of Paleo Pines, filled with stunning new regions, quirky new NPCs, plenty more adorable dinosaurs, plus eggs, babies and - yes - multiplayer. The job after launch seemed simple - listen to our community, provide a roadmap full of updates and DLC to ensure that our players can continue to enjoy the existing world… and double-down on that enjoyment with the plan for bigger, better, shinier Paleo Pines for you to enjoy with friends and family.

We've been searching high and low for a production partner, one that felt your love and passion to help us bring the next Paleo Pines to life. On several occasions in our journey, we were within a few small steps of the finish line, only to have circumstances beyond our control cause the future to fall through.

This isn't happening just to us. It seems the whole indie game scene is facing a sudden drying up of publishing and investment opportunities. Thanks to the unwavering dedication of our small team and the massive love from all of you, we've been able to support the first year of Paleo Pines on a shoestring budget. 

We’ve managed to keep the lights on… until now. Unless we can find a partner who is keen to see the Paleo Pines universe grow, we won’t be able to keep our team together for much longer. 

So, we’re making our situation public. Here's how you can help:

Do you know a publisher/investor who would be a great partner for Paleo Pines 2? If you're a serious publisher or investor and are interested in seeing a production plan, financial model, game design document and more, please reach out to kevin@italicpig.com. (By the way, Paleo Pines isn’t the only property we’re working on... Our talented team has a diverse collection of small, medium and large scale projects, for PC, console and mobile. If you’re looking for something fun and a little bit different, get in here.)

Can you help in smaller ways? Every little bit helps! Here are a few ways you can directly support the devs:

Have you got our DLC yet? We've just released our very first Halloween DLCs – a great way to support us while getting more gameplay for yourself.

Still playing the demo? Are we on your Wishlist? Please consider buying the full game today, or in the next sale. We promise it'll bring you hours of dino-tastic joy! 

Befriend a Paleo Pines plushie. These adorable creatures aren't just cute, our portion of the sales goes towards development. Our latest, Boo, the albino Styracosaurus, is available now. Our previous plushies helped fund our new Halloween DLCs and free update.

Order Paleo Pines merchandise. We’ve got dozens of fun items celebrating your favourite dinos available in time for gifting this year.

Even if you can't offer financial support, you can still be a hero! Share this post with anyone who might be interested in helping. Wishlist us, buy the game, talk about how it makes you feel, and share share share. The power of community is real, and every share brings us closer to making more Paleo Pines!

The team here can't express enough gratitude to the incredible Paleo Pines community. You've been with us through every step of this amazing journey, from the demo launch to the release last September, and through our adorable plushie collaborations with Makeship. You've become more than players and we couldn't have imagined building this world with a kinder, more supportive group.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for supporting us on this roller coaster of a year since launch, and your patience and understanding with our current situation. Hopefully with your help, this won’t be the end of the Paleo Pines adventure.

Lots of love, The Paleo Pines Team

[read-marx-and-lenin]

I'm asking this in good faith, but this is something I'm genuinely confused about. Regarding the Holodomor, or the Soviet famine of 1930 in general, why does it matter if it was a genocide or not? At best it seems to be a natural famine exacerbated by poor decision making, and while that is far different from a genocide, I don't understand why that specification matters, because it was still made worse by Soviet intervention, unless I'm getting the facts wrong which I probably am.

It matters to the Western propagandists who were insistent for decades despite zero evidence that the famine was used to commit atrocities against the people of Ukraine. The refrain the whole time was that once the Soviet archives were made public, they'd finally have the proof they needed. The archives are eventually opened, and surprise surprise, there's not only no evidence of the deliberate withholding of grain, there's evidence of significant amounts of food aid being sent to help alleviate the famine. The myth of a Ukrainian genocide began as Nazi propaganda and was adopted as part of the "double genocide" narrative by Western reactionaries after WW2 to downplay the crimes of the Nazis and to maintain a narrative about liberal opposition to "authoritarianism", painting Western capitalists as the "free world" fighting against both fascism and communism. (Don't ask them why they stopped fighting fascism after WW2 though.)

As for the human elements of the famine, it is also part of the typical Western narrative, even among those who admit the Holodomor was not a targeted anti-Ukrainian genocide and who admit that there were environmental factors, to try and put substantial amounts of blame on the Soviet collectivization of agriculture. I am not going to lie and say collectivization went smoothly with no issues, but you cannot ignore the factors of reactionary sabotage by kulaks (including the destruction of animals and grain and the outright murder of party officials) and the effects of Western sanctions and sabotage on the economic development of the USSR.

While some have argued that there was a complete "gold blockade" on the USSR during the famine and so the Soviet Union was forced to export grain to facilitate international trade, the blockade was never enforced by all Western nations at the same time and the Soviets were still able to export gold and silver at various times throughout the 1920s. It is true, however, that gold reserves were stretched thin at the time and the Soviets simply didn't have enough gold to cover their international debts. Soviet gold mines had never been extraordinarily productive and the rest of the Soviet economy was still developing at the time, so grain was one of the few things that they expected to have in surplus. In addition, there were various other sanctions in place by 1930 that did limit who they could trade with and what they could trade with, but the export of grain was almost never restricted. The famine caught them off guard at a very bad time.

While international grain exports were restricted during the famine as grain was diverted to famine-stricken regions of the country (and grain imports were increased as well), the problems with hoarding only worsened as in the panic of the famine, kulaks sought to exploit the people and create a profitable black market on grain. A struggle against the kulaks coincided with worsening environmental effects and the spread of disease among both crops and humans.

The famine was not man-made, it was not entirely natural, and it was not the inevitable outcome of collectivization. It was a perfect storm of a variety of factors. Stalin was not some heartless monster condemning millions of Ukrainians to death for daring to defy the glorious Soviet Union. He was not some idiot who had no idea what he was doing, plunging the nation into famine out of ineptitude. He was not a stubborn maniac who refused to abandon failing economic policies even at the cost of human lives. He was a human being, one of many in charge of the Soviet Union, dealing with concurrent disasters as best as they could.

[florencebirdsong]

More Than Duty

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Agatha All Along Week 2024 - Day 6

summary: you were given leave to choose your own bride until Agatha Harkness came along. Charmed and lured in by her promises of power, your King Father declared you were to be wed. Now, it's your wedding night and certain duties must be upheld.

Set in a world where one can get pregnant from a cum strap

tags: arranged marriage au, virgin reader, strap-on, breeding kink, fingering (r receiving), marking, pet names - princess & good girl, strap referred to as cock once, doggy style 

authors note: you're getting the largely unedited version for a little because if I have to read this one more time I'm going to despise it forever

Also don’t question the time I’m posting this I once again thought I only needed to write 100-200 more but it was actually OVER A THOUSAND. WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS. Ahem. Anyway, here’s day six which is almost three times as long as the others.

Reader is referred to as princess multiple times, mentioned royal wedding dress, specified looking for a bride, described as wearing a plain night shift.

ao3 | masterlist

“I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, dear. But there’s no reason not to enjoy ourselves tonight.”

Your hands twist nervously in your simple shift. Your wedding dress had been elaborate. It needed more than one person to get you out of it. Which is not ideal for a wedding night.

You hadn’t had this in mind, exactly. You’d thought you had convinced your father to let you choose your own bride, as long as she met a few of his somewhat reasonable specifications. But then Lady Agatha Harkness had walked into his court. You don’t know whether it was her disarming charm, the power she holds, the boon to the kingdom the exchange would have or his own personal gain but he decided Lady Harkness would be the perfect match for you. He also decided you needed to get married the moment the decision was made. 

Thankfully, a royal wedding took months to prepare and you would have some time to get to know your future bride. Not that you had spent much time with her in the end. Only a few dinners here and there. She’s a busy woman, running her own region which she needed to organise another taking over. She can’t look after it and a whole kingdom, after all. Something she insisted despite your father’s good health. She also spent a lot of time with the court. Learning what her new duties will be and charming her way into their good graces.

It would be unnerving if you weren’t so relieved. One of the suitors your father had originally brought forward had no interest in what her royal duties would have been as Queen. Running a kingdom on your own would have been nothing short of hell.

So, small mercies. 

“Darling,” she says and you try not to startle.

She’s so much closer than before. She cautiously raises a hand to cup your cheek, like you’re a scared animal. You lean into it, eager to soak up any affection she gives you, and her thumb gently brushes over your skin.

“I know you’re nervous but we both have royal duties to attend to.”

You swallow harshly and look down. This is more than duty for you. You’re ashamed to admit you’ve been looking forward to this night. To having Agatha’s sole attention on you. You’ve dreamed about what could happen, what she’ll be like. 

You’ve only been told the very basics. That your wife will enter you with a specially designed device. That it may hurt for a moment but you will feel ‘a pleasure-like feeling’ afterwards. No one would explain exactly what that means. It makes you both more nervous and more excited. The only thing you know about the device is its shape and its intended use. Continuing the royal line.

“I know. It’s just,” you hesitate although Agatha has likely guessed already, “I’ve never done this before.”

“I’m aware,” she says and you flick your eyes up in time to see something flash in her eyes. “I promise to be gentle,” she says softly, a voice you haven’t heard from her before. You gently grasp the wrist of the hand cupping your cheek and nuzzle the hand. “The royal line must continue and it must be of your blood.”

You nod and leave the safety of her caress to cautiously lean closer. She waits for you to come to her and she waits for the first brush of your lips to move. She presses closer and her hands grab your waist and pull you against her. You make a surprised sound and cling to her shoulders for balance. Which you immediately lose as she begins to walk you backwards. The back of your knees hit the bed and she guides you to lay down in the middle of it. It’s hard to notice any of it with the feel of her lips against yours. The way her hands slide along your exposed skin as she leads you doesn’t help. She can’t keep her lips on you the entire time but you don’t mind so much until she pulls away properly. You chase her lips but she stops you with a hand dangerously low on your chest. 

Whatever look you’re giving her makes her eyes darken. One hand travels to the hem of your shift. You grab her wrist without thinking, anxiety rearing its head again. No one has seen you naked like this before. With the intention to- to touch. To feel.

“Let me see you,” she says, her voice firm.

You slowly relax your grip. This is your wife and someone who has shown how eager she is to see you undressed. She isn’t going to laugh or mock you. Your fingers slip from her wrist and she pulls your shift the rest of the way off.

It feels exposing in a way you haven’t felt before. You try to cover yourself instinctively but her hands grab your wrists and holds them down as she has her fill. You squirm but she doesn’t release you. Instead, she leans down and begins to suck deep, purple marks along the curve of your breast. It feels better than you were expecting it to (how can something feel so good when it isn’t down there?) but it doesn’t come close to the feeling of her lips wrapping around the stiff peak of your nipple. You gasp and arch into her. She flicks her tongue and your hand tangles in the thick curls of her hair. She does it again and a small whimper escapes you. You can feel her smile. She begins to trail kisses again and you think she’s going to repeat the same delicious thing until you realise she’s heading down instead of across.

“Wait,” you say, moving your hand to land on her shoulder. She lazily raises her head to look at you.

“Yes, princess?” she says in a tone you don’t have a name for.

It makes something spark between your legs and you determinedly ignore it to be able to speak.

“I want to see you too,” you try to speak as confidently as she did but there’s the tiniest waver to your voice.

She quirks an eyebrow before sitting up, taking her warmth with her. She pulls her own shift off and you think you understand her reaction. She’s beautiful. Your eyes devour every detail from her dark eyes to her pebbled nipples to-

Oh. You stare at it with wide eyes. It had looked so much smaller on the page. 

“Don’t worry, dear. Your body knows what to do.”

She leans back over you and the thing hanging between her thighs nudges your most sensitive spot. She muffles your whimper with a kiss. You cling to her. Excitement and anxiety swirling into a heady mix as she slowly, slowly begins to push inside of you.

“A-Agatha,” you say, your voice high and needy.

Agatha shushes you quietly and continues to slowly push inside of you. Your legs open wider instinctively. It doesn’t help with the stretching feeling. Nor the building tingling sensation. She continues to steadily push inside of you and the slight pain is overshadowed by the feel of her. Her hands tight on your hips, breath hot against your neck, her hips slowly getting closer and closer to yours.

“That’s it. Take it.”

You spread your legs wider, trying to do what she says. You don’t know why she felt the need to say it. You feel so full you can’t do anything but take it.

“Agatha,” you gasp as she bottoms out, nails digging in as you try to ground yourself.

She groans again and her next thrust is harsher than her last one. It forces a whining moan from you as it hits something inside of you that feels so good.

“Knew I had to have this sweet cunt the moment I saw you,” she grunts and settles into a slower, rougher pace. You can’t help the little noise you make every time she bottoms out. “When I found out about this little ritual of yours, I knew I had to fill this sweet cunt.”

Every word builds an unfamiliar fire inside of you. You don’t know what’s happening to you, what she’s doing to you,  but you can feel how big it’s going to be big. The feeling of your pleasure growing as it builds drowns out any worry you may have had. 

You wrap your legs around her waist and pull her tight against you, moaning at how full you feel. It forces Agatha to still.

“Princess,” she says warningly but you don’t care because that thread snaps inside of you.

Pure, unadulterated pleasure flows through you and you’re aware of nothing else.

You come back down to Agatha’s face hovering over yours, eyes devouring your every twitch.

“I- what?” you say, completely at a loss for words.

“You just came dear. And I just came in you,” the look on her face mirrors one of a cat that got the cream.

“You…” you stare up at her with wide eyes as you pulse at those words. “But you didn’t…?” you ask after a moment.

“No,” she confirms and your face drops. Her hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch. “It’s the best time to do it to get the results we want.”

“R-Right,” you stutter and look away, somehow embarrassed by that while she’s still inside of you.

“But you can make it up to me,” she says and you nod eagerly, missing the darker edge to her pleased smile. She pulls out and you whimper at the sudden empty feeling. Her hands grip your hips again and you squeak as she manhandles you onto your stomach and then onto your knees. You automatically put your hands under you but a hand on the back of your head pushes your front back down. A pillow finds it way under your hips. This is a position you weren’t taught about.

Agatha’s hands run down your sides, over your hips, down your ass and stop at your thighs. Her thumbs gently hook around your inner lips and you whimper quietly at the feeling, especially since it feels like you’re dripping.

“You look so good full of my cum,” she says in a rough voice.

You feel that clenching feeling again and she chuckles lowly. Fingers brush your sensitive entrance and your hips jerk in surprise before needily pressing back against them. They start low and move up before gently pushing into you. Embarrassment flares through you when you realise that dripping feeling wasn’t just a feeling. She doesn’t comment though. Instead, she languidly pumps her fingers in and out of you, seeming content to enjoy the way you squeeze around her.

“Too bad I can’t feel this when filling you,” she sighs. You want to protest, you feel plenty full right now, but you know what she means. The idea of her pushing her strap back into you has you pressing back on her fingers again. “Probably a good thing. I’d never let you leave this bed.”

You whimper and try to open you legs wider, begging her to understand what you need. She must because she removes her fingers and a moment later the tip of her strap is dragging teasingly through your folds. You arch more, trying to get her inside of you again and unconsciously presenting for her. She groans and fills you with one thrust. She starts slow but hard, making you feel every inch of her. It doesn’t take you long to become a moaning mess again. Sinking into a hazy place you have’t been before. Filled with Agatha grunting above you, her cock filling you, her nails digging into your delicate skin. It’s all you could want.

Agatha gets louder, and slightly higher, and you realise the same thing that happened to you is happening to her. She’s coming. And you don’t get to watch her. 

A strange warmth fills you, one you didn’t notice last time. Agatha leans her forehead against the back of your neck, breathing heavy. 

“Good girl,” she says in such a deep voice that your toes curl.

You stay there for a long moment. Agatha buried deep inside of you, catching her breath as you try to even your own, fire still licking up your insides. It’s an awful sort of tease when she pulls out.

She removes the pillow and pushes you onto your side. Instead of getting up like you’re expecting, she curls around your back. Her fingers trail a light path down from your hip and your muscles jump at the feeling. They stop just above the sensitive button she’s so far neglected.

“Agatha? What’re you- “ you cut yourself off with a gasp as her finger begins to gently circle your clit.

“We have to make sure it sticks, don’t we?” she says.

You were so close to the edge before that it only takes a few firm circles and a swipe to fall over it again. It’s a lot gentler this time but it still has your body locking up in pleasure. Agatha leisurely strokes you through your high, her nose lightly nuzzling the back of your neck.

Her hand moves back to your hip and you bask in the warm afterglow.

Some time later, when both of your breathing has calmed and you’ve slipped into that soft space between awake and sleep, you decide that your mouth is dry enough to drag yourself out of bed for a drink. You don’t get far.

Agatha grabs you arm and rolls you onto your back. You give her a confused look as she climbs back on top of you.

“You are not leaving this bed until there’s no possible way I haven’t put a baby in you.”

[dailyadventureprompts]

So lately I've been running games that give players a lot of power when it comes to world building, encouraging them to make up facts about the world or npcs whole cloth as a regular part of play. Thing is, I play with a good number of people who don't consider themselves storytellers and tend to be quite intimidated by the idea of improv.

Some people (like myself and a few others I know) are endless fonts of ideas, eager to scribble in the margins of someone else's work, but for other folks it can be a real challenge to come up with things on the spot or work up the confidence required to be that kind of collaberator. As such, I've been working on techniques to help my more reticent players get accustomed to their own creative agency:

Give them a Scaffold: Often it's as simple as giving players an emotion they can tap into along with the prompt to make something up, whether it be funny or nostalgic or gross. I can say " This person who you need to get past to talk to your contact is annoying and doesn't want to let you through. What's pissing you off about them?" or " we open the sarcophagus looking for the amulet and we find something awful inside, what is it?" and the player will add the requisite detail with something they find relevant or horrifying. BOOM, instant engagement. Other times I'll have them describe something from their own past or a work of fiction they like, which most people can recall details about just fine when they'd struggle with making something "new".

Give them Homework: Making up stuff on the spot is HARD, so give them time to work on it ahead of time. Say I was prepping an adventure that happened at a mall, I might ask my players to make up 5 stores or NPCs each and give them a little ingame reward for posting them in the groupchat. Things like this can especially help if you're prepping an adventure in a region/town that's more focused on exploration and so requires more material than average.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, jealous / protective / possessive Simon, rough kissing, arguments, angst, TF141 shenanigans

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Part Ten of Ink & Needle

Soap, Gaz, and Price come for a visit. At a local pub, Simon notices you are sitting with a stranger. An argument ensues. Things get heated.

Chapter Nine // Chapter Eleven

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Simon leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, sighing heavily. The rolling chair groans a protest. The thing is so old it’s a miracle that it hasn’t collapsed under Simon’s weight. He’s been meaning to replace it—it’s not like he doesn’t have the money—but there are so many other things going on in Simon’s life that he keeps putting it off.

His work laptop is open on the desk in front of him, the bright glow of the screen showing him the thousands of emails sitting in his inbox. Being on the cover of UK Ink is a tremendous honor, but it’s also becoming its own sort of creeping horror. Figuring out which inquiries are genuine, and which are just people seeking attention, is taking a tremendous toll on his personal time.

Every day, more and more emails clog his inbox. It’s likely that as he starts deleting them, more will suddenly appear, popping forth from the hidden depths of whatever server it’s connected to. Plenty of the emails are straight spam with a few consisting of people sending unsolicited nudes. Those go straight into the trash folder. The only naked body Simon wants to see is yours.

Many of the emails are people seeking to book appointments with him for tattoos and piercings. While a good chunk of the emails come from citizens of England, plenty more are from people all over the world. International inquires are a good thing, but those appointments have to be booked around flights and trips. There is also no guarantee that those people will actually show, which is why Simon has started to double-book in some places, or set forth a non-refundable fee for securing a time and date.

He's only one person, and the pressure of that is starting to creep up on him. Simon is going to have to hire more people. At least one additional person at minimum. Even if all they do is answer emails all day and book appointments, Simon will take it. Sitting on this fucking chair in between clients is exhausting.

Through all of that, there are also publications (both large and small) seeking their own interviews with the masked tattoo artist knows as ‘Ghost.’ Some are local to the region while others are international, reaching an even wider audience. For each inquiry, Simon is grateful. To see his work—his art—be appreciated to such a large degree is a great point of accomplishment for him.

It's not like Simon’s work during his time with the military. That is different. That was work. That was blood and metal and dirt. Tattooing doesn’t feel like work to Simon. It is freeing. It is creative. It is the release of a muscle after a long tension.

Tattooing is a distinctive sort of freedom. A place for Simon to lose himself in, to enjoy life again, to find comfort in a craft that doesn’t involve destruction.

But Simon is also distracted. Not because he’s stressed or anxious or concerned or even from the number of emails piling in. Simon is distracted because you were in his arms last night. You were sitting at his kitchen table. You ate the food he made. He distinctly remembers your soft smile as you gazed at his sketches.

Sure, Simon was making dinner, but he was keeping an eye on you the whole time. He noticed every expression on your face as your gaze admired each sketch. He noticed the way you held every piece of paper with tenderness, as if all of them were sacred and special to you. It was after, when the two of you talked, that Simon sensed hesitation.

He questioned you about Cambridge and Evie. You were not entirely honest, not that Simon believes that you lied, but he knows there is more you haven’t told him. Whether you don’t want to tell him or are hesitant to do so is still uncertain. What Simon wants, more than anything, is for you to feel safe enough with him to tell him everything. Simon desires your sharp edges. He wants to know how he can help smooth them, to ease all the worries in your head, to remove some of those burdens.

Which is why he asked you to come to bed with him. He thought that maybe if he kissed you for a bit, you might soften, and that is all he wanted. But then he had you under him, opening for him, and Simon’s control was close to shattering like thin glass under pressure. Your fingers found him, and Simon would have given anything to stay in that bed and make you understand just how much he desires you.

The glowing screen of the laptop and the sight of you sighing in pleasure beneath him keeps colliding with each other. It keeps melding, melting together only to break apart before meeting again.

The current email opened on the laptop screen is gibberish. No matter how many times Simon attempts to read it, your face appears there instead. Then, Simon’s mind drifts off to dream of your seeking fingers, and how perfectly they wrapped around him.

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He needs to fucking focus. He will see you again, and when he does, he is going to fucking enjoy it. The two of you are taking that date. The two of you are going to get away for a while. When that happens, Simon will make you his in all ways.

Exhaling loudly, Simon drops his hand from his face to rub at the back of his neck. He rolls it slightly, popping some of the tension out of the joints. He leans forward a bit and manages to focus on the email.

Spam. Fucking spam.

Simon hits the little rubbish icon and watches the email blink out of existence. His gaze returns to the little blue number next to ‘Inbox’ and immediately shudders.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, wanting nothing more than to shut the laptop and pretend they don’t exist for a while.

Out of the corner of his eye, Simon spies the front door of the shop opening. He turns his head to the left to see if it’s his final customer. Instead, he’s greeted by an annoyingly overenthusiastic Scotsman.

“Lt!”

“Gotta stop calling me that, Johnny,” sighs Simon loudly, as if getting out of his chair is a major hassle. Simon comes to his full height, hands on his hips as John MacTavish bursts through the door.

On his heels are Captain John Price and Kyle Garrick.

“Simon,” nods Price in greeting.

Kyle gives Simon a little playful salute before immediately heading for Bravo. The German Shepard goes up on his back legs. Kyle seizes the dog’s front paws in his hands, the two of them doing a little dance in the middle of the shop.

The moment Simon steps away from the chair, MacTavish is on him, throwing his massive arms around Simon’s middle in a hug.

“You’re bloody crushing me, Johnny.”

MacTavish squeezes him a bit tighter in response. When he let’s go, he grabs hold of Simon’s shoulders, shaking them slightly. “Fucking look at this place.” MacTavish glances around like he’s never seen it before.

“You’ve been here,” deadpans Simon. “Hasn’t changed.”

“But it has, Lt. You’re on the cover of a magazine.” MacTavish smirks and drops his hands from Simon’s shoulders. He then promptly punches Simon lightly in his upper arm. “We’re in the presence of a celebrity.”

“Hardly,” mutters Simon, but he’s smiling behind the balaclava.

Price presents his hand, and he and Simon grasp forearms. “Good to see you, Simon. Been a while.”

“It has,” replies Simon.

Johnny leans toward Simon and cups the side of his mouth like he’s an old hen about to drop a piece of juicy gossip. When he speaks, it’s just a projected whisper that everyone can hear clearly. “Captain bought up a bunch of magazines and handed them out to everyone on base.”

“Soap,” barks Price.

MacTavish holds up his hands, and then points at Price with one finger, jabbing it in the captain’s direction. “Just proud of you,” whispers MacTavish.

Simon simply nods but he’s grinning like an idiot behind the balaclava. Price glances in Simon’s direction and shrugs apathetically, not denying or confirming.

Glancing over Price’s shoulder, Simon frowns slightly. Bravo has his front paws on Kyle’s shoulders as he aggressively scratches the dog’s sides. Bravo’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, hanging down toward the floor as the dog pants happily.

“Get down, Bravo,” sighs Simon, indicating with a quick nod of his head.

Bravo sucks his tongue back into his mouth, ears drooping slightly with disappointment. Kyle pats Bravo’s side and removes the dog’s massive paws from his shoulders, gently guiding the German Shepard back down to all fours.

On the phone, Johnny said they’d stop by on Saturday. It’s Saturday. Fairly late on a Saturday, with a final customer still expected to walk through the door, but they are here, just as promised.

Kyle strides up and clasps Simon’s shoulder. “Place looks good.”

“Hasn’t changed,” remarks Simon for a second time.

“Saw you on the cover of UK Ink,” continues Kyle. “Didn’t know until this guy started handing them out on base.” He tips his head in Price’s direction.

Price sighs heavily but says nothing.

“Big deal,” finishes Kyle.

“Congrats, Lt.” MacTavish grins and Simon cannot help but feed into their praise.

It is a big deal. This one interview, this one award, is pushing him beyond the scope of his vision. In forced retirement, Simon expected to fly under the radar, to enjoy himself while he created art. He never expected his work to be recognized internationally.

“Sign my copy yet?” asks Johnny.

Simon backtracks to his desk, picking up the copy MacTavish sent him in the post. Lifting it up, Simon brings it over to Soap, smacking him in the chest with it. Johnny whistles and holds it with both hands in reverence.

“She’s a fucking beauty, Simon.” Johnny places one hand over his heart. “You’ve honored me.”

“Piss off,” mutters Simon as Kyle expertly snatches the magazine from Johnny’s hand. He opens it up, flipping through the pages, side-stepping every attempt by Johnny to seize it back.

“Did we come at a good time?” asks Price as he and Simon watch the two idiots playfully bicker over the magazine.

Simon shrugs. “I have one more customer. Free after that.”

Price nods and grips Simon’s shoulder. “We have lots to talk about.”

There is a slight twitch in Price’s clenched jaw that puts Simon on edge. He isn’t sure if he should press Price and try to wrangle an answer out of him, or let it go and see what happens.

“Shit,” says MacTavish, drawing Price and Simon’s attention to him. “Nearly forgot.” He extends an arm to Kyle, making a “give it to me” gesture with his hand. Kyle, with a sly smirk, unzips the front of his windbreaker. Reaching inside, he presents a manila envelope.

Johnny takes it and then offers it to Simon. “Thought I’d give this to you in person. You know, instead of over the phone. Or email.”

Simon takes it, instantly feeling the heft and thickness to it. Opening the tab, Simon slides his hand inside, removing the thick stack of papers.

“It’s everything I could find on her,” continues Johnny. “Where she went to school. Social medias. Every person she’s possibly dated.”

Tucking the manila envelope under his arm, Simon starts sorting through the information. A copy of your birth certificate, school records from elementary to high school, recent phone records. There is even a list of every restaurant or fast-food place you ordered from over the last five years with a credit card.

Simon flips past another page and freezes. His head snaps up, a growl sitting in the back of his throat. “You included her fucking banking information, Johnny.”

MacTavish shrugs dismissively. “I was thorough.”

“Thorough?” mimics Simon. “Fucking hell.” Simon returns everything to the envelope and places it on his desk next to his laptop.

Simon will have to shred it all after he looks through it. But only after he takes a look. He did ask Johnny to find what out what he could. While it is a major invasion of privacy, a more primal part of Simon reassures him that he’s doing the right thing. He needs to be able to protect you, and these are just tools in his arsenal to maintain your safety.

“She’s pretty, Simon,” says Price.

“You told them?” asks Simon, turning his attention to Johnny.

The Scotsman’s cheeks redden slightly. “He bullied the information out of me.”

Kyle leans in and drapes his arm over Soap’s shoulders. “Price told him he’d put him on inventory for a month if he didn’t spill.”

“Wanted to see this beauty for myself,” grumbles Price, glancing at Simon. “Give you a hard time.” He winks. “She yours yet?”

She yours yet?

There is a double-meaning there. While Simon’s instinct is to say “yes,” he also knows that that isn’t entirely true. The two of you haven’t verbally confirmed what this thing is. Simon has only just now asked you on a proper date.

Can Simon call you his?

The possessive, protective part of him shakes its ownership of you in its fist. But Simon isn’t impulsive, at least not all the time. With you, the need to react is strong, but Simon also understands that Price is asking in a more traditional way.

Licking his lips, Simon forms an answer. “She will be.”

Price nods. “Good man.” He glances briefly at Kyle and Johnny before returning his gaze to Simon. “Mind if we stick around?”

Simon shakes his head.

“We’ll help you clean,” adds Johnny.

“Will we?” asks Kyle slowly, eyebrows rising slightly as he turns on Soap.

Johnny blatantly ignores him and keeps his gaze locked on Simon. “You call the shots. Isn’t that right, Lt?”

That’s when Simon’s final client of the evening finally walks through the door. Simon doesn’t have a chance to answer. The customer is a bit bewildered by the small crowd, but the guys know to make themselves scarce. They head over to the couch, lingering in the waiting area with Bravo, chatting quietly as Simon escorts the newcomer into the tattoo chair.

Bravo moves from Johnny to Kyle to Price to Johnny again, seeking attention as Simon sets to work. The tattoo isn’t complicated, and Simon completes in about forty-five minutes. The guy is in and out in an hour.

When the four of them are standing outside in front of the shop, Simon pushes up his balaclava and lights a cigarette. It’s warm for autumn, the leather jacket he wears already making him run a little hot.

“We’ve got an upcoming mission we want your thoughts on,” says Price. “Need somewhere quiet we can go and talk.”

An upcoming mission? That’s not entirely unusual. Price has reached out to Simon on multiple occasions post-retirement to ask him for advice or to dig around in his head. But never—never—has Price and the rest of the team showed up to talk to him a group or in person.

There’s something else going on.

Clutching the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, Simon opens his mouth, exhaling smoke, intending to suggest a few places.

But before anything comes out of his mouth, Price shots him a look. “Not that fucking pub with the old folks.”

“No one will bother us,” replies Simon dryly. It’s true. It’s why he goes to Dancing Faun every Sunday. And Ben will close up for the public but stay open for just the four them. They won’t be bothered, and they will have as much time as they need.

“You might be an old man at heart, Simon, but I’m not getting harassed by older women whose husbands have been dead for years.”

Kyle bursts out laughing before promptly covering his mouth.

“Don’t like the attention, Captain?” teases Johnny.

Price points at each of them individually. “Fuck off. All of you.”

There are only a few places they could go on a Saturday night where they won’t be disturbed. Sighing, Simon rattles off a couple within walking distance. The four of them debate until Price becomes so annoyed with their continuous back-and-forth that he abruptly selects for all of them.

The walk over is quick, and the four of them enter the dimly lit pub. It’s one of only a handful of places that serves food late. It’s also on a side street away from the main road. Traffic is light, and the interior isn’t crowded. Simon is starving, and he’d appreciate a full belly with a whiskey or two before he starts talking about things he’d rather forget.

Finding a dark corner, they settle in at a four top. Kyle and Simon settle in the booth, facing the pub while Price and Johnny take the seats across from them. Simon settles into the cushioned seat, contentment sliding into his bones. He’s at peace, even if the coming conversation might be messy. He’s with people he cares about, and tomorrow, he’s off.

Tomorrow, he can go see you. Maybe. If you’re not busy. The two of you can talk about that date, maybe go for a walk and then lunch? Simon just wants to spend time with you, and tomorrow is the perfect day to do it.

Simon shifts in his seat, leaning his crossed arms on the edge of the table, glancing out across the pub. His gaze travels over every person, his old habits from the military coming to the surface. Recognizing exits and looking for suspicious behavior is as natural as breathing. But everyone around them is minding their own business. They’re either sitting by themselves or with others, not glancing Simon’s way at all.

He does one finally sweep, and that is when his gaze falls upon two people sitting at a high top together near the very back of the pub. Of the two, Simon notices the man first. He has dark hair, possibly brown but it’s difficult to say with the low light. Slightly older than Simon by a few years, and the bloke is wearing an impeccably made suit. It’s odd for a place like this. It stands out.

Simon doesn’t like the man’s demeanor either. It’s…smarmy. Pretentious. Like he not only believes that he’s better than everyone else in this establishment, but that they should all know it. The way he sits in the high-backed stool is off too. It’s relaxed and yet completely on edge.

Simon frowns, gaze panning to the woman the man is talking to.

Everything suddenly goes cold within him. Arctic. The room has become a meat freezer and Simon is just a piece of dangling meat.

Because that is you, and you’re sitting next to a man Simon doesn’t recognize.

You are here, alone with a man Simon doesn’t know.

A bright, blindingly hot sensation roars to life in Simon’s chest. It wraps around and between his ribs, seizing him in a vice-grip. Against this heat, the iciness melts off of him, dripping to the ground to pool under his boots.

“Simon?” asks Soap, the middle of his brow creasing with concern. “What are you—fuck. Is that her?”

It doesn’t fucking matter who this guy might be or what he might mean to you. Simon is going to crack his fucking skull open.

“That’s her,” murmurs Simon, the low growl previously lodged in his throat coming up suddenly.

Price leans back in his chair, one arm draped over the top, glancing to where everyone else is looking. “Want me to take him out to the alley? Give him some fresh bruises?”

Simon’s hands form into fists. He starts to stand but Kyle and Soap grab onto him, shoving him back down into the booth. “Relax, Lt,” soothes Johnny. “Might be nothing.”

You haven’t noticed Simon yet. You’re too busy looking at this man—this stranger. Turned slightly to the side, your gaze wouldn’t fall across Simon unless you purposefully scanned the room. The worst part is that Simon has no idea if you’re enjoying yourself or not. There is a blankness on your face that Simon loathes.

Do want to be here? Do want to be talking to this man that Simon doesn’t know? And why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you say anything? Is there someone else Simon needs to worry about? Does he have competition?

Silently, Simon begs for you to turn in his direction, even if it’s only a bit.

This unknown variable, this stain of a man, reaches out. With red-drenched horror, Simon watches as he places that very hand on the top of your thigh.

All Simon sees is blood.

This bastard is going to lose that fucking hand. And then he’ll lose his goddamn head.

Simon bolts up out of his seat again but Kyle and Johnny are right there, grabbing onto him, wrangling him back down into his seat.

“Let me go,” snarls Simon through clenched teeth.

“You’re gonna cause a fucking scene if we do that,” hisses Kyle, shoving downward on Simon’s shoulders.

Why are you letting him touch you? Why, when just yesterday you were beneath Simon, seeking him with your fingers, begging for him, are you allowing this?

But you’re not allowing it. You didn’t give this man permission.

Within seconds of the man’s hand connecting with your thigh, your gaze turns downward, lips curling back into a disgusted snarl. You twist your body enough for his hand to fall away, and a flare of pride swells in Simon’s chest.

You didn’t want this man’s touch. Which makes Simon momentarily happy before it all comes crashing down. This man touched you. Without your consent. And that makes Simon angrier than if you had wanted it.

Simon craves blood. He needs his knuckles drenched with it. For it to sit between his teeth. To taste it on his tongue.

“Who the fuck is that?” asks Kyle.

“I don’t know,” growls Simon, wanting to take off and punch the guy right out of his fucking chair.

With the removal of his hand, the guy’s smug smile drops. He bares his teeth, starts speaking to you in a way that Simon immediately dislikes. Sure, Simon cannot hear what the man is saying to you, but from the look on his face and body language, it’s nothing nice. He is angry, and you’re clearly upset. Simon wants this to end, to go up to the guy and throttle him, to whisk you off and make you forget all this unpleasantness.

But Kyle and Johnny keep him seated. They won’t let go, which means Simon will have to literally fight them to get to you.

Small pieces of the conversation start to make its way over to the table.

“Archie.”

“Estate.”

Simon frowns, hears something that sounds like “pregnancy” and immediately rethinks everything. Does this have something to do with your friend? The husband is dead, but is this someone the husband knew? Is it a relative?

And does that matter to Simon?

No. He still plans on knocking the man’s teeth out.

Simon only catches a few additional words here and there, but then he hears three that make his blood boil.

“You fucking whore.”

Simon knows that Johnny, Kyle, and Price all hear it too because their gazes move away from Simon and to the man at the table. Soap and Kyle’s hands fall away from Simon’s arms, giving him permission.

Pushing up from his seat, Simon steps around Johnny and strides toward the high-top table. Your back is to Simon from this position, but that doesn’t matter. Simon has his sights set on this wanker who needs to learn some proper fucking manners.

The man notices Simon first, his angered expression turning away from you and switching to Simon. It slips slightly, the faintest bit of fear sliding across the man’s features as he realizes Simon is aiming for him. Simon inhales, falling effortlessly into Ghost, allowing the phantom inside himself to seek out its need for blood.

But with his removed attention comes your own turning. A wanting to know what it is he’s looking at. When your gaze falls upon Simon, Ghost deflates, softens, giving way to confusion. All the emotions passing over your face nearly stop Simon’s forward momentum.

Your own anger gives way to sudden panic, then switches quickly to irritation, further compounded by confusion. It’s likely that you didn’t expect Simon to be at the same place. And while Simon wants to turn to you and give you reassurance, he’s too fucking focused on this asshole you’re sitting with.

Simon decides not to address you. Instead, Simon turns on this thickheaded prat. “What did you fucking call her?”

The man’s lip curls. “Mind your own business.” Immediately, Simon notes the man’s accent. It speaks to social status and aristocracy.

Simon steps closer. “Repeat what you said. Out loud. Want to make sure I heard you right.”

“Simon,” you hiss, desperation leaking into your tone.

Your guest turns on you, anger flaring anew in his gaze. “You know this…man?” He says man like he wants to say animal.

“He’s—” you begin, but Simon interrupts.

“Direct your questions to me,” growls Simon, placing himself between you and this stranger.

“Simon. Please.” You tug on Simon’s leather jacket but he shrugs you off. His attention is completely on this asshole.

“Are you with him?” The man’s gaze flicks from Simon to you.

“Adam—”

“I thought we could have a civil conversation—”

“What’s civil about calling her a whore.” Simon’s voice rises slightly as the raging tide of fury boils within him like a thunderstorm.

Adam’s face grows bright red. He turns on Simon. “Do you know who I am?”

Simon could give a fuck. He could be the fucking King and Simon would still punch the piss out of him for speaking to you that way.

Price shoves himself between Simon and Adam, keeping his back to Simon, creating a barrier. “Let me help you to your car.”

Price isn’t doing this to be nice. He’s doing this so the police aren’t called.

Adam stands but isn’t nearly as tall as Price. “If you put your hands on me—”

“Deal with me or him. Your choice.”

Adam straightens his shoulders and tugs on the front of his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles.

Fucking prick.

He glances over Price’s shoulder at you. “This isn’t over. You’ll hear from the family solicitor.”

“Let’s go,” mutters Soap, caging the guy in, forcing him to move away from Simon. Kyle trails after them.

Price turns around, facing Simon directly. “We’ll stop by another day. You deal with your woman.” He squeezes Simon’s shoulder before following out after them.

Simon watches Price leave, and then he’s seeking you out, expecting you to be thankful.

But you’re not. Your anger is palpable.

Simon needs to fucking fix this. “You’re coming home with me,” is the first thing out of his mouth. It’s a command. Not an ask. And his tone is rough, nearly raspy.

Your eyes widen slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper.

Simon draws back, startled. “You okay with him speaking to you like that?”

You huff, and get up from your chair, collecting your coat and purse. “You don’t know anything, Simon. You have no idea who that is and why we were even talking in the first place.” Shoving past him, you start for the door.

“Fuck,” mutters Simon, following after you.

His legs are longer, and he catches up to you easily. Before you make it to the pub’s exit, Simon inserts himself in your path, blocking your attempt to flee.

“Move.”

“No.”

“You’re making a scene, Simon.”

He glances up, notices everyone looking on with varying degrees of interest. Some confused. Others concerned. Sighing, Simon reaches back and pushes open the door, stepping aside for you to exit.

Once the two of you are outside on the street, Simom grabs you by the forearm, pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Let me go,” you snap.

“We’re going to talk.”

“Fuck off, Simon.” You yank your arm out of his grip. Something is forming on the tip of your tongue. Simon sees it in the way your lip quivers. But you don’t. Instead, you sigh heavily and wave him off like you’re tired of it all.

Turning, you try to cross the street, but Simon is already snagging your arm again, yanking you away as a car zooms by.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

“Then give me some fucking space.”

“No.”

You release an exasperated breath and try to circumvent him. Again, Simon steps into your path. The two of you keep moving like this down the street. Every attempt you make only puts you closer to him.

Simon is herding you on purpose, pushing you closer and closer to his flat. He wants some goddamn answers, no matter how mad you are with him. And he doesn’t understand why you’re upset in the first place.

When the two of you are outside his shop, Simon indicates the exterior door that leads to his flat.

“Get inside,” he demands.

“Don’t order me around.”

“Inside,” repeats Simon, shoving the key into the lock, opening the door, revealing the hallway that connects the shop to his flat.

You stare between him and the open doorway. Your chest is heaving, and fuck—you look so beautiful right now even though Simon can tell you’d really love to hit him.

The tips of his fingers itch to just push you inside and shut the door, but he doesn’t need to. You make the decision for him, heading inside. Simon follows, and as the door shuts, you’re already moving like a bolt of lightning, walking fast enough to create a significant amount of distance.

No. Fuck that.

With a few massive steps, Simon is on you. He grabs the front of your throat, yanks you back against his chest, pushing your face toward his. The balaclava is already up, already in place, and his lips connect with yours.

At first, Simon can sense the tension but then you melt into him as his other hand slides to your front, pressing low on your belly, pushing your ass into his groin. Your own arm slides up, drapes over his neck in such a loving way that Simon momentarily forgets all his anger.

The two of you hang like this, suspending, but you come back to reality, yanking yourself out of his grip, almost violently.

“You can’t distract me with kisses, Simon.”

“Want to test that?” asks Simon, reflexively reaching for your waist.

You allow him to touch you, to draw you back into him, but your arms are crossed over your chest defensively. “You don’t know,” you murmur. “It’s—it’s too much and you don’t know. You don’t understand, Simon.”

“Then help me understand,” he says softly.

You shake your head and there are real tears there in your eyes. Simon hates it. He wants to take them all away.

“You’re not my husband, Simon. You’re not even my boyfriend. I shouldn’t burden you with any of this.”

You will not push him away. Simon won’t allow it. The two of you are in this together, and he needs to know.

“I care about you.” Now Simon is the one shaking his head. “Don’t tell me what I can’t handle.” His hands draw upward, cradling the sides of your face. “We’re going up to my flat. You’re going to talk. I’m going to listen. Okay?”

One tear rolls off the corner of your eye, trailing downward to kiss his palm.

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Okay,” you reply.

taglist:

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[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Neo Bowser City (aka Koopa City in PAL regions)

Debut: Mario Kart 7

Do you ever think of all the weird locations we only ever see in Mario Kart games? Despite being the biggest of all of Mario's spin-off franchises, when you really get down to it, remarkably few Mario Kart courses are actually based on established Mario locations!

It's not none, there's the occasional Donut Plains and Tick-Tock Clock and Airship Fortress, but most of the courses are these weird one-off locations we never see outside the context of that specific racetrack.

But have you ever taken a moment to step back and like, think of the Lore Implications of some of these places?

Like okay! Bowser just owns this whole dang cyberpunk city and we only ever see it in the context of Kart Racing! How messed up is that?!

One day Mario and Friends were looking for new places to race, and Bowser must have said something like "Gwah-hah-hah! I bet you puny punks could NEVER beat me in a race in my cyberpunk metropolis!" and right then and there it was established that Bowser owns a cyberpunk metropolis. Neo Bowser City is a city that exists in the Super Mario World and aside from returning in other Mario Kart games, it hasn't been acknowledged before or since.

Neo Bowser City first appeared in Mario Kart 7, as the third course in the Star Cup. Despite its flashy visuals, it actually doesn't really have a whole lot going on. It's a difficult track with some tight turns made more difficult by the rain making things more slippery, but besides that it doesn't really have any of the Wacky Obstacles that define so many Mario Kart courses.

Then it returned in Mario Kart 8 looking more gorgeous than ever! The bright colors really pop out, and the whole track is just oozing with detail that really emphasizes the scale of this city!

But like, the emphasized scale really only further raises the question of where this exists in the Mario World. Clearly, the fact that Bowser is plastered all over the billboards and the fact it's named "Neo Bowser City" helps us deduce that this city probably belongs to Bowser. Is this located in Bowser's Kingdom? Just how big is Bowser's Kingdom? And why does he own so many separate castles?

Maybe Neo Bowser City exists in the future? Is this a bad timeline? I mean, Mario Kart is allowed to have time-travel shenanigans. There's a Splatoon battle arena and that exists thousands of years in the future so sure, dust off Mario's Time Machine and head to the bad future where Bowser wins. Should've pressed that New Super Mario Bros. big yellow P-Switch!

I asked my friend Mod Chikako for their input and their theory is that Neo Bowser City isn't the future of Mario's world, but of our world. Clearly Bowser just couldn't take Wreck-It-Ralph losing the Oscar vote!

But in that case I guess it's a cooler cyberpunk future than the one we're living in right now. Corporate monopolies that run mass-surveillance with little government intervention due to their extreme wealth giving them extensive political power? No thank you! Neo Bowser City has bright neon colors, and flying cars! If I'm going to live in a dystopia, I want it to be a fun one. The only advertisements I want to see plastered everywhere are ones advertising Bowser!

Boo! That's the bad guy! Thumbs down!

The course returns again in that pitiful mobile game with another redesign, this time letting us see his Coney Island Disco Palace off in the distance. Does Bowser live in his Neo City? Is this worldbuilding we've been missing out on for decades, finally answered by a kart racer? Is this the capital city of Bowser's Kingdom? Am I once again falling victim to my perpetual hubris of overthinking the Mario franchise?

Really, I can't offer too much in terms of wacky fan theories, because I'm still thinking about this location existing in the first place. I'd love to know the Lore and worldbuilding here, but I guess the nature of Mario's canon is that it doesn't need to be over-analyzed. Bowser simply owns a cyberpunk metropolis, we'll only ever see it in the context of kart racing, and maybe that's okay.

Of course, this post wouldn't be complete if I didn't mention Dinohattan from the 1993 Super Mario Bros. Movie, which we've barely talked about on this blog somehow. You see, when the meteor hit, some of the dinosaurs escaped into a parallel timeline where they then evolved into humans, and then they built Dinohattan instead of Manhattan. Get it? Yeah, that movie is all sorts of bonkers. I wouldn't say it's very good, but I kinda love it. I'd recommend checking it out, if only to see a vastly different take on Mario than you'd be used to.

Anyway I bring this up because it's a completely separate instance of a version of Bowser building a large cyberpunk metropolis, and it actually predates Neo Bowser City! Do you think they could be connected? Are Dinohattan and Neo Bowser City one and the same...?

[wisyhana]

Destructionshipping Monster Tamer AU

So here are some of the drawings from this AU and a little summary of what is about and how is the story going (it's still a work in process so I'd probably change a few details in the future):

It's basically about Yugi (half elf), Jonou (human), Seto (elf) and Atem (human) as beast tamers all set in a fantasy world. Each of them protects their own region, they're in charge to prevent any monster from disturbing the life of people. They're not hunters, they work to take those beasts and return them back to their lands. Sometimes they keep some beasts as pets (Jonou), partners (Yugi and Atem), even trophies (Seto) 

All starts when Seto shares some information about the movement of a peculiar dragon, one of its kind that had entered Yugi's territory. No beast tamer want to deal with that dragon since it's known for its destructive power. All the tales talk about Gandora being a powerful type of dragon that even managed to bring itself to extintion, a single of its kind is enough to be considered a problem. So having the last Gandora wandering around is enought to concern a whole region.  Seto only cares about its region and doesn't want to get involve, especially when is about a dragon that can instantly kill/destroy everything, so he only 'wishes luck' to Yugi and see if he can survive Gandora's visit. Jonou feels uncapable of helping but encourage Yugi to find a way to lead Gandora out. Of course Yugi is very curious about this dragon and wants to find out more of em.   

Yugi here moves more around his own curiosity more than other thing, as the games in Duel Monster, he can't reject a new game as he can't reject a lone dragon. He investigates and travels to where Gandora is staying: a really dark and dried base of a volcano. It takes a lot for Yugi to find Gandora, he has to go through caves and burnt forests to find the lair of the dragon, who apparently is very awared of Yugi's presence. Gandora tries to kill Yugi MANY times, but Yugi always manage to escape and come back later to study em and find a way to win his trust. Yugi speaks to Gandora noticing that the dragon is capable of understand more than other dragons he knew.

Since Yugi's way too into studying Gandora's behavior he kinda let his region a little aside, so things don't go so well since he's so invested in 'his quest' as Yugi constantly talks about the dragon. Also Gandora doesn't just chill and relax, he slowly destroys the forest that goes around the volcano he's living in, causing monsters to leave and invade human territory. This concerns Jonou (and Seto as well but he's a bitch) and they try to persuade Yugi to shoo Gandora away in some way and protect his land as he should. But big hearted Yugi wants to know what makes Gandora so angry. Eventually Jonou sends a message to Atem and consults him for support.  Atem is a peacemaker and he belongs to no land, he's a traveller that helps people and monsters to keep at peace. He visit the guys in time to time but not really often.

Yugi tries to confront Gandora in some way, almost dying in the process, but he can't calm down Gandora. The boy finds himself failing to his quest, which makes him burst into tears apologizing to Gandora for not being able to help him. In all this time Gandora just acts as a furious beast, but somehow understands when Yugi apologize to him. 

There's no much time to talk when Yugi notices that Atem shows up, he sees Yugi badly wounded and decides is time to take action. Of course Yugi doesn't want him to interfer, but Atem is more concern about him than peace between them. Also Atem kinda scolds Yugi for prioritizing a giant dragon than his own people. So Atem calls for Osiris that's enough to intimidate every beast, but Gandora is stupid and even tries to fight them back. Yugi begs Gandora to leave and this one finally listens to him and flee. Yugi isnt necessarily angry at Atem but his words sure hurt him and there was no more Gandora.... for the moment.

So that's all for now, I'm looking forward to turn Atem into an anti-villain type of character, I like a lot the idea of Yugi and Atem finding themselves disagreeing for the first time and seeing them defending their own ideals. 

Of course all resolves around Gandora finally trusting in Yugi, but it'll take me a few more drawings to explain it! 

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Let's Just Pretend This Never Happened

Layla's been having the best sleep of her life these past few weeks. Wonder why that is...

Original on Ao3

CW: Tentacle Sex, Noncon/rape, Somnophilia, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Oviposition, Forced Pregnancy, Unaware Victim, Public Humiliation, Semi-public Birth, Orgasmic Birth, Aphrodisiacs, AFAB Main Character

Word count: 2,089

It’s night, quiet in the little apartment. Save for the soft and groans of a woman resting peacefully unaware of what was happening in the waking world.

In her dreams, she saw men thrusting inside her. An orgy occurring over and over, all stuffing her with cum and pushing her to the edge. Outside, in her bedroom, a mess of tentacles was tediously preparing her.

This monster was currently six tentacles deep inside, large enough to fit a soda can. Not that the woman was aware. She was comfortably asleep, a soft moan leaving her lips every so once in a while in time with the unequal thrusting into her hole.

The monster was very happy with how its current victim has come along. They had spent the past few weeks slowly opening her up without her ever waking up or concerning herself with how slick and sensitive her pussy was when she did. Instead, the woman seemed to have enjoyed it’s nighttime defilement. She had woken every day this week to immediately masturbate herself dumb before going to work.

The monster had purred in delight at that. It’s victims had usually raised some level of suspicion after a while, but not her. It remembered it’s first night with her, how it was unsure she’d ever be a good fit to fill with their young. It couldn’t even fit one of its smallest tentacles inside her without constant soaking of its natural lubricant.

Now look at her, taking six of its largest, now adding a seventh. Each tentacle that thrust inside her secreted a slick liquid that left her pussy quivering for more. And tonight, more would come.

The sleeping woman moaned a bit louder and writhed in the monsters hold. It was time.

With a squelch and wet pop the tentacles retreated out of her cunt. A soft whine escaped the woman’s lips. Whatever dream she was having had turned sour with the loss.

Not to worry, the monster thought, you’ll be satiated soon enough.

The largest tentacle the monster had emerged from its squirming form, the appendage it had been preparing the woman for this whole time.

Slowly, fully soaking itself in its slimy fluids, the monster entered her once more.

The woman moaned. Legs subconsciously opening wider to accommodate such a large intrusion. She pants harder as the thick tentacle continues moving farther than any tentacle had previously.

“Ahhhh-hahhhh! Ahhh!”

She gasps, eyes squeezed shut as it comes in contact with her deepest region. The prize the monster had sought after for so long: Her womb.

It presses further, deeper. Its tapered end pushing inside and working its way inwards. The lubricant gushing out and preventing the woman from feeling anything but sudden pressure and fullness.

“Ahhhhh-haaaaaa-hmmm. Mmmmm”

The monster takes a break to let the woman calm down. She was softly moaning and twisting her body, still asleep but close to release. It would be a shame if all this work was ruined now.

With an inhuman grunt, a series round orbs begin to make their way through the tentacle and into her cunt. Eggs. Their round bodies could be seen disappearing inside her and slowly protruding her abdomen. Pushing each other around to make room inside her womb. The monster lost count after a dozen went inside, but the woman takes them all.

She’s moaning desperately despite it all, on the edge of release. Her pussy quivering in time with each egg pushing inside, but unable to get the sensation just right in order to cum.

Maybe if the monster stayed longer and played with her cunt some more it could maker her cum. But alas, that’s not why it was here and morning was soon to arrive.

When the last of it eggs had pushed inside, it retreated its ovipositor. The monster was saddened that it would be unable to see its offspring emerge into the world, but content to know they would come out safely far from here.

The monster quirts a bit more of its juice on her pussy, just as a last second treat, and exits the apartment through her open window. Leaving the woman dripping in it’s slick and completely unaware of what had happened or what was in store for her.

The following afternoon, we now see our victim working in the office. Her actual name is Layla and she’s still pondering how strange her morning was. First, she had the most intensely pleasurable dream of her life. It had left her breathless and a shaking mess when she woke, but she hadn’t actually cum. Or at least, she hadn’t think she had. The slick mess between her legs proved that she had at least been overwhelmingly aroused that much was certain.

This sort of wake up had been happening to her for about almost a month now. These lewd dreams she had never had before and sudden need to get off had been so strange.

Layla bit her lip, despite how off putting this change in her “routine” had been, she couldn’t deny that it wasn’t unwelcome. The only difference this morning had been in comparison to previously was the sudden weight she felt in her stomach -err, abdominal area.

She wasn’t quite sure what to call it, but looking in the bathroom mirror that morning had proven she had gained a considerable amount of weight seemingly overnight. Luckily, this was a more casual office and she was allowed to wear a nice cardigan sweater to cover the swell. Everyone in the office had noted the change from her usual attire and had complimented her accordingly.

Layla’s cheeks burned. She wasn’t used to that kind of attention. Or any really. Quentin at the front desk had given her a special look along with his compliment. Almost perusing her body for some fantasy later. Layla shook her head at such thoughts. Quentin was far too nice and professional to be thinking like that. She was just becoming to horny for her own good. The hot pulse in her pussy agreed.

Layla squeaked at that. She could feel a bit of slick forming through her panties, her arousal seemingly increasing out of nowhere. A lurch of her newly swollen abdomen and thrumming heat told Layla she needed to make her scarce, fast.

Layla quickly and as quietly as possible got up to head towards the bathroom. Maybe her lewd mornings were making there way towards her afternoons. Maybe she just needed to quietly touch herself in the bathroom. Hoping nobody would hear her. Or walk in. Forcefully spread her open and pound her needy cunt until she begged for released.

Another surge of pleasure rushed through her, this time a yelp escaped her lips. Legs knowcked together and she had to press her hand against a nearby wall to stay upright. Her pussy was so wet right now, she didn’t think she could make it to the bathroom.

Layla scanned the area quickly, there! An empty meeting room. It didn’t have any windows and she’d be able to lock the door. Perfect. All she had to do was—“Layla are you alright dear?”

Layla turned. Mrs. Baker. Old, kind, sweet, Mrs. Baker was currently Layla’s only obstacle to getting to safety.

“Umm, I-I—” Layla stammered, another pulse of heat moved through her and se stepped back. She needed to get away before she made a fool of herself.

“You look terrible. You’re shaking like a leaf.” Mrs. Baker took hold of Layla’s hand. “And you have a fever! You need to sit down before you pass out.”

I-Mrs.Baker, I need to-“ Before Layla could even begin to explain herself her eyes turned glassy.  Her pussy quaked and her head tilted back. A euphoria of pleasure washed through her and she felt a pop something inside herself seemingly released.

When Layla came back to herself, she could only assume the depraved noises that came out of her mouth as she saw the look of shock on her colleagues face. On everyone’s faces.

Layla turned and ran straight to the meeting room, locking the door behind her. Damn trying to explain herself. She needed to get her pants off now.

Layla plopped herself down on the floor, quickly flinging her pants off and surprised to find how wet they were. More surprisingly she felt a sudden lurch and squirming within her abdomen.

“Ahh!”

A cramp squeezed through her. What’s happening to me?! Layla’s thoughts screamed. But, soon another blissful euphoria pulsed through her and she felt as something exited her womb.

“Ohhhh-hmmpppph” Layla stuff her cardigan into her mouth hoping to muffle her pleasurable noises. This next cramp was far more pleasurable than the last. But now she realized they weren’t cramps, they were contractions. She was giving birth.

Knock! Knock! Knock! “Layla are you in there? Are you alright?”

Oh god no! Layla squeezed her eyes shut and spread her legs. The contractions were in full force now, each bringing her so close to orgasm. She could feel the squirming creature within making it way through her cunt slimily clawing its way out.

Her body shook and her thrust back in the full force of an orgasm as the creature pushed out of her pussy. Layla breathed heavily and only had a second to see what had come out of her before another contraction overtook her mind.

What she saw was an amalgamation of tentacles and slime no discernible features otherwise. It’s body had pulsed in colorful light that made it hard to actually discern what it was. Figuring out what she was giving birth to could wait. Birthing one of these monstrosities seemed to have made room for the rest to come out.

Pleasurable agony wrecked through Layla’s body as the “babies” moved through. Plopping out of her in a sickening squelch. She had tried to keep count of how many, she really had. But every time one exited her mind became numb to everything around her as another orgasm overtook her.

By the time it was over Layla was no longer upright against a wall, but tumped over on the ground, twitching in the aftershocks of seemingly endless orgasm. As Layla slowly came back to herself, she felt her pussy gape, trying to close around nothing, and the small puddle of drool that had formed under her face.

When she finally got up to look around, she was shocked to see that the monsters she had just gave birth to, were gone. Not a trace of what she went through was left, save for soaked through clothes.

Bang! Bang! Bang! “Layla! We found the keys to the room! If you don’t answer right this second we’re coming in whether you like it or not!”

Whatever trance Layla was stuck seemed to snap at that. She quickly put her clothes back on and opened the door to the faces of her concerned colleagues.

She spent the next few minutes in a daze as each of them questioned her and tried to figure out what just happened. It was her boss, Cara Miller, that ushered her away and into her office.

“I don’t know what happened today, but I think you should take some mental health leave.” She said in a calm manner. “And when you come back, we’ll all pretend this never happened, okay?”

Layla could only quietly agree and left to take her leave. She was only thankful for the fact that due to her tear stained eyeliner and muffled cries, the only thing any one could come up with was that she had mental breakdown in the office. Who could possibly come up with the real reason she had locked herself in an empty meeting room for twenty minutes.

It was long after the day had ended. Layla had long left the office, snug and safe in her apartment. Cara, her boss, was still working though.

The whole ordeal with Layla today had left everyone shook. She didn't blame them, of course. But they were behind and she needed to pick up the slack. That how Cara found herself in the office, blissfully unaware as a small slimy creature crawled its way towards her.

The liquid it secreted was different than that of its adult form, only numbing flesh it touched. This was important to be aware of as Cara never felt the thing as it crawled up her leg and inside her pussy. Sneaking safely inside her womb to release at a later date.