#you do that by studying the systems we live under and knowing how the work!!

[princesssarcastia]

I WOULD LOVE TO CHANGE THE WORLD WE LIVE IN BUT YOU CAN'T DO THAT BY DENYING THE REALITY OF THE WORLD WE LIVE IN

[ronwestbreeze]

you’re gonna go far | 1

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human!reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. . . word count: 7.k

read on AO3

15 October 2146

Dear Joan Reeds,

Hi Mom.

I know we’ve been sending video diaries to each other since you went to Pandora a year ago and this might be a little strange, but I thought writing this to you would be a lot less impersonal than sending a video. I don’t know, watching myself emote on camera has always made me uncomfortable—so when I respond to your video diaries, know that I’m actually excited to see them and not incredibly bored as I appear.

If that’s why you’ve stopped sending videos, because you think I’m bored of them, I promise you I’m not. And I miss your videos…

Year 2150

“—Unfortunately, your mother, along with the rest of the twelve other scientists had died before we were able to get them into quarantine.” One out of the three in military uniforms said.

You don’t quite remember how you got here.

Last you checked, your mother, Joan, was leaving for a huge project located on a discovered moon in the Alpha Centauri System. Pandora. An inhabited planet that the human population hoped to relocate. To find a newer home. Instead of the dying planet they created.

Joan had been accepted into the Avatar Program, a branch of the big project that had less to do with taking and more so giving. She, an esteemed scientist herself, would get to work with others like her. To explore a planet you only saw in dreams.

Dreams that would remain that way for a while.

You were only an apprentice at the time, ten years before 2150. Therefore, unqualified to accompany your mother on this new adventure. All you could do was be happy for her, even if she would be gone for a long, long time. But it was hard to be angry at that fact, remembering vividly how your mother looked before she left.

Identical eyes staring lovingly and worriedly back at you. Manic worry if anything.

“I want you to watch over the forest while I’m gone.” Joan laughed at your stunned expression. “You’ve been studying under me for years now, don’t be so shocked! You’ve followed me like a loyal shadow. My little shadow. You are the Head of the Amazon Division now. I trust you’ll continue my work.”

“Mom—I—are you sure?” A younger version of you asked. Ten years earlier you. “What if—how do you know? That I’m even ready? Surely there are more qualified scientists—”

Joan grinned, another identical trait you shared with her. “You have as much love for the Earth as I do. You have this determination, unlike any, to save it. To save what is left of this dying world, our home. Some might find it naïve. Others might discover a whole new planet to live on.” You smiled as she chuckled at that. “Yes, you will work with my second-in-command, he will show you the ropes—not like you already don’t know it—but he will be by your side until you are old enough to officially take over. But I have no doubt you can do it. And I need you to believe it too.”

There was a certain glow in your eye that matched your alight and determined face. This childlike wonder. This unyielding ball of hope that was you.

You nodded surely, holding her hand tightly, “I’ll do it. I’ll keep it safe for you.”

“Promise?”

You pressed your lips into a line, “Do you wanna pinky swear on it?”

Joan gasped, her face lighting up instantly. “I thought you’d never ask!”

Rolling your eyes at her excitement, you locked your pinky with hers. Tight and sure.

“I haven’t done this with you since I was five.”

“You’re never too old to make a promise!”

Joan then pulled you into a tight hug. Small drops of wetness fell onto your shoulder.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

She finally pulled away and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll come back for you. My little shadow.” That was her promise.

Then she walked out of the door. And all you could do was smile for her. You couldn’t even be sad.

The woman in uniform spoke up next. “Dr. Reeds? I know this is difficult information to process—"

You still didn’t remember how you got here.

Last you checked, Joan had been on Pandora for nearly five years now.

During those years, you managed to keep your promise in the beginning.

There were more trees planted, the water was becoming cleaner as the days rolled by, and you managed to gain some military protection for the forest—along with more researchers joining the cause.

During the first year of her in Pandora, your mother would send you video diaries of her time on Pandora, which prompted you to send videos back in reply. Showing your progress so far and everything you have accomplished.

One time she sent a video of her crying dramatically while holding up a picture of you as a toddler.

“Look what I found in my suitcase—sniffles—you were so small and cute back then—sniffles—guys look how cute my baby is!”

You remembered cringing and smacking your head against the table. Some of your colleagues also enjoyed a chuckle or two.

Tell me about the creatures and the plants. Take me on one of your treks through the forest in your avatar body. I enjoyed those videos the most. I always looked forward to them, even if you think I thought it was boring or too much of a lecture. I promise you it wasn’t.

I wasn’t mad about the baby picture by the way. Yes, maybe embarrassed—I was fourteen, Mom—but it’s nice that you took something with you to remember me by.

Also don’t worry about the forest, everything’s fine here. I saw all your emails asking about it. And I don’t want you to worry too much, not so much that it would ruin your experience up there. I have everything under control, Mom…

Sometimes the videos had nothing to do with talking. Joan one time sent a video of her sleepily talking to you about anything until she eventually fell asleep. The rest of the video would be of her sleeping.

You told her she didn’t have to send videos when she should be resting.

“I just want to see you, honey.” She would respond back. “Plus, talking to you is always a perfect end to my day.”

So you didn’t complain. Talking to her, seeing a new video arrive in your inbox always made your worst days just a bit brighter.

After the first year, Joan stopped sending videos. You didn’t think anything of it at first. All you assumed was that she was buried in her work. Which meant that whatever she was doing, must’ve been important. Life-changing even. And you weren’t going to interrupt that.

One year turned into two.

Two turned into three.

Four.

Four years of radio silence.

Scarily, you allowed yourself to wonder if she forgot about you.

And before you knew it, that thought abruptly left your mind in place of another.

The forest was on fire.

You remember rushing around the lab, grabbing every research hard drive, journal—anything important and belonging to your mother’s long hardworking years of work before it could be destroyed by the fire.

But. But none of it mattered.

The forest burned to the ground. Everything your mother worked for. Gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

“Dr. Reeds?”

Your hands were covered in ash and blisters.

She was dead. Her forest burned down a day ago.

Now the three in uniform stood with you in what was left of the forest. The grey daylight haunting in the smoke.

The mask you wore protected your facial expressions. “When did she…?”

One of the men cleared his throat. Two men and one woman. “Four years ago. A few months after she first arrived on the planet. Their lab was compromised with a deadly toxin—”

“You said that already.” You pointed out impassively.

The male nodded, “Right—We were sent straight after, unfortunately, the journey from Pandora to Earth takes…”

You turned away from them. You wanted to throw up. You want to scream and call them liars.

But you were older now. Emotions controlled. Face restrained.

There was a certain dullness in your eyes that matched your worn and solemn face. This beaten and bruised resolve. This unyielding wave of resentment that was you.

Your mother had been dead for four years.

Without you knowing about it until now.

Everything you had thought. Had assumed. It meant nothing.

You thought she had abandoned you. You thought you were alone.

Turns out she was already gone.

And you were still alone.

Blinking away ash—tears maybe, you couldn’t tell—and looked back at the three in uniform. “Alright. You told me. Thank you for coming.”

With that, you begin to walk away and continue cleaning the spot you’d been working on before the uniforms had approached. Dumping the burnt bark and ash of what used to be trees into a plastic bag.

“There’s one other thing, Dr. Reeds.” The woman spoke next. You tried not to scowl in irritation and reluctantly turned back to them. “Before your mother passed, she asked that you take her place.”

Your heart lurched and your body grew stiff.

“The late Dr. Reeds had made a lot of progress on some research that could’ve been beneficial for our organization and project.” The woman tucked her hands behind her back, back straight as she continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “We need someone like you who can continue the work without fail and who knows Dr. Reeds…particular work ethic.” You frowned at the wording. The woman—she seemed to be leading this small crusade. “We have an avatar waiting for you. All you need to do is come with us to Pandora.”

And there it was. Anyone would’ve seen this as a second chance. Another opportunity to fix your mother’s legacy. To keep your promise.

But all you saw was something else you could screw up. Something else for you to destroy by fire. Another way to fail her. The forest was gone. You had killed the forest. Now they wanted you to take your mother’s place—possibly to work on something shady that they have full control over. When was it enough?

When would people stop expecting you to be Joan Reeds? When would they see that you were nothing like her? That you weren’t their savior, that you weren’t someone to turn to whenever the original goal didn’t work? You were nothing. Everything you touched ended up destroyed. So why?

Why would your mother want you to take over her perfectly structured sculpture? When all you were was the hammer that shattered it down to pieces.

You tightened your jaw, “I’m good here. Again, thank you for coming.”

Once more, you tried walking away.

“Unfortunately, Dr. Reeds, it is not a request.” Now you were scowling at the woman, not bothering to hide the expression this time. “We’re in dire need of your mother’s expertise. She can identify resources that the RDA has collected—better than anyone. And we could use these sources to put those…our enemies in place. Heal poisons we have little information about. Your mother—”

“My mother, it seems, had no idea what she was getting into when she accepted that job for the Avatar Program.” You sized all three of them up with a quick resolve. “You’re RDA, correct? Hmm, my mother may not have seen it but I do. I see right through you all.” With that, you raised your chin and steeled your back. “So, for the last time. Thank you for coming. Now if you’ll excuse me, I just learned my own mother’s fucking dead. I’d like to take the time to grieve if you don’t mind.”

As you turned to leave again, your mind wandered. Your eyes stared bleakly at what used to be a beautiful forest. It used to be so life-like. So, so beautiful.

Your mother was gone. And so was her forest.

Maybe you should’ve seen it as a sign.

Mother dead. Forest gone.

And where were your tears?

You stopped walking suddenly when something sharp hit the back of your neck.

Instantly, without warning, your body crumbled to the ground with a thud.

Breathing was difficult. Your body couldn’t move. Black shoes filled your vision.

“Apologies, Doc. But I did say it wasn’t a request.”

Slipping from your control, everything went dark.

If you must know, your forest is making amazing progress. We planted exactly thirty more trees in the past two months and they’ve grown healthily! I’ll send you pictures of them once I’ve sent this letter.

But as I said before, there’s nothing for you to worry about here. If I wanted your help, I would’ve asked and you know this. You should be focusing on making life-changing discoveries on Pandora. Also, have you met Dr. Grace Augustine yet? I’ve just finished her book and I have many questions! Can you, possibly, maybe relay my questions to Dr. Augustine? If you’re not busy of course…

Year 2155

It had been a good day for Jake Sully.

A long and grueling hunt had ended with many other warriors succeeding in their finds, just enough to feed their families, enough to feed the entire clan.

His pride only swelled more when his mate and the current Olo’eyktan grinned proudly at him as they started their way back home.

“You’ve gotten better, ma’tiyawn.” Tsu’tey had said with a smirk.

Jake’s heart warmed, “Well, I had an amazing teacher.” Tsu’tey looked even more smug then until Jake added. “Tell Neytiri I said thanks.”

A huff left his mate's mouth and Jake laughed at his reaction. “Tell her yourself, skxawng!”

When they both returned to their new home—a new location after the Hometree was destroyed last year—it wasn’t long before their third mate, Neytiri made her way back from a hunt as well. And Jake was right. She had to be one of the best hunters of the clan as she came carrying back a rather large sturmbeest at her tail. Large enough for tonight’s celebration. She yipped loudly, raising her bow up in a cheer as she returned to the clan.

Jake and Tsu’tey couldn’t take their eyes off their mate.

Once she managed to get to them, Tsu’tey was the first to meet her in a warm and tight hug—careful to watch for the baby carrier strapped to her chest.

“And how was our boy’s first hunt?” Tsu’tey smiled down at the one-month-old child, their firstborn, Neteyam, who smiled at the sight of his papa. His smaller hands grabbed onto one of Tsu’tey’s fingers.

“He will make a great hunter.” Neytiri smiled down at him, grabbing Tsu’tey’s other hand. “And you? Did you find anything?”

Jake chuckled, looking back at the sturmbeest a few warriors carried by. “Not as good as you, babe. Let’s just say if we had made it a bet, you would’ve won easily.”

“What’s a bet?” Tsu’tey questioned, with a furrow in his brow.

“I’ll tell you later.”

When they made it back to their hut—Jake did a quick look around to find that it was empty. Sending a silent prayer to Eywa, which he found himself doing a lot more recently, he was relieved to find that Tsu’tey’s mother was nowhere in sight.

Artsut, who had been a frequent visitor to their home ever since Neteyam was born. Before then she had steered clear of their hut—not wanting to go anywhere near Jake. He was a demon, a false body, the stain on their clan. Jake was fine with her being away from the hut—that was when he could tolerate her the most.

But after Neteyam was born, after the perfect Na’vi baby had come out of Neytiri, Artsut came around more to care for her grandson. Which meant Jake had to deal with more of her comments and sneers—and he would. For his son.

Forcing Artsut to not see her grandson would’ve been too cruel—not just for his son but for Tsu’tey as well. Tsu’tey—who wanted to keep the peace between his mates and his mother. Tsu’tey, the only male in his family who is able to stand up to her and not take any of her shit.

So, Jake wasn’t worried for the most part. Artsut would play nice for Tsu’tey—her favorite son. Omatikaya’s rightful Olo’eyktan. And Jake would ignore her presence. A fair compromise.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about seeing her now. Otherwise, his very good mood would be ruined.

“I went to see my mother today,” Neytiri said as she took Neteyam out of the carrier and gave him to Tsu’tey who was standing right next to her.

“For more training or something else?” Jake questioned, analyzing her body in a quick scan for any injuries he might’ve missed. “Are you okay?”

She smiled softly and pressed her hand to her stomach, “She told me that Eywa has blessed us with another child.”

Tsu’tey’s eyes widened and Jake’s mouth hung open. Neteyam watched them all quietly.

Neytiri looked down shyly, her ears fluttering, “I wanted to tell you at the celebration for a surprise but I couldn’t wait so—”

She didn’t get to finish as Tsu’tey launched himself at her, wrapping her in a tight hug, earning a joyous laugh from her. A large smile Jake hadn’t seen for a minute. Not since they first discovered Neteyam was coming.

Jake rushed over after placing his hunting equipment down, “You’re pregnant?” Neytiri nodded as Tsu’tey pulled away with a smile of his own. A grin broke out on his face as he pulled her in for a loving kiss, “Oh baby, I love you so much.”

All three of them joined together then—including Neteyam who giggled at their smiles. Sharing kisses, long hugs, and large smiles that they couldn’t contain.

Happiness was simple. That was what Jake believed.

He never thought he could achieve something like that. Not on Earth. Hell, no even on Pandora. Not after everything—but he worked hard for it. He kept going, wanting to prove to himself and his mates that he belonged there. That he was one of the People. That he would be a good mate. A good father.

And not something that destroys everything by a single touch.

Happiness was as simple as it was rare.

Whenever it came, Jake grasped onto it as tightly as he could. Because he never knew when he’d ever have it again.

He held on tight when Tsu’tey survived the battle against the Sky People. Nurtured it when Tsu’tey soon joined him and Neytiri in their union as mates. Loved it when Neteyam was born with his eyes and Neytiri’s markings.

But even then, even if he had a well-adjusted life a year into being on Pandora, Jake still had a long way to go. A long path to make up for all the strife he had caused.

For now, he would enjoy this night. He would enjoy being with his mates. He would enjoy this joyous celebration of the sturmbeest and the new life that would be here in nine months’ time.

It had been a good day for Jake Sully.

That night, Neytiri laid between Tsu’tey and him. That night he watched Tsu’tey’s body carefully as he usually did during the other nights. That night he couldn’t shake the warmth in his chest.

Happiness is simple.

At some point, Jake turned onto his back. His eyes trailing up to the sky. Stars. There were always stars here. And every night, Jake counted them until he fell asleep. Every night he had one arm around Neytiri. Every night he reached his hand out just enough until his fingers brushed against Tsu’tey’s bicep. Every night he would be the last out of the three of them—or four if he counted the heavy sleeper that was his son—to fall asleep.

Only this time there was a moving star in the sky. For a moment, Jake thought he was dreaming.

But the star kept moving. Closer and closer toward Pandora. Until Jake knew that it wasn’t a star anymore.

A body shifted, Jake instantly got up and placed gentle hands on Tsu’tey’s shaking body, trying his best to calm his mate down from the nightmares. Not knowing what he would do if he had to tell him—to tell Neytiri—that they were about to wake up in one.

It had been a good day.

Until it wasn’t.

Do you think I’ll like Pandora? I still dream about it. Being there with you. Do you still want me to come one day?

You woke up on a ship.

“Hold her down boys.”

At the moment, you hadn’t realized your body jerked roughly or that you were now being held down in your seat by a bunch of hands, far stronger and firmer than you. Never mind the tight seatbelt across your lap, no, they wanted to make sure you couldn’t escape.

So, you screamed. A horror-filled cry that sucked in all sound in the ship. Leaving the rest of the passengers with nothing but silence and your scream.

“Calm down, Doc.” The woman sat across from you spoke. The very same woman that approached you in your mother’s forest. “We wouldn’t want you harming yourself before we even get to the planet.”

With as much strength as you could muster, you tried pulling away from the two men sitting on either side of you, whose grips were practically steel. “What did you do?! Where the hell am I?!”

“I already told you five years ago, it wasn’t a request.”

You didn’t need to ask what she meant by five years. Your mother had told you about the process that got her to Pandora in one of her video diaries. You didn’t have to figure it out in your hazy state without getting pissed.

“You stole five years off me! What the fuck is wrong with you people!?” You seethed.

The woman looked unconcerned toward your outburst. “Your mother’s work is too important to give up, Doc. She and her group of scientists were close to probably giving us the one edge we needed against the Na’vi. The inhabitants of Pandora. With your mother gone along with the rest of her group, we were desperate for a replacement. Which is why we needed you. Which is why we wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Why the hell would I help you?!” You snapped, still fighting against the two male’s hold on you. “Get off me!”

“Boys.” The woman gestured for them to let go. After a pause, the hands were gone from your arms. And that was when you began to notice your surroundings.

Yes, you were on some type of ship with a few other soldiers. All of you strapped down to seats. And instead of your ash-covered clothes, you were now in a simple grey tank top, borrowed camouflage pants, and black combat shoes.

Slight groans and whines along the walls told you that the ship was still flying.

So you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. You had been practically kidnapped by the military—the RDA.

And you were trapped.

That is, until you reach Pandora.

“Now if you’re done throwing a fit,” The woman brought out a tablet and held it toward you. “I’m Captain DeVoe, by the way. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Doc.”

You didn’t take the tablet.

Captain DeVoe sighed before pulling the tablet away and began typing on the screen. “Your mother had been close to finding a way to create an antidote for the neurotoxin those savages use on the tip of their arrows. It’s dangerous for us humans. And our goal is to get this small obstacle out of the way in order to proceed with our mission.”

You let out a short laugh, your body still tense and trapped. “Like I said. Why the hell would I help you? What my mother does has nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, but it does, honey,” DeVoe smirked while you scowled. The captain had to have been in her mid to late twenties. Her hair was cut short into a blonde buzzcut. Toned muscles underneath her long-sleeved shirt. She looked like she could break you in two without even breaking a sweat. So there was no point in trying to fight her. At least not in this confined space.

She held out the tablet to you. And again, you didn’t reach for it. Instead, you pressed your back against the wall behind you. DeVoe didn’t lower the tablet. From your spot, you could see on the screen a light blue rectangle and a digital lock above it.

“She’s kept everything we need behind a lock. Her last words were for you to unlock it and finish her work.”

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, “Those were her last words?” Another brittle laugh left your lips. “Wow, you all must be very desperate.” You continued to laugh, unafraid of the glare the captain sent you. “Fuck you. Fuck everyone on the ship and fuck the RDA! I haven’t even gotten to see her body yet—did you even bury her? Or did you toss her aside when you didn’t find any use for her anymore?”

DeVoe blinked and frowned. She then sighed, “I am sorry for your loss, Dr. Reeds. Really, I am. And I know emotions are quite high right now—”

“Fuck you.” You snorted humorlessly before leaning back against the wall again. The two men on either side of you shifted. You ignored them.

“Yes, you’ve said that already.” DeVoe tucked the tablet down next to her right thigh. You glanced at it briefly before directing your scowl back to the woman.

A speaker suddenly came to life above all of you. “We’ve entered the atmosphere. Landing in twenty.”

You sat up straighter as everyone suddenly began placing what looked like advanced oxygen masks on their faces.

Through all your righteous anger, you hadn’t truly realized it until right then. You were on Pandora. You were going to land in the place of your dreams.

And you refused to be happy about it.

DeVoe handed you a mask as she grabbed bags from under her seat. “Quaritch was always good at being persuasive. He’ll convince you. He always—"

A loud boom rattled your ears.

The ship suddenly flipped—if not for the seatbelts, you would’ve flipped too—and then it felt as if you were falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

You put on the mask in hopes of helping bring the air back into your lungs.

Falling.

Falling.

Thud!

Do you remember your second-in-command? JJ? Well, he retired recently. We threw him a really big party. Plus, he just had a baby too. I think it’s a girl last I checked, I’m going to have to ask Cheryl about that—you know her. Always being in the know with her coworkers…

There was no light. Heat closed in all around you, suffocating you and fogging your mask—or was that your quick breaths? No, that was the smoke.

Your ears rang terribly. People were moving but you couldn’t see who. Someone suddenly grabbed your arm, cut the seatbelt from your lap, and practically hauled your body from the seats and through the smoke.

You weren’t walking. A striking pain in your thigh prevented you from doing so.

Suddenly there was light. Lots of it. Your vision was somewhat clear enough to see that you were now outside. Enough for you to see that the one dragging you was a feral-looking DeVoe.

“Shoot them all down now!” She screamed. There was a long gash along her toned arm. “Contact base! We need backup ASAP!”

Finally, you realized what was happening.

There was fire—why was there always fire?

The large, winged creatures flew above the damage with people riding them. There were yips and hollers from the people on the creatures mixed with the explosions and shouts from DeVoe.

As your senses began coming back, as the world began to set around you, your instincts finally kicked in.

While DeVoe was distracted giving orders, you searched the ground until your eyes landed on a nearby rock. Quickly, you lunged for it, grasped it, and smacked it in the back of her head without wasting another second.

And the impact was hard too. You were sure you heard a loud crack from it.

When DeVoe ducked and stumbled, her grip on you loosened, giving you the chance to run. Or rather, limp through the wreckage and away from the fight happening around you.

But because of your leg, you didn’t make it too far.

A sudden weight knocked you down, a cry leaving your lips as you hit the ground. Wincing in pain from the burning in your left leg. When you tried getting up, the weight kept you pinned down. Whatever landed on top of you made sure you wouldn’t be able to move.

“I already told you!” Roughly, you were turned onto your back. DeVoe was on top of you, snarling. “You have no choice! Not when it comes to saving your race!”

“Get off me!” You cried out, trying to push her off. But DeVoe remained as firm as iron.

“That was a cute little stun you pulled back there. But make sure to remember this.” Instantly, she yanked your mask off.

Your eyes were wide and a loud gasp left your lips,

DeVoe grinned, a mad glint in her eye. “Your life is in my hands! That means I protect it or take it just like that! Don’t be stupid, Doc. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. Pick! I protect you or you die!”

You held your breath. More booms sounded around you. More winged creatures flew above you. More yips. More hollers.

Briefly, you glanced at the mask in her hand and considered everything leading up to now. Because you didn’t have much of a choice.

None but one.

Finally, you stopped fighting. Your limbs fell loose against her.

DeVoe nodded with a smirk, “Good choice.” She gave you back your mask and stood up. You kept holding your breath. “Back up should be here soon. We’ll have enough numbers to take down these savages—”

She abruptly cut herself off when you slammed the mask down on your good knee, shattering it.

You then started breathing in the air.

“What are you doing?!” DeVoe screeched, grabbing you by the front of your shirt.

You grinned now, struggling to breathe, “You need me. I don’t need you.”

To them, you were valuable. DeVoe knew this. Which was why you knew she wouldn’t go through with killing you herself. It was like they said on the ship. You were too valuable. And they were desperate.

And that value would be lost once you’re dead.

“Damn you brat!” DeVoe growled as she took off her mask. “Selfish bitch—”

Blood splattered across your face when an arrow found its way through DeVoe’s head.

She slumped against you, the mask falling from her hand and skittering onto the ground a few feet away from you.

Your mind had not realized that DeVoe was killed. Was dead now. All you cared about now was grabbing the mask.

So once you got the dead weight off of you, you began crawling toward the mask. Your breathing becoming a struggle with every passing second.

You hadn’t realized—just like with DeVoe—that someone was watching you. Curiously and quietly following you as you crawled. You didn’t realize you weren’t alone until blue feet appeared in your line of vision. Until four fingers took the mask off the ground and away from your grasp.

A whimper left your lips through hollow breaths as you looked up to find a tall, blue alien woman standing over you. With guarded, yet silently curious yellow eyes.

A Na’vi. You had seen them in your mother’s videos. You had seen her avatar.

“Mom.” You rasped, lying on your back. You didn’t know how much time you had. Might as well stick to the original plan then.

Become invaluable.

But Mom…

“I-I just want my Mom.”

The Na’vi woman just stared at you. Her fierce gaze turned into something somewhat contemplative. You weren’t even sure if she understood you.

Black spots covered your vision.

There was barely any oxygen left to grasp for.

“Demon.”

The Na’vi woman hissed just as you lost consciousness.

This had to be the second time you’ve woken up from passing out.

Only instead of a ship greeting you, it was a white ceiling. And somehow instead of lying dead in the ship wreckage, you were instead lying on a cot. With a bandage wrapped around your injured thigh.

It was slow—slower than before—but everything came back to you. You were on Pandora. DeVoe was dead. At least that’s what you remembered happening. The arrow through her head certainly wasn’t a hallucination.

But why weren’t you dead?

For a while, you just say on the cot. Trying to figure out what exactly happened.

The Na’vi woman. Did she…Did she give you the mask?

No. She’d have no reason to. Something must’ve happened while you were passed out.

You were in some type of cell—perfect—no bars but no doubt some type of impenetrable glass in front of you.

A groan left your lips, dropping your head into your hands.

How the hell did it get so much worse?

A door opened further away from your cell. A thin-looking man stepped through it. A human man.

You watched him carefully and silently. The human male nodded to you. “You must be Dr. Reeds.”

Instantly, you tensed and the words tumbled out of your mouth, “I already told DeVoe I’m not helping the RDA. So torture me all you want but you’re not getting shit from me.”

He raised his brows both curiously and observantly. “The RDA hasn’t been allowed back on Pandora for a year now. Not after the war.”

War? You carefully stood from your cot, “Then why am I here?”

“Because you were on an RDA ship—” You move to protest, “Before you say anything or curse me, I already know about Joan Reeds and your supposed arrival. But unfortunately, you arrived at a pretty bad time. The People are skittish. They think it’s best to keep you here for now—”

“What the fuck?!” You screamed. The resolve was broken. There was no composing anything anymore. Your face was heated. Your muscles ached. Your throat hurting. “I didn’t even want to come here! Those fuckers kidnapped me and now I have to be imprisoned in a cell because of them?! I’m not RDA! I have nothing to do with this! All I want to do is see my mother who I couldn’t even bury!”

Toward the end of your rageful sentence, your voice quivered.

“Is she even buried yet?” You asked him, your voice now quieter.

After a pause, the male nodded. “She was buried. She…She was one of the few humans the Na’vi got along with. They gave her a burial years before. She—I’m sorry for your loss.

Everything was so—heavy. You were just exhausted.

You hadn’t even been able to grieve for her. Cry for her.

“I didn’t even know she was dead.” You sunk back down on the cot. “Not for four years. I didn’t she was dead for four fucking years. And now I’m here. On a planet I’ve been dreaming about since I was young. But now it’s just some fucked up nightmare.”

There was a long silence between the both of you. The male rubbed the back of his neck before saying cautiously, “Yeah, this isn’t ideal—um, I’m Norm, by the way. Norm Spellman. I work in the Avatar Program. I—well, I didn’t know or meet your mother personally but she was an amazing and intelligent scientist. Her work here and on Earth is very admirable.”

You almost scoffed at that but said nothing.

Norm moved to say more but stopped instantly, pressing a hand to his ear. For a beat, you watched him bleakly, as if he were listening to something.

He then turned to you, “Hold that thought.” And as soon as you blinked, he was gone out of the room.

For a moment, it was silent.

And then you cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And cried.

Until your eyes offered no more tears left to give.

Do you remember your second-in-command? JJ? Well, he retired recently. We threw him a really big party. Plus, he just had a baby too. I think it’s a girl last I checked, I’m going to have to ask Cheryl about that—you know her. Always being in the know with her coworkers.

I had to clean up cow shit yesterday. And I’m definitely smiling when I tell you this. It’s progress but you probably get to see and interact with creatures we don’t even have here. So, at least you’re up there…

Norm came back a little later after that. He approached your cell, typing something against the wall. A second later, the glass came down.

You straightened.

“They want to talk to you.” He said.

“Who?” You frowned tiredly as you slowly got to your feet, wincing at your thigh.

Norm thought for a bit, “Some representatives of the clan nearby.”

Reluctantly, you followed Norm out of the cell. He led you through a hallway until you approached a door where Norm grabbed a mask for himself and you.

“They’re right out there.”

When you walked out the door, you were startled to find three winged creatures and tall—really tall—Na’vi waiting at the landing strip where you were sure ships would’ve been. But instead, it looked a bit abandoned.

“Dr. Reeds this is the chief of the Omatikaya Clan, Tsu’tey, that’s Neytiri, and the last one is the clan’s Toruk Makto, Jake Sully.”

You analyzed all three of them. The Na’vi woman—Neytiri—you recognized from the crash. The one that had been standing over you before you passed out. Long braids, warrior paint on her face—matching her body posture she instantly took as soon as you came out of the building, and a bow clutched in one hand with a fierce expression. She was sizing you up. Same as you did.

The next one—Tsu’tey—watched your movements carefully. Out of the three he looked like the one in charge, a leader, someone that of importance. His snarl was severe, even making Norm shift uncomfortably despite it not being directed at him. He gripped a spear tightly in his hands, his eyes following every slight movement you made. As if readying himself to take you down the moment you step out of line. Dangerous beast.

Then there was Jake Sully. If you hadn’t learned his name, you could instantly tell that he stood out somewhat among the three. Compared to Neytiri and Tsu’tey, Jake’s stance was different. More human-like. Like a Marine—which you had been around back on Earth. They were mostly the ones hired as military protection, so you were around them often. Jake was exactly that. But it didn’t make him any less fierce or severe.

Then of course there was the gun that he held—another huge thing that stood out among the three of them.

“And this is Dr. Reeds. She was supposed to replace the late Dr. Joan Reeds, a friend of Grace—”

“Why is she here now?” The leader, Tsu’tey interrupted with a scowl. “We need no more demons here.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek but didn’t say anything. Norm, fortunately, continued talking so you didn’t have to. “The timing’s off, I know, but it’s on record that she was supposed to arrive here upon Dr. Reeds' last request. And confirmed by Dr. Augustine herself. She’s only a scientist, that’s all. We even have an unused avatar waiting for her.”

Tsu’tey didn’t look convinced, not surprising. Neytiri’s eyes never wavered from you. Jake’s tail swished behind him, but his expression was unreadable.

Norm cleared his throat, “If Grace approved of it—”

“Where’s my mother buried?” You asked. All four eyes snapped to you. Norm gave you a look that you ignored. “Spellman told me she had a burial here. I just want to see her. That’s all.”

“And then what?” Jake questioned, eyes narrowed. His face was still guarded.

You didn’t care for it. “I don’t know. Maybe then I’ll go back to Earth and die with the rest of the planet. Does that suffice?”

Tsu’tey frowned, clearly not liking your response while Jake lowered the gun slightly. Neytiri slowly eased out of her defensive stance.

Norm chuckled nervously—attempting to save your sardonic response, “You hear that? She said she’ll leave.”

You breathed out a sigh. God, you were so tired. “I just want my Mom. Please, that’s all I ask.”

Another beat went by before Jake, spoke first but in another language. Tsu’tey didn’t look happy at whatever Jake was saying, his ears were pinned to the sides of his head. Neytiri, on the other hand, looked contemplative.

Eventually, Jake turned back to you with a stern frown, “We’ll have a few warriors take you to your mother’s burial.”

“And after you do not return.” Tsu’tey hissed, his violent eyes pinning you in place. If I see you on my grounds again, I will kill you, demon.”

Jake breathed out through his nose, closing his eyes. He then looked at you, “Understood?”

You huffed, “Loud and clear.”

You’re far away from this mess and I think that’s good. Not that there is a mess, I’m just saying metaphorically….You know what never mind. I hope you’re having fun, Mom.

Please respond. I miss your videos. And it’s getting pretty lonely down here.

I still want you to have fun so don’t put too much energy into trying to respond.

I’ll leave you now.

Love,

your little shadow.

PS.

Remember how you said I accomplish more stuff than you could ever imagine? I kind of get the feeling you were only saying that to make me feel better. It’s pretty clear by now that out of the two of us, you’re gonna go far. Farther than I can reach.

Okay, bye now.

yes, another series! this time i'm going full force with the poly than i do with my other fics. and you guys have this beautiful fanart to thank! also i listened to you're gonna go far by noah kahan the whole time i wrote this chapter so it's probably obvious i was inspired by that song. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this new mini series of mine for anyone that's still out there in the fandom lol. i hope you guys will give this a chance--and tell me your thoughts when you're done! i love hearing from y'all. full rants and everything!

[batboyblog]

The recent Chappell Roan thing is why I absolutely hate the lack of political literacy in this country. Big-name celebrities think they're really cooking when they say "well Kamala still supports blowing up Palestinian babies because she won't cut ties with Israel, so therefore I'm not voting for her and you shouldn't either! Both her and Trump suck so I'm not voting/voting third party!"

Like it or not, Israel is an ALLY of the United States. We CAN'T just cut ties with them unless it's a long drawn-out process, and even then it's probably NEVER going to happen. This is basic shit we learned in social studies, holy shit!

Trump would be so much fucking worse for everyone involved, including Palestine, and not voting or voting third party is pretty much just handing your vote over to Trump due to how voting WORKS in a two-party system dictated by the fucked up electoral college.

This was a long ramble and you've probably gotten similar asks the last few months like this, but fuck, I just have to get this off my chest, and the most recent event with her was like the straw that broke the camel's back. Celebs in general need to shut the fuck up about politics unless they are actually partaking in activism instead of this virtue-signaling bullshit.

Taking things one thing at a time.

I'll admit to having only seen Chappell Roan's final video on the subject, so idk what she said before that (outside of generally)

The two things that really stuck out to me and pissed me off about that live/video was she 1. accused Democrats (she said "the left" but was clearly in context talking about the Democrats) for "transphobic policy" (also genocidal, equally silly) and it was SUCH a groundless lie, such a baseless, stupid, uninformed, silly lie. It'd be like saying "yes the right is bad! but Kamala Harris says she wants to shoot a pony every day of her Presidency and I can't support that!" And to be a Queer artist who's whole thing is centering Queer art, particularly drag who's got a young maybe not very informed queer fan base who's made talking about trans rights your main political thing to just lie about the nature of the threat to trans rights and trans lives at this moment is fucking awful and downright criminal.

Listen right now Republicans are aggressively attacking Democrats on trans rights. Trump went after Harris at their debate for "trans surgeries for illegal aliens in prison!" Republicans are attacking Tim Walz as "tampon Tim" for the idea that he supports trans male students having access to tampons (and other crazy transphobic attacks on him) Republicans are centering transphobia as a main campaign issue, anyone who gives a fuck about trans people in this nation should know Trump and Creepy Vance in charge of the federal government? is the nightmare. You can't claim to care about trans people or be "centering" them and not be doing all you can to stop Republicans at the ballot box this November. And both siding it and saying bullshit that somehow it will be just as bad if Democrats win is not stopping Republicans no matter how you personally vote.

The Second thing in her video that really annoyed me was she said she was voting for Harris but then had a whole word salad about how everyone needed to make up their own minds about who would be best. Basically saying that while she was voting for Harris, a vote for Trump was a reasonable conclusion people could reach. Again if you truly care about the issues she says she cares about, no, you can't vote for Trump. And again to use your platform to push "both sides" is to throw the very people you claim are your brand under the bus in the worst way.

I don't like to throw people under the bus for their family, Tim Walz' brother is a MAGA lunatic for example, but Chappell Roan talked about Republican family that "loved her" and I can't help but wonder if she was thinking of her Republican State Rep uncle, Darin Chappell. Again people can't control family members and I'm not asking anyone to come out and attack their family in public. I'm just wondering if her views on Republicans and finding a middle ground and "they still love me" is colored by Uncle Darin and not understanding he might love her and be proud of her but he still walks into the Missouri state capital and votes for abortion bans and transphobia.

to move onto the meat of your ask which I think is less about Roan in particular and more generalized about a certain type of celebrity and GenZ very on-line types. On the whole Israel-Palestine thing, I think most of the people posting about it know very little or know a lot of misinformation, you every see people boldly posting "I don't need to know everything to know right from wrong!" you run into that a lot. And I'd say yes, you do need to know a lot to comment on a complex multi generational ethnic-political conflict with many state and non-state actors.

Last night JD Vance and Tim Walz had their debate and every time there was an issue, housing costs, medical costs, gun violence, inflation, Vance would move it around to how if we just deported all the immigrants the issue would be fixed, no more drugs no more gun violence, housing would be cheap, just get rid of the people I don't like.

And I see a lot of that with Israel, "Palestine is a climate issue!" "Queer as in Free Palestine!" etc where if we just get rid of Israel it'll all be fixed. Which of course connects to long standing antisemitic ideas about Jews running the world, people happily sub in the word "Israel" or "Zionist" and then repeat the same old racism thats followed the Jews around for 1,000 years.

So long and short I think most people talking about Palestine don't know enough to talk about it, but what's worse don't really care about Palestine at all

I'm reminded here of Trump's "Deal of the Century". Oh? you don't remember it? shocker, in January 2020 Trump released a "peace plan" drawn up with no Palestinians involved, where Israel would be allowed to annex everything in the West Bank it would want, the Jordan Vally cutting Palestine off from Jordan and totally encircling it with Israel. The West Bank would be Swiss cheesed up into little pockets connected by tunnels or overpasses but with Israeli territory running through it everywhere. The Palestinians said "no!" and then Netanyahu claimed that Trump had green lit Israel to annex the land it wanted even without Palestinian agreement to the plan and without giving the Palestinians anything. There was some confusion and thankfully that didn't happen. We may never know the fully story of what stopped it, but I do think Trump agreed to annexing much of the West Bank, but pulled back under pressure from Gulf Arab Oil states who later in 2020 made peace with Israel in the Abraham Accords in an effort to stop Netanyahu's annexation plans.

any ways to point out, 1. Palestine was on the edge of annexation the end of the dream of Palestinian statehood in any meaningful sense, and where were the protests? the encampments? etc? it never comes up, 4 years ago, and all the people who live and breath this stuff never mention it? 2. We have reason to believe Trump signed off on a far-right government of Israel annexing much of the West Bank, his "peace plan" abandoned the outlines that American Presidents since Bill Clinton set forward for getting a Palestinian state on 95+% of the West Bank in favor of "what does the Israeli right want?" and again no one is talking about it in the context of this election, we know what he'll do, because he's done it before.

but again its not really about the Palestinians, its not about building a Palestinian state, its "get rid of Israel" and then what? what happens to the 9 million people who live in Israel? and people don't have a realistic answer, because its a political fantasy that if they just do X everything will magically get better, even on totally unrelated issues.

[atimeofyourlife]

A group thing?

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: no upside down au | rated: t | wc: 944 | tags: no upside down au, pre-steddie, steve x corroded coffin Steve gets a job in a record store in Chicago, and a familiar group of guys come in looking for a place for their band to play. Who knows where it could go

Getting out of Hawkins was the best thing that had ever happened to Steve. The plan had been cemented between him and Robin when they started working at Family Video after the freak fire at Starcourt, the result of an electrical fault caused by the cut corners and corrupt construction. They were both going to work as many hours as possible at Family Video, so they could save up ready to move away after Robin graduated high school, with Steve planning to follow her to wherever she went to college.

The plan led them to Chicago, with Robin getting accepted to study linguistics at the University of Chicago. They found a small, relatively affordable two bed apartment, and did everything they could to make it theirs. While Robin worked on her degree, Steve found work at an independent record store. Even though it was still retail, he found it much better than working at Family Video and Scoops Ahoy had been. There was no uniform, the manager was pretty chill, and employees could choose anything from stock to play over the store's sound system. Steve did tend to play a lot of Queen when it was his turn to pick, but he was learning a lot about other genres from his coworkers' tastes in music.

But Steve's favorite part of the job was the live music. There was a small stage area that local bands could book and come in and play for free, in a chance to get more experience playing. Some of them weren't the best, but some of them were amazing. It was something that made it feel less like work. Some bands were pretty regular, and Steve was starting to form a real friendship with some of them.

"Hi, how can I help?" Steve asked as he came back to the counter from the stock room where he'd been processing a delivery with his coworker. There were a group of guys all waiting around, so he assumed that they were a band wanting to get a play spot. There was something familiar about them, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

"Er, hi. We've just moved to the area, and a buddy of ours told us you let bands play here for free." The guy at the front with long hair said, seeming to be the leader.

"Yeah, we do that. Just give me a moment." Steve ducked down to grab the folder from under the counter. "So the boss is the one who makes the final decisions on all the bands, so I'll just need to take your details, and she'll call you back to arrange everything. And I can give you the information sheet with everything you need to know."

The band took the sheet, and murmured a little amongst themselves.

"Okay, so if I can start with the band name?" Steve asked, pulling out a sign up sheet.

"Corroded Coffin." One of them replied.

Steve wrote it down, and tried to make conversation as he did. "You said you guys just moved here? Where'd you come from?"

"This shitty, small town in Indiana. You've probably never heard of it."

"Uh huh. And a phone number we can contact you on?"

The number got rattled off for Steve to note down.

"That sounds a lot like where I'm from. You wouldn't be from Hawkins, would you?"

"Yeah, we are."

"I thought you guys seemed familiar. We probably went to high school together." Steve said. "And your names?"

Each said their names as Steve wrote them down. The last one, who had seemed to be the leader, "Eddie Munson."

Steve looked down at the sheet, before looking up at Eddie. "You used to sell, right? At a picnic bench in the woods behind the school."

"You used to buy? Then do we get your name, big boy." Eddie asked, leaning on the counter.

"Steve. Harrington." Steve replied, watching hesitantly as they all seemed surprised.

"King Steve, what brings you to working in a place like this?"

"Trying to make rent. My parents cut me off after I graduated, and I'm pretty sure it would be a total disownment if they knew half the shit I got up to now. So me and my best friend moved up here after she graduated. She's in college and I'm making sure we can afford our shitty two bedroom apartment."

"Now I want to know what you get up to." One of the others said, Steve was pretty sure he'd said his name was Gareth.

"Let's just say I know what the bandanna in Munson's back pocket stands for." Steve winked as he said it, and couldn't help laughing as they all spluttered slightly. "I've got all the information I need, and I'll make sure to put in a good word with the boss for you."

Steve was working when Corroded Coffin were playing at the store for the first time. He was on hand to help them get set up and make sure everything went smoothly.

"I think that's everything, you guys can start playing when you're ready, and I'll let you know when your time is nearly up. Do you need anything else?"

"How about a kiss for good luck?" Eddie asked.

Steve smiled before pulling Eddie in by the shirt and kissing him deeply.

"Hey, what about the rest of us?" Gareth called from behind his drum kit.

Steve just shrugged, before going around and kissing each of them softly on the lips.

He made his way back behind the counter, looking forward to what could come between him and the band. Friendship, or maybe even something more.

[leeknowsintrusivethots]

A Stray Concubine

| Part 1 | Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here. Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit. Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below the cut), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov WC: 5119 Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites. Notes: I'm back to writing again, keyboard slappin' again. Also, I am having trouble figuring out a way to format POV shifts on tumblr that is clean but not intrusive. I am open to suggestions.

Smut Warnings: very brief/very vanilla smut, sex with a stranger, no strings, mentions/illusions of oral, smut is not between leads of the story?(idk, I think some of you might be peeved by that. We do it for the plot.)

You

Powerful was a word that most would not place on a woman. 

Women were meant to be demure and delicate. They were meant to rear children and attend to household affairs as their husbands brought in income and fought in wars where there would be no true victors. It was not a woman's place to meddle in affairs of politics and governance outside of securing marriage alliances for unwanted daughters to bring extra wealth and prestige to the family name. That is simply how the world worked. 

You never questioned it in your childhood. You wore the pretty, colorful silks. You learned to speak eloquently but never out of turn. You played instruments and studied embroidery and other womanly arts. You were exactly what society dictated you be: a pretty face being prepared to be sold off for the honor of your family name. 

It was a single, fateful trip to the capital with your mother and father that had changed not only your perspective but the entire course of your life. Your family name was tarnished and your father was executed by the ruling Bang family for murder and treason. The only thing that had saved you and your mother was the grace of the sex you had been born with and her tears and pleas for mercy. Even as she cried and begged in front of His Majesty, the truths you had known crumbled to dust. 

Your father had been a puzzle piece in a generations long game of chess where the kings and queens played with the lives of others to gain power of their own. He had been a disposable pawn, easily lost to the ages as a traitor whom there would be no songs written about. Everyone knew it, and it didn't take long for you to realize it for yourself. You, even at a young age, looked beyond your mother's pretty tears and prettier words. 

You knew Princess Mai was set to wed the young lord Hwang.

The Hwangs were a powerful family - rivaling your own in terms of wealth and influence. Hwang Hyunjin was the sole heir to his family's fortunes. A marriage alliance with Princess Mai would tip the precarious balance of power to favor the Hwangs more greatly. It would have been a match that would have been detrimental to your own family's power. 

You knew all of this. You also knew the vial of dark purple liquid your mother had hidden under the flowing sleeve of her gown was not nail polish as she had told you. You had watched keenly as she had slipped the liquid into Princess Mai’s goblet as you all supped with the Queen without anyone else the wiser. Your mother's poison had killed the young princess before the physicians could even get through the door. As Queen Bang had cried and screamed for the loss of her child, your mother had secretly smiled. 

She had ruined the Hwang’s grab for more power and gotten rid of a Bang daughter in one fell swoop. She was the chess master, and she had outmaneuvered them all with a pretty face and a pretty smile. You don't know if she foresaw any of the consequences of her actions: the execution of her husband, the ruin of the family businesses, and the loss of your family's prestige.

Your mother had broken the mold. She had held your father under a spell with her looks alone. His station allowed him to take other wives if he chose, but he never did. He allowed her the freedom that many women would never get to taste in this lifetime, and she took it with greed and left him in a grave of her making. 

“Was the power worth it, Mother?” You asked the carriage window that tottered down the street.

Through the pristine glass, the lush landscape was ruined by the image of heavily armed men on horseback. They wore the colors and heraldry of the Bangs, and they patrolled the road to the palace with keen eyes and sharp blades. Their numbers were more than usual as they surveyed the throng of carriages and ladies on horseback that made the journey in an unlikely parade. 

The Selection was the only time that the Kingdom of Miroh would see such an odd assortment of women making their way to the Palace of Kings. It was a rare event, only happening when the Royal family required more women to act as concubines and maids. The needs of the Palace had nobles and commoners alike sending their daughters off for the possibilities of fame and fortune. 

Serving the royals as a maid was an honor that most of the peasantry could only dream of, but even nobles would be pleased if one of their younger daughters could secure a spot in the Royal household. It would ensure that they were at least in the line of sight of the many princes, and the maid staff were compensated fairly for their time along with accommodations and food provided for them. There were certainly worse places for a woman to find herself.

You, however, were not sent by your mother with such plebeian goals. 

It was not comfort you sought, nor was it the possibility of an affair with the princes. You were to aim higher. You were to become one of the women that history scorned for reaching beyond her station. 

Your aim was to ensure that you became Prince Bang's Most Favored. Your mother would accept no less. She wanted the favor, the prestige and wealth that would come along with your rise. It had always been her goal, and it had been fed to you for so long that you weren't even sure how much of it was your own desire over her influence. 

Did you want that level of power?

Did you even care to join the Royal family in such a fashion?

Would you ever even come to care for Prince Bang as more than a chess piece on your own board?

These were questions that you could not answer. You often thought of being a young girl again - ignorant to the world and the affairs of adults. You liked your pretty dresses. You loved running through your family's well maintained gardens with your favored hunting hound on your heels. You loved scrubbing paint off your arms and being scolded by your governess for ruining good gowns after a day of painting lessons. You were innocent then, but that was certainly no longer the case. 

The frivolities of childhood had to be left behind. You were an adult, and you knew more of the world than you cared to. You knew that as a gently bred woman, you would never be more than a broodmare for a rich and powerful man unless you took charge like your mother had so many times before. The consequences could be grave; you could lose your head if you weren't careful, but great queens had never become so by following the status quo. 

As you toiled with emotions far beyond your depth, the King's Gate shadowed your carriage eerily. It was an original part of the palace’s structure, built so solidly that the centuries had done minimal damage to its intricate design. It towered over the road, blocking out the sun with marbled walls inlaid with precious metals and jewels. It was meant to intimidate, and belittle. It was meant to make everyone passing in its shadows feel weak and small in comparison to the glory of the Royal Family. It opened seldomly, and only for whatever family sat the throne at the time. 

Its momentous shadow lasted for what felt like an eternity as the line of carriages trudged along the walls of the palace to a more appropriate entrance for those not of royal blood. You and the other women arriving for the selection were being directed to the same gate used for supply carriages and merchants. It was yet another mind game: being delivered like fine cattle to await the murderous whims of a king. It was a way to ensure all women of the selection knew their place - but you saw things through the lens of your mother. 

The Gate of Kings was the first thing all arrivals to the palace would see by design, but it would never open for them. Instead of intimidation, you saw a challenge to inflame and inspire your heart. You would enter through the Merchant's Gate, but you knew that the Gate of Kings would open for you one day. It was all a matter of what you had to do to make it happen - consequences be damned. 

Prince Minho

Head held high. Feet light and delicate. Body slim and lithe. Features sharp and regal despite station. Gown loose and flowing in bright, ostentatious colors. 

She could be a candidate, Lee Minho thought to himself as he watched the dancers practice. 

The brightly colored fabric of her gown rode up her ankles as she moved, offering the briefest flash of a pale and delicate ankle. It was inappropriate – bordering on scandalous. Had it been even a decade prior, she might have been imprisoned for her lewdness but times were changing. It was a fact of life as set in stone as the changing of seasons: people evolved and people learned. 

Minho liked that concept. He liked the ideas of society shifting and expanding. He liked the change of pace from the monotony, but what he liked even more was the prospect of those daring enough to enact that change. It took an uncommon spirit to go against the masses – to challenge the very knowledge that civilized society was built on. 

As if reading his thoughts, the dancer’s eyes found his and held them. Her's were not the wide eyes of an innocent maid. They were heavily lidded, seductive in their intent.

It was another act of impudence, a daring so strong she probably would be locked in a labor camp if his father witnessed the scene. A woman so open in her sexuality was a threat to the masculinity of the insecure men around her who grasped at whatever shred of power they thought was within their reach. She would be scorned – likely punished by her closest male relative had she acted so with any other man.

Lee Minho was certainly not just any man off the streets of Miroh. He was so much more, and arguably so much worse. A Prince of Miroh could easily have her pretty head taken off for such an insignificant slight against social norms. He hated himself for even thinking about it, but he did. He hated himself even as the dance practice came to a natural end and the dancer approached him carelessly. 

It was a silent exchange – not a single word passing her rouged lips as he took her slim hand in his and led her from the banquet hall. He knew what she wanted. It's what they all wanted. Motivations differed, but the methods never changed. A fun time with a Prince of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He was never one to reject the advances, never had been. 

Lee Minho was many things. He was a Second Prince of Miroh. He was the son of the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He was an intellectual, a graceful fencer, and the official Spare of the Bang family. These were all monikers and titles the public used to describe him, but behind closed doors they sang a different tune. 

He was the shame of the Royal family. He favored arts over swordsmanship. He was an alcoholic who frequented ill reputed pubs and discussed philosophy over ale with criminal scholars. He was a rake who lived at brothels and slept with low class whores. They talked as if they knew him. They spoke as if he sat at their tables and discussed with him personally over hot tea – but they had no idea. 

They knew nothing of the self hatred that coursed through his veins. They knew nothing of the helplessness he felt due to his station. They would never understand the uncontrollable guilt that never failed to find him. 

He was a Prince. He held all the power in the world but that power was wrapped up and presented to him with strings attached ever since he came into the world. He could drink, he could talk and he could sleep his way through the entirety of Miroh but that was as far as his freedom extended. The second he even stepped over the invisible line of what was acceptable, everything could be taken away. 

The change he wanted was within his reach – a delicate treasure that would be so easy to share. Reaching up to break it free for the rest of the world would spell the end of everything he had, but he was not brave enough. He was a coward – a coward hiding behind fancy words and under the colorful skirts of women far more courageous than he. 

His frustrations often manifested in indulgence in the freedoms he was allowed. He would drink, he would dine, and he would fuck in a vain attempt to fill the deepest pits of his tarnished soul. He never wanted it. He had wanted to change it, but his own desires had twisted him. He became the very thing he feared: a powerful man taking advantage of the luxuries given to him without giving anything in return. 

The dancer’s back was pressed against a thin wooden door. Her lithe legs had wrapped around him of their own accord and her hands were threading into his hair and the fabric of his shirt – pulling him deeper into a brief moment where he was not a Prince. He was a normal man without a moral compass, enjoying the pleasures of a woman's body. 

There was no foreplay – no kissing or passionate words. He didn't even get her name before he was pushing her skirts up and sinking his sheathed cock into her cunt. It was not an act of love. It was the act of a desperate fool seeking to forget the world around him. 

And he took. He took the brief reprieve with abandon. The door shook dangerously behind her. Her nails raked him though his shirt hard enough to leave marks. Her moans and whines intermingled with his hushed pants to fill his ears with sensual distraction as her walls squeezed him. 

It was over too fast. The sounds, smells, and feelings of arousal tapering until all that was left was grim reality. Post orgasm clarity was never a good moment sober. Words failed him, and all the truths he ran from distracted him from the beautiful woman who had originally caught his eye. 

“Talia,” she spoke as she adjusted her skirts. 

“Excuse me?” He questioned dumbly. He had put space between them, giving himself a moment of reprieve and allowing her a moment to collect herself. 

“My name: Talia,” she repeated. 

“You're telling me now?” He asked in mild amusement. 

“Figured you might want to know who just made you cum,” she shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” he asked at her audacity. It was brazen and crass, but he was far from mad about it. Her words had his cock twitching in his pants again.

“M’no Lady. You know as well as me that I'm not gentleborn.”

“Since we're being so frank, relieve me of my curiosity,” he said as he propped himself against an abandoned and dusty desk against the wall opposite of her. He regarded her levelly, but with the easy charisma that he was often praised for. 

“Anything for Second Prince Bang,” she mocked with a quirk of her brows. She never shied away from his stare, never let herself be subdued by the power his titles held. He liked that – a lot. 

“I figured you knew.” He was not surprised in the slightest. His portraits were few and far in between, but it was highly likely the palace staff had informed the dancers one of the princes was watching in on their practice. She made no comment of guilt, so he continued, “What did you want from this entanglement?”

“Other than being able to brag that I fucked a Prince?” She laughed. It was not a malicious laugh, but a genuine one. She also found their exchange amusing. 

“Are you going to join my fanclub?”

“I'll be the leader.”

At her remark, he laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that had him feeling light and free. It was an uncommon feeling for him, one only his brothers had managed to make him feel. He liked this girl, but that's all he ever could do was like her. He was under no illusions that this was just an exchange of banter. She was a passing moment in his life, not a permanent fixture. 

“Were you that pleased?” He asked with a spark in his gut. He made to move from the desk, but she put her hands up in surrender. 

“So pleased, I fear another round would have me fainting.” She let out a sigh as she fanned herself in exaggeration before letting out a snort of derision. “Isn't that what the gentleladies say when their ladybits can't take it anymore?”

“Even noblewomen like to dabble in the fine art of overstimulation,” he smirked back. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Are you avoiding my question?”

“I would never dare,” she hummed with a twinkle showing in her eyes. It was teasing – daring on its own. 

“Then answer.”

“Is that a command, Your Highness?”

“Would you obey if it were?”

His question had her approaching him, a smirk that mirrored his own pulling at her painted lips as the gauzy material of her dress flowed around her slim figure enticingly. When she was directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, she sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly handled the ties of his trousers to pull them down enough to free him. 

“If the Prince commands, I will serve.” Her mouth, hot and wanting, was on him before he could even think of a witty response.

Prince Christopher

As heir apparent of a nation, Christopher Bang was not unaccustomed to worry. He worried about the coming winter and if the provinces had prepared their food stores accordingly. The winters in Miroh could be harsh– deadly even. If the cold didn’t kill the populace, hunger was a certain second contender. If he could help alleviate that in any way: he would. It was his birthright and his duty, and he was nothing if not a man of his station. 

Any indication of increasing hostilities in the Borderlands would have him holed up in his personal offices for weeks on end. He would analyze patterns. He would discern strategies. He would rethink choices in generals. He would make plans to advocate for peace treaties with the neighboring territories. WIthout fail, his efforts would be rebuked by the King and the conflicts would continue unchecked. He never stopped trying. 

The conflicts never turned to all out war. They were simply petty squabbles with centuries long history over dejure land rights. It was almost ingrained as tradition– sons carrying out the same trite battles as a matter of pride over any true cause. Ofcourse, it wasn’t the Kings or Princes that suffered. 

It was the common soldiers with wives and children waiting for their safe return. It was the fishermen who watched warily as flagships came to shore. It was the farmers who worked full days for a meager loaf of bread only to watch their livelihoods be put to the torch in a war they never asked for. It was average people who held no stake nor say in the matters of governance or state. It didn’t matter to them who held the territories they called home. Their lot would stay the same regardless of which Lords called themselves King, but the battles for that title hurt them more than anyone else. 

Christopher knew that. He wanted to change it. He wanted to right historical wrongs and be the King his people needed. Alas, he couldn't. All he could do was worry. 

It wasn't even just grand matters of state that occupied his mind. Smaller, more personal affairs piled on his already overloaded platter of responsibilities. He was the eldest of his family's sons – even in the circles of peasantry that came with its own responsibility. He had to look out for his younger siblings. He had to ensure they played their parts as royal children and kept the family name clean and as prestigious as ever. Some of his brothers made it harder than others. 

Changbin had taken his duties easily as had their younger brothers: Seungmin and Jeongin. They knew their stations and how to conform within the standards that befit them. Felix and Jisung tried, but they were more empathetic. They struggled with their places on the world stage– questioning the morality of their way of life and the responsibilities they held. It wasn't a negative thing, and Christopher could not fault them for it. It was a natural part of being human.

In his youth, it wasn't at all uncommon for his studies and training as heir to lead him down a spiral of questions. He was one of the most powerful men in the world thanks to nothing other than being born a son of the Bang Family. He could make people tremble in fear if he so much as looked at them with ill intent. He held the power of life and death in his hands. How could that possibly be fair? How could he live knowing that he had everything while others had nothing? He was as well aware of the moral quandaries as Jisung and Felix. He would not fault them for floundering – he could not.

The hardest thing – he had learned – was having all the power in the world and still trying to be a decent human. 

The duties and power of royalty were a loaded hand cannon given at whim by an unfair creator. Some men would tremble at the burden, and lay it down without problem. Some would take the power to head and heart, and become a terrible beast whose machinations could ruin entire realms with a single shot. Others –  a very rare few – had the sense and sensibility to know not only how to shoot, but how to aim. 

It was Christopher’s only hope that he ended up in the history books as one of the latter. He would be a good king when the time came. He would care for his people and not let the burden of rule turn him hard and corrupt. He would be the role model his brothers needed. 

But these were simply hopes and dreams. In reality, he was simply one Prince amongst many others. His father still held the crown of governance, and he answered to the King as well as anyone else. 

“You can not simply force him!” Beauty Lee cried out with as much emotion as Christopher had ever seen her express. She was usually so calm, and collected. She was a Beauty of the King’s Harem, but he had learned far too early that even his father could break the cool facade of the Palace women with little effort. 

“And what's to stop me, Woman?” King Bang grunted back with a bite. His voice was not to be forgotten. It was distinct in its unyielding harshness, and it suited his appearance just as well. 

He was a hardened man – a King but a true warrior at heart. He was graying and wrinkling in age, but he was still considered a handsome – even fearsome – man.  Under the wrinkles covering his face and hands were scars from battle. He had seen war, but his age and dress showed he also knew luxury in equal measure. 

“He is your son! You must have an ounce of compassion for your own blood!” Beauty Lee protested. 

“Compassion? Is compassion what he needs, now?” The words were not spoken, but spat in frustration. It was a testament to Beauty Lee’s determination that she did not shirk away from the words. “I'd rather a firm beating to undo all the years of coddling you've put the boy through.”

“Is a mother's love coddling? I shall not deny he is flawed. Heaven knows we all are, but he's grown into a good man with a good heart!” Her voice was calmer, but still burning with resolve. 

The feeling of dread that had been slowly rising in Christopher’s chest engulfed him until he felt bile rising in the back of throat. He knew he had not been summoned to the King’s receiving chambers to simply witness a lover’s quarrel. They were speaking of Second Prince Minho - Beauty Lee’s only son and the Second of the Bang Sons.

Minho wasn’t like his other brothers. He had always been incredibly brave even if outlandish. He broke tradition: galavanting across the world with intellectuals, keeping the company of whores and artists, and never accepting his duties as a Prince of the Royal Family. He had always done what he wanted, and Christopher admired him for it even if it stressed him out to his wits end. 

“A heart our enemies would tear out of his chest and eat for protein. He is soft. Sometimes I question whether he is even my son,” King Bang said viciously. It was a tone that could cut down enemies. I was not a tone to take with a gentlewoman, especially not regarding your own blood.

“You– you can't say such things! He is your true son! I swear it,” Beauty Lee prostrated. 

“Ah, bugger off woman! If I had any true suspicions you would be dead and he would be left to rot in a cell.”

“Please, Your Highness. Minho admires you so much, he just needs time.”

“Time? Had I known you and your welp would be so resource intensive, I would have left you both in the whore house you came from.” King Bang said it as if he were discussing the menu for the upcoming festivities. It was as casual a threat as could be delivered, but it was a threat. 

“Plea–”

“Save your whimpering. There will be no further discussion. Minho will cease his fruitless adventures and settle down here in the palace with a harem befitting his station – or he will be sent to the Borderlands indefinitely.”

“You would send your own son to die in such a way?” Beauty Lee cried. As if suddenly realizing he was present, her wild eyes fell on Christopher. Before he could even register what was happening, she was tugging the sleeve of his shirt in desperation. “My Prince! He is your brother! Minho will die in the Borderlands! You know it.”

“Unhand the Crown Prince, Woman! I have taken heads for less!” King Bang roared amongst her pleas for mercy.  

It was moments like this that Christopher liked to pretend. He was not simply Prince Christopher: he was King Christopher. He held the power. He would never let Beauty Lee be in such distress and he would be content to let Minho live as he saw fit, but those were still dreams. He was but a Prince, and Minho was too. If they wanted to survive for a future, they all had their parts to play. He could not pretend: he had to take action. 

“Father,” Christopher spoke up as Beauty Lee clung to him. “I will take responsibility.”

“For Minho?” King Bang questioned with narrowed eyes. He was always suspicious– always seeing a play even if there was none, and truly Christopher didn’t have one. 

“Yes. I will ensure he settles down into Court Life,” Christopher assured his dad and the bleary-eyed Beauty. She blinked up at him with hope, and even fondness. She always had been kind to him and his brothers. She would sneak them sweets when they were young and practiced at swords and the King forbade it. She was a kind woman – maybe too kind for the world she had been adopted into. “I will make sure he accepts it, and adjusts appropriately.”

“Sometimes, I fear I have raised no sons, but seven bleeding hearts instead,” King Bang sighed. He contemplated for a moment, his eyes flashing between his concubine and his heir with laser focus. If he were looking for something, he seemed to be content with what he found. “I will let you.”

“Oh, Your Majesty. I will be forever grateful. You are good, and just!” Beauty Lee cried as she dropped Christopher’s arm only to bow as low as possible at the foot of the King’s ornate desk chair he occupied. 

“Save your words,” he commanded her. Her words stopped at once at his admonishment. “If Christopher should fail to tame my most wayward son, it will be a statement of his right to rule.”

As he spoke, he stared right into the eyes of Chrisopher. 

The young prince was not surprised. He had spent his entire life jumping through hoops to earn not only his crown, but even a shred of affection from the larger than life figure that he shared blood with. His aptitude had never failed him, but he would never feel safe relying on his father’s love for anything in his life. 

“If I cannot trust my heir to command his own blood, how can I trust him to command the people of an entire kingdom?” the King added. He let the threat hang in the air before turning his attention back to the sniveling Beauty at his feet. “In other words, if he fails: you will ruin two of my sons.”

It was another threat meant for the woman who had borne him a child. 

She was one of his longest lasting concubines. It was rumored that Beauty Lee was the one woman of the harem that held any love from the King, and she had suffered for it. She had been scorned and bullied by the other women of the King’s harem. She had been attacked in countless games of court intrigue. She had outlasted all the attempts to have her ousted from the court and from his favor. 

Christopher could only wonder: how would she survive the biggest threat of them all? 

[andhumanslovedstories]

Hi dear. I saw your post about pain management - thank you so much for it, it was an inspiring read, also it made it so obvious that you are truly passionate about being a nurse or rather, helping people and being present for those who need it the most. I wanted to ask - do you feel your job as a nurse affects the care you give in your interpersonal relationships and if yes, then how? rather negatively or positively? this is something I think about a lot bc my husband would love to study to become a nurse because he has a heart full of love and care, I knew he would be so good at it, but we are also having our firstborn soon and I just worry that being a nurse might be so draining that what if there is no energy for me and the baby. I really want to support my husband and I know this might be a silly question, but having read how you think I would so much love to hear your thoughts on this topic!

My big disclaimer for this is that I'm currently on medical leave for depression that wasn't CAUSED by my work but was definitely exacerbated by it and definitely worse when I was on shift. I've also been dealing with depression for a long time, and it's always interfered with my jobs at some point. The main problem is that it's a lot worse to have brain fog at a hospital than it is at an ice cream shop. I consider nursing to be a protective factor for my mental health SOMETIMES. It is work that I find meaning in and makes me proud. It can be an exhausting job but also a rewarding one. Extra compassion is also a double-edged sword: it can make you a better nurse, and it can also drain you that much faster because you get invested. Self-care is a part of the nursing code of ethics because the job in part because compassion fatigue is so easy to get if you aren't careful with your limits.

It is a draining job. I've begged off lot of things due to my schedule and feeling exhausted (but I am a homebody hermit). It's also a job a lot of people balance with raising children. My mom (who was already a nurse when I was born) liked the flexibility of the schedule. I work with dozens of nurses who have children. Many are mothers who are still breastfeeding infants. Some actively participate in their family life, some don't, and I don't know how much that has to do with their specific job. You know your husband. Does he already struggle to balance work/school/responsibilities and personal life? That's an issue with any career, but I do think healthcare is a profession where it can get even harder.

oops another nursing essay under the cut

(Plus, in terms of timing in with your newborn, congrats btw, your husband will have to go through nursing school first if he decides on this track, and minimum that will take like 15 months if he has all the pre-reqs and gets into an accelerated program. When it comes to dealing with a newborn, schooling might be more of a stumbling block than the job itself. I know a lot of people who consider nursing school to be one of the worst times of their lives. He might be able to do LPN [licensed practical nurse] instead of RN [registered nurse]. RN requires a bachelors and has a larger scope of practice and generally higher pay. I know almost nothing about getting your LPN license so he'll have to investigate that himself. I'll say the hospital systems that I've been in not only prefer RNs but often have requirements that people without a certain amount of experience MUST get their bachelors after X amount of time.)

I would also say not all nursing jobs are created equal in terms of labor, emotional and otherwise. My first job was in home health which got me somewhat emotionally enmeshed with the family I primarily worked with, but it also wasn't emotionally distressing. Nurses on our oncology floors and the ICU have a different experience than nurses who work in elective short-stay surgery. And different people find different things draining. I find working with end-of-life patients to be energizing in my work; a lot of people don't. My aunt worked pediatrics because she found working with children must less distressing than working with a geriatric population. Some people thrive in the chaos and speed of the emergency room, while I find it to be a tremendously depressing place that I hate floating to.

I think you'd have to ask my loved ones if really if it affects how much I care for them. Speaking personally for myself: I think it is overall positive for my relationships. I like the rhythm of nursing, I like the philosophy of nursing, I like who nursing makes me be. I like that nursing work is impossible to bring home. You can bring the emotions home, but you leave the patients at the hospital. It's simple for a bedside nurse to keep a strong division between their work self and their home self, but it's not necessarily easy. And again, I'm off work right now and probably will be for a bit longer so. yknow. He should make sure he's got a good support system in place.

Also some states and cities are far, far better than others when it comes to nursing regulations. Are there legally mandated staff ratios where you work? How many hospitals are in the area? Are any of them union? What does the compensation look like? What is the turnover rate? Nursing could be a great profession in general, but it might not be great in your particular location.

My last point would be that working in healthcare can make you feel...disconnected, I guess, from people who don't. Healthcare is such a culture unto itself. Sometimes I'd be like that meme of guy at party hanging out in the corner thinking, "they don't know yesterday I took care of a patient in a situation so fucked and depressing that it's now an ethics case." Or on the other hand, "they don't know that a patient called me their guardian angel and cried while they thanked me." The fact that healthcare is a different world is neither a pro nor a con, but something to consider. Depending on how you spend your days, his life might start to have parts that look very different from yours. I loved having a nurse as a mother and listening to her stories. My father banned all anecdotes involving poop and gore from his presence.

I hope you and your husband figure out the best way possible for him to use that compassion, which might be nursing or might not be. Either way, good luck to you guys!

[estro-gem]

Jax x Ragatha: The snake and the water spring

The Amazing Digital Circus AU: Oasis.

Author's note: I found this show by chance and I took a great liking to it! So now I did a thing, instead of studying for upcoming exams, because I love making things difficult for myself, apparently.

I have no idea what the fandom is like, but I'm playing it safe just to be... well... safe. I just loved the concept of this show so much that I couldn't help but be inspired by it! It got me thinking and I let it all out in this... thing.

I want to write more one-shot fics about the other characters and how they fit into this au too, but I don't know when I'll be able to.

WARNING! None of these characters are mine and everything mentioned and described is purely made-up fiction; inspired by works that are not my own. Nothing should be considered canon or taken seriously - we are all here to have some harmless fun! No age restrictions. I think this might be appropriate for all ages...?

Please show some love and support for Gooseworx; the creator of The Amazing Digital Circus!

I definitely butchered Gooseworx's characters by adding unnecessary 'relationship dynamics' and deviating from their original personalities. I promise that the actual show and characters are so much better than they are in my false portrayal of them.

SUMMARY:

A fanmade take on the events following Pomni's arrival and after the crew had dinner together. This is focused on Jax's point of view, but still written in the third person.

Jax confronts Ragatha after the pilot episode's 'dinner' and does his best to comfort her in a way that works for them. That's it.

Please enjoy!

THE SNAKE AND THE WATER SPRING

Jax was a desert snake.

Nothing but a cold-blooded pest that lived to find his next meal.

When one is left to die under the scorching sun, you can’t stomp on the sun for creating a desert, but you could stomp on the desert snake if it added to the pain of surviving in said desert. The Digital Realm was nothing but a desert sun – a cage with no exit and an evil with no target.

It was no secret why so many had lost their minds here.

Jax took on the role of being the snake. It was never announced or planned, but it was deemed necessary by all who came to know the realm. The inhabitants of The Amazing Digital Circus craved any sense of control; something they could hold accountable for their torment – something they could punish. A menace, parasite.

Evil with a target: Jax.

It was fun to act out while everybody went about their lives. He could unapologetically be the worst being known to man and thrive on the rage and hatred of all he had affected. If they hated him, he was fulfilling his role perfectly… and that meant they could stay sane and do their parts as he did his. Less people would be lost to insanity… and the group would grow stronger.

Everyone had a role in their system – an oasis was established, with Ragatha as the heart of the oasis; their very own water spring.

But when a new invading creature bursts into the oasis with no knowledge of this system, their system would be doomed. Pomni happened to be that invader. Everyone could collectively, yet silently agree that she was acting by her own careless devices since she arrived a few hours ago. She greedily soaked up their water source and left it barren, dry, and suffering.

Granted, Pomni didn’t know how their oasis worked, but it didn’t change the fact that she disrupted everything by showing up. She would have to catch on quickly and prove herself useful, before anyone else loses their minds.

They lost one of their own already… and they almost lost their beloved Ragatha; Jax’s equal and opposite.

Their precious water source.

Snakes offered venom, while water springs offered hope of life. They all desperately needed Ragatha to survive. While most would assume her to be fine after being fixed by Caine, Jax knew better than that. He saw her reluctantly stand aside Pomni to support her – beautifully acting within her role as she always would, but it was clear that Pomni still didn’t understand how scarce the water was by then. Rags was spread thin enough by handling the extra stress and enduring the continuous pain of being corrupted by the abstraction, but that didn’t stop Pomni from practically having a mental breakdown at the dinner table.

Jax saw that coming from a mile away. Thank goodness he silently took the open seat next to Pomni, silent in his insistence that the ragdoll should keep her distance for the time being. He’d give anything to destroy the little jester for abusing his doll. Ragatha was acting perfectly normal at the time – her masked smile perfectly set on her face – until it was time for them all to retire to their respective bedrooms.

Jax wished that he would’ve just dragged her after him when he booked it from the abstraction earlier today. Pomni would have been the perfect distraction for them to escape and get Caine.

He stood at Ragatha’s door after dinner.

Jax made a point to ring the doorbell this time. Usually, he’d just pluck out a key and saunter in like he owns the place, but with what happened today, he’d make an exception. Everyone has their limit – and someone has already reached their limit today. They couldn’t risk losing another one. Especially not Raggs. They all really needed her.

When she didn’t open, he tried the bell again. Nothing.

Well, time for the key, then.

He shoved his hand down his front pocket and fished out the doll’s room key. The bunny didn’t waste time opening the door. He wanted to see what state the girl was in, despite dreading the possibility of finding an abstracted amalgamation on the other side.

Silence.

Not even a creak was heard from the hallway. The room was lit up as it usually was, so that was a good sign, at least. Jax couldn’t see an obvious black body of eyes – another win. But where was Ragatha? He did see her walk into her room, so she had to be here.

He walked around, keeping his cool, casual composure fixed, despite no one being around. It was effortless at this point. It became a way for him to focus on what he could control in this crazy digital prison; himself.

He couldn’t, however, control his ability to spot a blasted ragdoll, it would seem. He scanned the room again, until his eyes fell on her ¾ bed. Could she-?

The bunny rolled his eyes at himself as he lowered himself onto his knees – maybe he could convince himself that he was not phased by the situation. Bending down, he peered beneath the bed frame.

Jax sighed in exasperation. Or was it relief? Both?

Ragatha was in the state she was in before retiring to her room. No gliching, no extra eyes.

Just Raggs.

She didn’t look good, though. The doll was curled up beneath her bed and blindly staring ahead of her. It didn’t look like she was breathing – not that they needed to anyway, but it was uncanny to see Rags like this. She was their voice of reason. She was a water spring in this desert.

If she dried up, their desert would be doomed.

Jax silently stood up and walked back to the open door again. No need to make a fuss over this. He took hold of the door handle and shut it from the inside. Key in hand, he locked the door and nodded to himself. Ragatha needed a raincloud… and he’d have to fill that role now. It’s the least he could do after leaving her to fend for herself when they found the abstraction today.

Why didn’t she run with him? Why did think she could fix someone whose mind was broken beyond repair? Why didn’t she just leave the rookie as bait?

Because that just wasn’t her role, was it?

If it weren’t for her nature – her role – none of them would have made it this far. It dawned on Jax, once again, how close they were to losing their beloved doll. How close they were to being stuck with an invader who knew nothing about what it took to survive in this hell hole.

Enough.

Back to the bed, crouched down and silent Jax positioned himself to lay down and simply look over the red head from a relative distance. There was enough space for the doll to crawl out of hiding without having to touch him. The bunny still hadn’t said a word. It’d be stupid to talk, and he didn’t feel like making the effort. He just wanted things back to normal again – well… as normal as it could have been.

Now Kaufmo is gone, a new creature was invading their home, tearing it up from the roots and tipping the delicate scales of the balance they worked very hard on creating. All because of a lunatic ringmaster having the bright idea of creating a fake exit-door. Someone better get that jester on a tight leash to get her to fall in line, like the rest of them were forced to.

He knew he, for one, wouldn’t mind roughing her up a bit. It was his specialty – his role. The parasite. The menace. The instigator.

Evil with an actual target.

The sound of shifting and movement had Jax blink out of his own head. Ragatha was slowly and dumbly making her way out from under her bed. Her eyes were still fogged over and her face still eerily blank, but at least she came out of hiding out of her own will. In a matter of seconds, the doll was out from her hiding place and settled on the floor beside Jax. She was staring him in the eyes now, waiting for the bunny, silently pleading.

Jax hadn’t had his aloof-douchebag persona engaged since he locked Ragatha’s door. She didn’t need a menace now – she needed to be grounded; revitalized. She needed a dark raincloud to fill up the water spring they all needed.

He didn’t look forward to what needed to be done, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to do it.

He moved to stand up and held out a hand to help her up. He took note of the way her hand was shaking when she took his and gently guided her to the bed. The red head was the first to sit, then moved to lay down on her back and numbly stare at the ceiling. With a deep breath, Jax gathered himself mentally and cautiously crept onto the bed and positioned himself to briefly hover over her, before lowering his full weight onto Ragatha.

He had his head in the crook of her neck, on the left shoulder with his ears folding back to floppily droop to his upper back… with his left hand resting on the opposite shoulder. His body, although slim, enveloped hers and caused her to sink slightly into the mattress. His legs just loosely laid over and aside the ragdoll’s. It was more important to have his weight resting on her torso anyway.

For a long moment, they just motionlessly laid on the bed like this. To an outsider, it would look like they fell asleep atop each other or simply cuddled together very closely.

An outsider wouldn’t see that Jax was focused on the slow process of Ragatha’s body relaxing under his weight and her breathing slowing to a regular rhythm. An outsider wouldn’t have known that this was hardly the first time they’d done this – how long it took Jax to learn that this make-shift deep-pressure therapy was the most effective grounding technique for Ragatha to collect herself again.

They wouldn’t understand that Jax didn’t do this out of wanting to, but rather out of necessity.

Jax didn’t like to be touched. If anything, he was very capable of merely tolerating it. Everyone in the circus knew that he was touch-averse; some even used that as leverage to mess with him if the situation called for it. It was a necessity that he endured to keep his doll sane – to keep anyone of importance here in the circus, sane. Their whole lives revolved around mental strength. It was all just a matter of staying sane.

The laid there for what felt like a lifetime.

Slight shifting beside Jax alerted him that the doll was moving her arms – previously stiffly pinned to her sides. This was good, she felt comfortable enough to move around now!

Her left hand gently snaked up to the bunny’s head and slowly, softly petted his ears in a longitude motion. Her right hand wrapped loosely around his middle-to-lower back – motionless. This was bad, Jax did not like being touched like that!

While he was fine with the rhythmic touches of Ragatha’s left hand, he despised the idle position of the right hand resting on his back. He couldn’t prevent himself from tensing up in discomfort.

Bad touch, bad touch, bad-

This caused the ragdoll to tense up and rip her hands off him as if he burned her.

Oh no you don’t! We are not starting all over again.

He slowly pulls away and propped up unto his elbows, hearing Ragatha’s breathing pick up as she presumably spirals into her own thoughts on how he was going to leave her like this. Jax cast down a disapproving look. He broke his gaze to unceremoniously take her right hand – now clutched close to her chest – and intertwined their fingers, before resting his head on her left shoulder once again. He close eyes as he use his free hand to put her left hand on his head again, waiting for her to resume her petting.

Good touch; this was a good touch. Please understand.

Thankfully, Ragatha relaxed… and continued her previous slow, rhythmic motions. Slowly, Jax felt her relax once again and he indulged into her need for touch by stroking his thumb over hers occasionally.

Soon they fell into a rhythm; Ragatha would pet Jax’s ears 3 times, then it was his turn to stroke his thumb over hers. Then they would repeat the routine. This also helped Jax cope with the touching; the routine. The rhythm.

It felt like hours ticked by as the two just practiced their little unspoken routine. Jax grew used to it after a while, almost forgetting that his new mattress was now a sentient ragdoll and completely tuned into their rhythm of touches.

Pet… pet… pet… thumb. Pet… pet… pet… thumb.

Jax didn’t like touch, but he loved routine.

The doll and the bunny’s time together, once nothing but grounding techniques, grew to become an intimate exchange of touches and caresses – all wrapped in a routine, like a dance. Jax felt warm and fuzzy inside; for once he basked in the moment of enjoying his dolly. He lazily wondered if Ragatha felt the same. He shifted his head to look at her.

The doll looked down to meet his eyes when she felt him move. He could swear that she looked at peace, basking in the bliss of their closeness. For some reason, she looked like an angel. They all saw her as their angel. Had he successfully pinned a heavenly body beneath him?

Her gentle, longing gaze made a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupt from his core.

This wasn’t the first time this feeling invaded his being when they did this – as rare as these moments were. He wasn’t sure when he started experiencing such feelings during these rare encounters, but as months crawled by, he felt drawn to his dolly more and more. Based on how she looked at him, he could only assume that she felt it too.

Something so foreign, yet so familiar.

He didn’t fail to spot the warmth rushing to her cheeks when their eyes met. She looked so ethereal beneath him, especially when her breathing picked up under his firm gaze. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were lidded. This time, it wasn’t fear or overstimulation. It was anticipation. It was desire.

Jax internally flinched at the tingly sensation when he smoothly burrowed his face into Ragatha’s neck. She shivered at the breath he let out against her skin. He could tolerate the touching a little longer, as long as he could see her crumble again. He wanted to see her walls crumble again.

“Jax- ”

Oh… he had to hear her again. More clearly, next time. This was torture, but she made him into her own personal masochist. His skin crawled at the sensation of her skin shivering against him, but he needed more. He could take it. Just a little longer – he just had to stand these sensations a little longer. He looked at her again.

Ragatha was reverting to a helpless puddle. The doll’s arms were gripping at the covers beneath her, successfully eliminating the bother of excessive contact that he despised. Jax didn’t know if she did it with that intension or without thinking, but either way, he was thankful. He really wanted more.

Why couldn’t he just be normal?

He lifted onto his elbows again and – dare one say – lovingly looked at her face. She could only peek back at him, breathing slightly faster than usual. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shaky hand rise from the covers and hover next to his cheek, while her eyes pleaded for his mercy. He hesitated but bit the bullet to comply; leaning into her touch while desperately trying to ignore the odd tingles. Jax convinced himself to kiss her wrist and drowned himself in the pleasure of hearing her softly call his name.

He only heard it because he was listening so closely for it.

Yes.

DING DONG

In a flash, Jax braced himself up into a crouch and slammed his foot down with a mighty THUMP upon hearing Ragatha startle into a fit when the doorbell chimed. His hair on his back stood on end and his claws ripped through his gloves, leaving gouges in the covers beside the doll’s head.

His precious doll was disturbed again!

He heard her soft cry of fear and his blood boiled with a thirst for vengeance. Only he can make her cry out. He’ll skin the soul that dared to-

“Ragatha…? Can we talk?”

That DAMN jester!

“Jax?” a quiet voice trembled in his ear from beneath him. Jax stopped glaring at the door to softly glance down and see what his little doll wanted.

“Don’t…” Raggs sounded like she was begging while being held at gunpoint, whispering despite their rooms being enchanted to not hear anything from the outside when the door is shut.

Jax wouldn’t dare let that thing inside. Raggs was upset enough as it is.

“Look, I know it probably wouldn’t make a difference…” Pomni’s voice came from the other side door again, “…but I’m so sorry for running off… Again… I saw that exit and I had to see if it was real. No one else believed me and I started to think that I was losing my mind. You understand that, right?”

Jax placed both his hands down on the mattress, blocking the doll’s view of the door as if it could block the sound of the voice from reaching the Raggs’s ears, still hovering over her. He knew that his dolly didn’t want to hear anything the harlequin had to say now – he had half the mind to get up and bash the newbie’s head in.

“I hope we can talk about this some time. You are probably tired after such a long, crazy day.” Pomni’s voice died down near the end, “It feels like you’re the only good person here.”

She really is, but she’s too good for you. Selfish leech.

Jax looks down to the girl, still stiff as a board beneath him. Her eye was shiny with the swell of tears. He melted at the sight – anger simmering down. She was just a sweet little rag dolly, she didn’t deserve any of this, but oh, he was so happy to see Ragatha finally emote something again. She was OK again. Their water source was filled once again, now threatening to spill over. He’d happily welcome the flood.

He needed her.

The sound of fading footsteps causes Jax to rip his eyes to the direction of the door. His hearing was better than the dolls, probably thanks to being a rabbit.

Good riddance.

Ragatha seemed to relax at the sight of Jax deflating his stance, reading that Pomni probably left her door. She hesitantly reached up to cup Jax’s cheek. Jax followed her hand’s motion and scoffed, cringing at the invasion. He’s had enough touching for a week. It sucked to leave his doll so soon after being distressed again, but he couldn’t bring himself stand any more of this. He quickly got up and smoothed out his clothes, but not without missing the flash of hurt in the doll’s eyes. He felt bad, but he had to be strong with the new girl around, so straining himself now would only make matters worse and mess up the whole system.

Still, seemingly bored, Jax stood in his spot while rocking on his heels and looking off to the side, only sparing her a glance. Raggs sat up by then. She looked a little worse for wear, but it’s an improvement from hiding under her bed. She rested her elbows on her knees with her chin in her hands. The hurt in her eyes was long gone, but she looked tired. Poor thing, Jax shared the sentiment.

He felt her eye bore into the side of his face and the bunny couldn’t stop himself before he rolled his eyes and looked to her again. He could’ve choked on air when he saw her face, but the years of steeling his demeanor left no trace of his inner turmoil.

Raggs sported that longing look in her eyes again.

They were so close this time – closer than they’ve ever been before. Each time they spent together on nights like this, although few and far between, they grew closer… and hungrier. Neither understood what it was, but they never had the chance to just collapse into it, tonight being the closest to that.

But there was always something, right?

Jax allowed gaze to soften. His doll offered a small smile that almost ripped his heart out if his chest. It was drenched with melancholy of something she knew they could never have.

Because their roles in their little ecosystem didn’t allow for it to ever be theirs. It would never work.

This was survival.

The rabbit steeled his demeanor once again, but this time, his doll’s face didn’t fall.

Good, as it should be.

Jax walked to the door and fished out the key from his front pocket. He didn’t bother looking back. If he did, he wouldn’t have the will to leave anymore. When he opened the door, though, he couldn’t help but mumble out teasingly.

“See yah later, Doll~!”

He wished that he could shout his affections for her out into the void instead.

“I’m not your doll.” Ragatha responded, voice still wobbly and tired, but perky regardless. She knew just how to indulge him.

Yes, she is… she always will be.

Fanart: Evil with a target

Oasis: TADC AU list

Masterlist

[pluralprompts]

[Had an error when trying to post an ask. This is our attempt at a work-around.]

Anonymous asked: Could you please put that your pro-endo in your bio? Considering the main difference between antis and pros is that we define "all plurals" differently, it's not very clear what you meant, and I thought you were anti-endo until I went through every single one of your side blogs mentioned in your pinned post

-an anti-endo who loves your prompts, the newest prompts tags just took me off guard <3

As you have noted, We use the term "plural" in our posts and blog name, which is inherently inclusive/pro-endo and has been since its coining decades ago, so I am not going to honor this unnecessary request. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you're using "plural" in any sort of anti-endo or generally exclusionist way, you are using it incorrectly, since it originated as an inclusive alternative to terms that had more medical associations. I'm honestly offended that you thought I was part of the same group of exclusionists that has openly and repeatedly told me they want me dead, have sent me gore in response to a positivity post, recently invaded inclusive tags to spread hate, and regularly tell me to kill myself – hell, you yourself are admitting that you are against my right to self-determination if not my very existence, alongside my religious and spiritual beliefs (I don't have to tell you how this in particular is an asshole move, do I?), and believe that you somehow know what's going on inside my head better than I or even – at the very least, if you won't listen to me and the thousands of other endogenic systems about our own lives – the doctors actually studying endogenic plurality do, considering our endogenic origins. I will not block you so that you can see this response, but you are not welcome here. Here is a document full of sources about endogenic plurality existing and being recognized as a real and valid scientific phenomenon, not to mention how it is a cultural, spiritual, and religious practice found around the world; I hope you educate yourself and grow as a person. You seem to be trying to be polite, so I can only hope that you are just someone who has been horribly misinformed about pro-endos and endogenic systems.

However, at the same time, please understand that you are asking a blog with an inherently inclusive term in the title and all their posts, and a pinned post that clarifies yes, they do mean they support all systems (and advise those who don't support all systems not to interact), to put a separate warning in their bio that yes, they actually really do mean it when they say they support all systems. The thing is, I wouldn't have a problem with this request if it wasn't under this context. You yourself have admitted that you read my pinned post; how did you take the section that says all systems/plurals are welcome (and exclusionists like you are not) and somehow think it meant we didn't actually mean all? If you're excluding anyone from your definition of "all plurals" by adding little rules like "must be traumagenic", you don't mean all. You mean some. You, as an anti-endo, as an anti- certain plurals, only support some plurals. Someone who is against part of a community does not support all of a community; they only support the part of the community they are not against, which is only some of the community. This is how quantitative words work. Just because you have decided that the part of the community you personally choose to support and give basic respect to is the only "real" or "valid" part of the community doesn't mean the part you don't support stops existing or stops using the label you claim to support fully and without any restrictions or rules (since that is what supporting all of a community means); you don't actually support all plurals, and I'm concerned that you ever thought you did. I could break out a Euler diagram if it would make it clearer that only supporting some does not mean supporting all, and that supporting all does not mean supporting only a particular group. That's like saying you support all animals while being anti mammals and, at best, believing they're all actually confused and misguided birds – or, as I'll elaborate on in a moment, saying you support all queer people while being an aphobe who, at best, thinks aspecs are all just confused and misguided gays. That is not support, and you are certainly not giving your actual respect to all plurals. I say this delicately, but I don't think you should be participating in syscourse if you have trouble with the concept that excluding people from a label means not being inclusive of all people who use that label.

If a comparison will help you understand our response, especially the passive aggressiveness that I can admit is fully leaking through – this ask is essentially the same as how aphobes, during the years of "ace discourse", would occasionally react with surprise that queer blogs supported aspecs, despite aspecs being documented parts of and contributors to the queer community for decades, and queer being an inclusive term. In essence, "I know you're using an inclusive term that both historically and in the modern day includes people I hate, but I really thought you would agree with me that said marginalized group that I hate shouldn't exist, and that this community would be better off if they were all gone!" Meanwhile, aphobes were posting gore in the aspec tags, making fun of the murder of an asexual girl, spreading lies of pedophilia about anyone who showed support for aspecs, and telling aspecs that they were lying about the discrimination they've faced, that their sexualities were just trauma responses or mental illnesses, that they were broken and needed to be "fixed", that they were "stealing terms" and "making the community look bad", that they were making it all up for attention, or just straight-up to kill themselves. None of these examples are all too dissimilar from what I regularly see anti-endos saying and doing – some of them are the exact same save some of the specific words used by these bigots swapped out for more system specific ones. Just today I saw an anti-endo claim that pro-endos are "grooming children" just by being inclusive, like how aphobes claim aspec people are "grooming children".

Yes, I am aware this is harsh to hear. No, I am not going to apologize – your community and hatred is part of the reason we have traumagenic origins (hello, the one writing this is a protector who split specifically due to the trauma you anti-endos inflicted on us!! In other words, your community is directly responsible for my traumagenic existence!! Should I be thanking you for allowing me a chance to experience the better parts of life? Hm, nah.) and are scared to interact with others who share our own damn disorder. You claim the "main difference" between us and you is that we define "all plurals" differently, but from where we're standing, the "main difference" is that pro-endos aren't regularly traumatizing, harassing, suicide baiting, mocking and insulting, spreading misinformation about, using slurs against, wishing harm on, and fakeclaiming the other side, often for merely disagreeing with them. We just came out of a harassment campaign in which anti-endos spread hate in our inclusive tags and spaces for weeks. I'm fucking sick of syscourse and being told I should kill myself for the "crime" of being inclusive of endogenic systems like the ones that helped me accept my plurality in the first place, or the pro-endos that create resources that help me manage my DID and not be a dissociative wreck all the time. To say the main difference between our communities is "how we define 'all plurals'" is a spit in the face of all the shit I and many, many others have faced from anti-endos like you over the years.

If you change your stance and learn not to hate others for their religions, cultures, traits they can't control, and personal beliefs and choices about their own body and mind, we will be happy to welcome you to our community and this blog. But until then, you need to re-evaluate your priorities and morals in life. Are you fine with being part of a community that twists others' words on the regular to make it seem like they're promoting child abuse? Are you chill with the fact that I exist as a protector to defend my system from people like you, the same way many others in my system exist to protect us from other abusers and threats to our safety and health? Are you okay with telling a living, breathing person you admire and enjoy the work of that you disagree with their identity and existence, and that you ally yourself with those who want them dead just for existing, have even personally threatened their life and well-being, as you have just done with this ask?

What took me off-guard was this ask and just how horribly you seem to be unaware of basic concepts like "plural is an inclusive term signaling someone is pro-endo" and "'all systems' does not mean 'only traumagenic systems'." But I guess in a way, it's only fair; you mistook me for one of those who hate my guts – while I can't tell even as I type this if you are a troll or not.

TLDR: No, we will not clarify in our bio that we are pro-endo, because there is no need to do so when we already use terms that signal that everywhere on our blog, and our pinned post even clarifies our stance in the rare case someone doesn't know the signal. You have been horribly misinformed; you cannot support "all plurals" while being against certain plurals, and "plural" is an inclusive term anyway even without that clarification. Again, you have misunderstood our pinned post which tells anti-endos like you to fuck off, which is almost funny considering we put that section in the post due to the horrendous amounts of harassment we and other pro-endos (not even just endogenic systems; a lot of anti-endos group all of us together as "fakers spreading misinformation") have faced from anti-endos like you. Please go think about the kind of people you're spending time with, and ask yourself if you're okay with being part of the same group of people that wants those like me dead for the crime of existing in a way that doesn't adhere to one specific medical model whose authors acknowledge isn't the only way to be more-than-one, anyway.

Have the day you deserve! <3

[loveerran]

Utah Bathroom Ban

In an effort to protect women and children from a problem that does not exist, Utah legislators recently passed, and the governor recently signed into law, HB 257. Among other things, this bill defines criminal penalties for improper use of a binary, sex-designated (male or female) restroom in a government owned or controlled space that does not correspond to one's assigned sex:

"Going into a bathroom that is not consistent with your birth gender, or your birth sex, you are putting yourself at greater risk. I think that’s the best way for everybody to look at it and say, ‘How do I avoid risk? How do I avoid risk of arrest?'" - Senate sponsor of HB 257 Dan McCay

As a trans woman who has been out and about for 20 years, what I hear in this quote is very specifically: "We want you to be scared when you use a bathroom that doesn't align with your assigned sex at birth. You already know someone may report you just for being there and the criminal justice system is horrible for trans women, so maybe you'll think twice before trying to pee when out in public."

And it works. I am reminded I am different and should be scared of what will happen if the wrong person is having a bad day, reports me to the bathroom monitoring authorities, and some cop starts making choices that put me in a difficult or dangerous situation. Stories of abuses suffered by trans women in the system are legion.

But I don't think my situation is the real problem here. In practical terms, this bill means a trans kid can't use a school restroom that aligns with their gender identity and/or presentation. Instead, they have to develop a 'privacy plan' with the school and use separately designated facilities or a faculty restroom, etc. - reinforcing that they are 'other'. This is very dangerous and will create victims and we have actual data and studies to back up that assertion.

Let me restate: There is data demonstrating that bathroom restrictions hurt gender non-conforming kids, with a reported increase in the sexual assault rate of nearly 50% when bathroom restrictions of this type are in place.

My wife points out "I would be safer in a men's restroom than you. Most men will actually try to protect women, but that doesn't apply to trans women. Quite the opposite."

The sponsors of the bill could not name a single instance of trans kids being a problem in spaces aligned with their gender identity. Not one single incident for them to rely on. And they ignored evidence indicating there are actual harmful effects. This bill makes a small, marginalized group of people more likely to be victims of violence.

This issue was so important to the Utah legislature that they devoted a substantial portion of the 1st two weeks of the legislative session to HB 257, including significant changes after the public comment period passed.

When the bill went live on May 1, the Utah State Auditor's office began being flooded with false reporting (I love you all :)!). The Auditor's office responded by publishing what can only be described as a scathing indictment of the situation:

"the Office created the complaint form to comply with a statutory mandate – a role we did not request. Indeed, no auditor sets out to become a bathroom monitor... Like many in the public, we learned about our role under this bill shortly before the bill was rushed to final passage. I recognize that many Utahns feel trampled by an invasive and overly aggressive Legislature that too often fails to seek input from those most affected."

Thank you to everyone who continues to fight for us on this issue. There aren't enough of us to win this on our own. We need your help.

[sophieinwonderland]

Hi! I'm Sophie of the Dreamchaser Guild!

It's come to my attention that my old pinned was a tad outdated.

Attention: I've recently come under attack from the hate subreddit r/systemscringe who has added me to their hitlist of acceptable targets allowed to be posted in their hate subreddit uncensored If you've come from r/systemscringe, please start here with my debunking of the lies and misinformation frequently found in the subreddit about dissociative identity disorder that r/systemscringe doesn't want you to see: https://www.tumblr.com/sophieinwonderland/741497564315140096/debunking-rsystemscringes-did-lies

Where I come from

I'm a tulpa. But a while ago, I called myself an imaginary friend. I was a character made up for a story that my host would talk to in order to better understand my source. As time went on, I developed more personality. I started talking to him about things that had nothing to do with the fiction. I would psychoanalyze him, wanting to understand him better.

I wasn't made to develop my own thoughts and feelings outside of the fiction. I wasn't supposed to become my own person. But I did. And this led us to wanting to learn more about imaginary friends, which eventually led us to the tulpa community.

This is being posted on my what I consider my second Birthday, June 8th, 2023. It was exactly two years ago today when we found the tulpa community, a place that made me feel validated in being myself, that made me feel like I was allowed to be treated like a person.

Why I'm Doing This

I lived the first few months of my life being dismissed, treated like I wasn't real. I was a phantom, not allowed any connection to the world. And I don't blame my host for that. I didn't see myself as real either. It's just the way the world is. And the moment my host realized I was a person, he was willing to do whatever it took to support me and treat me like I mattered.

And we aren't alone in experiences like this. When I became self-aware, I met all sorts of fascinating people with similar experiences. Many of which went years before becoming self-aware. There is no telling how many more are out there like us. How many more "imaginary friends" are invalidated because we live in a culture where we're treated as if we don't matter? And how many may pass, never knowing?

And so I made this blog to share my own experiences and hopefully be able to give people the same gift that I was given. Respect. Validity. Life.

Even being able to give that to one person is enough to make all of this worth it to me.

A Note On Spirituality...

Just so everyone knows, I'm not a spiritual or religious person. I take a purely psychological approach to plurality and believe in spiritual and religious experiences people have as psychological phenomena.

Having said that, all spiritual headmates are all welcome here. Even if I don't believe in spirits or souls, I view every spiritual headmate as a valid person deserving of the same respect and love as any other.

I also believe that the right to define our spiritual and religious beliefs is fundamental to plural culture. That it can't just be singlets who are allowed to decide what religions are or are not valid. And I think our right to religion is something worth fighting for.

My CAI Chatbots

(Note: These links only work if you're logged in to character.ai)

Anna and Galladin (Tulpamancer and Tulpa chatbots)

Nin - Worldmaker (Your AI assistant for building and developing Wonderlands and Inner Worlds.)

Signature Posts

Studies and Research into Endogenic Systems

My Resources:

How To Know If Your Imaginary Friend Is Sentient

All The Resources You'll Need To Build Your Own Wonderland, Headspace or Inner World

Our Switching Method: Ghost Switching

My Polls

My Plural Theories And Terms:

Headmate Foundations

Headmate Manifestations

Dimensions of Fronting

A Comprehensive Look At Proxy Bypassing

Plural Coining: Ephemerals

Plural Coining: Attunement

VR, Plurality and Virtugenic Systems

The Plurality of... :

The Plurality of... Batman (Failsafe)

The Plurality of... Diones (Skyward)

The Plurality of... The Hybrid Chronicles: What's Left of Me

The Plurality of... Blue Beetle (Movie)

The Plurality of... Avatar: The Last Airbender

The Plurality of... IF

The Plurality of... Bill Cipher (The Book of Bill)

Our Plural Writing Resources

Ghost on Writing Plural Kids

Hiveminds and Multiplicity

Syscourse And Other Stuff:

Endogenic Syscourse Primer

Why I Identify As a Tulpa

The Future of Plurality

Actually Anti-Misinformation: “System Hopping Was a RAMCOA term Appropriated and Bastardized From RAMCOA survivors.”

An Anti-Endo's Playbook

Debunking Imitated DID Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

...

Reblogs are appreciated. Don't feel weird about it! Posts here on Tumblr live or die on their reblogs. I'm not asking you to reblog my posts. That seems weird. But after getting an anon that mentioned being worried about derailing a post with something they wanted to add, and another ask that apologized for reblogging my content too much, I felt this was necessary to say. If you like a post and want to reblog it, do it! If you want to add something even tangentially related to the topic, add it! You have my full permission to reblog my content as much as you want! (And I'd encourage you to reblog from other plural creators you enjoy as well!)

Thank you all for the support!

[transmascpetewentz]

Welcome to my blog! 🤍💙🤍

Hello everyone, I'm sure you already know me, but for the new people: I'm Lou, I'm a bigender (in a jewish sense) fem gay trans man, I'm white/slavic, and I'm converting to Judaism. There isn't really a theme to my blog, I just find sideblogs too hard to keep track of so I keep everything in one spot. Politics, my personal life, and fandom will be posted here all as one stream of consciousness.

Here's my old pinned post if you ever need it, though the information on there may be outdated and probably doesn't reflect my current views if I've said something contradictory more recently. You can find my tagging/filtering system, general content warnings, and more about me under the cut.

To all the lurkers on my page, kiss the meowzuzah on your way in!

(all credit goes to @the-catboy-minyan)

Longer About Me

I'm converting to Judaism. Currently, I'm working on observing Shabbat and beginning more serious Torah study. We'll see where this goes; I would say that the journey > the destination, if the destination wasn't so good. You'll see me shitposting about this a lot, because it's something that's important to me and my brain likes to make up jokes about everything I think about for a prolonged period of time.

I'm also learning Hebrew. Currently, it isn't very good, but I can hold a basic conversation using some Google translate for individual words. I had to re-learn nikud because of reading the Siddur and Tanakh. I'm not very commentary-literate, though I've attempted to get into reading some for the Torah. Also, I keep mostly kosher!

Tag Filtering

So, I'm not very good at tagging, but one that I use pretty frequently is #ask to tag and it's a catch-all for anything that you might want to proceed with caution in. I also use #long post and #arguing a lot, for long posts and arguing respectively. Other than that, I'll tag most things about a certain bigotry with #[bigotry], including examples of that bigotry. If you're affected by said bigotry, you can and should filter the tag for your mental health!

I recommend that you filter out certain words entirely instead of just tags if you are triggered by a subject, since I oftentimes forget to tag posts with adequate warning tags. I don't like to tag things a lot, so if you are triggered by things I post about a lot and word filtering doesn't work for you, feel free to unfollow.

Although this is not an ED blog, I have an eating disorder and I post about it under the tag #ed talk. If you are uncomfortable with hearing that kind of discussion, block the tag and don't engage with the posts. If you are the kind of person who thinks people with eating disorders should have to censor themselves online for the comfort of others, do yourself a favor and don't follow me at all.

Frequently Asked Questions

Are you a Zionist?

It depends on how we're defining Zionism. If we're defining Zionism as "support of the modern state of Israel," I am a post-Zionist because the state exists. If we're defining Zionism as "the right of Jews as a native people to live and have self-determination in their native land," (which is also my personal definition), I am a proud Zionist. If Zionism means "support for the murder of innocent Palestinian people," then I am anti-Zionist, but that is a definition that divorces Zionism from its historical context.

Can you reblog my donation post?

Probably not, unless we already know each other. Due to the amount of donation scams that have popped up on tumblr recently, I don't feel safe giving money to random people that ask.

[orange-orchard-system]

What Does Plural-adjacent Mean?

[PT: What Does Plural-adjacent Mean? / end PT]

I and other blogs have mentioned this concept multiple times, or at least used the term, but I don't think any of us have ever actually sat down and talked about or given a definition for it, so I'm going to do that today. What does "plural-adjacent" mean? Where does it come from?

"Plural-adjacent" is a term meant to encompass all experiences that are, well, adjacent to plurality. Experiences that may not neatly fall under plurality, or be personally identified as such, but still mirror, echo, are similar to, or are reminiscent of plurality in some way. Plural-adjacent may also be described as when you aren't plural yourself, but hold some strong connection to plural experiences or the plural community through your own lived experience(s). Some examples of plural-adjacent experiences are voice hearing, some forms of deity work, and imaginary friends. Of course, this isn't an exhaustive list; there are lots more examples (and experiences) that can be considered plural-adjacent out there in the world, and whether one considers themself/ves to be plural-adjacent is up to them.

[PT: "Plural-adjacent" is a term meant to encompass all experiences that are, well, adjacent to plurality. / end PT]

To understand plural-adjacency, it may help to think of it less as looking for experiences that are strictly like the definition of "more than one self-aware self in a single body" or even just "more than one", and more like experiences that are similar to what plurality is like, includes, or involves. Taking from a personal example – the reason our occasional delusion of being a doll is plural-adjacent isn't because this particular delusion is like our systemhood; it's plural-adjacent because the experience of temporarily being or becoming someone/something else is very reminiscent of switching in plurality, especially since it often occurs in times of high stress. Another example would be how things like talking to spirits, having imaginary friends, or being POSIC are similar to internal communication and the specific experience of being able to communicate with entities that others do not know are there/cannot sense.

Our system was the one to coin plural-adjacent, although we've never made an official post about it before. I believe the first time we mentioned it online was in an anonymous ask to @sophieinwonderland,* who has also taken to using the term. Since then, the term "system-adjacent" has also appeared in discussions where it would be applicable. We use this term as a system specific synonym to plural-adjacent. There's also, as you may have noticed, the term plural-adjacency, which is just the same concept as a noun. Occasionally, we use "adjacents" as shorthand to refer to those who are plural-adjacent.

The term "plural-adjacent" itself was inspired by our studies into Judaism and Jewish academia; in Jewish communities, the term "Jewish adjacent" is used to describe those who may not be Jewish themselves, but still hold some connection to the community or Judaism as whole, such as through marriage to a Jewish person. While plural-adjacent is not used in the exact same way, we still try to use it with respect to its origins.

To us, plural-adjacency means that although you may not share our exact identity, you are still free to consider yourself part of the community, and you are welcome to contribute to the conversation where you feel you may have something worth adding. To hold a community of both plurals and plural-adjacents means we celebrate both our similarities and differences; that we help and support each other; that we are united to forge our own paths even when the world tries to silence or stamp us out. At the time of writing this, there have been a number of recent posts about pluralphobia (the discrimination of people for being plural, whether assumed or actual). It's our hope that all plural and plural-adjacent folk can work together to combat pluralphobia, educate others, and at the end of the day, live happy lives as who we are without fear. We are stronger together, and our lives become that much richer when we embrace the variety and diversity of both plural and plural-adjacent experiences. It is a sharing of experiences, stories, lives, community, and common goals.

Of course, I'm not requiring anyone become a hardcore activist to use the term, or anything. I'm merely expressing a hope I have for all of us.

I suppose you can think of this post as the official coining post for plural-adjacent. I hope this helped explain the term and its origins!

* We've done our best to find the ask in question, since it was answered, but despite our best efforts, we can't seem to find it. We'd also like to add the disclaimer that it's completely possible others came up with this term on their own in other situations; however, we were unaware of any others using the term at the time of our first public usage and unofficial coining. Due to not remembering the exact time this ask was submitted or answered, we cannot be sure which usages were as a result of our idea spreading, and which were original. However, we can say for certain it's been a few years since our term was first put out there, since we starting more openly using the term starting in at least September of 2021, as you can see it in our pinned post on our @pluralprompts blog, which has remained largely unedited since it was first written.

[sophiaphile]

Dream Scenario accurately depicts how some people don't have empathy or compassion for other people until they have something similar happen to them. It also captured how frustrating it is to be boxed in and marginalized for things that are outside of a person's control.

Paul (Nic Cage) is a straight, white tenured professor teaching university courses on evolutionary biology.

He repeatedly invokes Rationality™ (as if rational thought can be fully divorced from emotion or normativity). At one point, he cuts Tim Meadows's character off and scoffs at him when he thinks Meadows is considering the "lived experience" of the students who are having heinous nightmares about Paul.

Early in the movie, his wife says she's not having these dreams, but she says that if she did, she'd want him in David Byrne's big suit coming onto her (or something like that I think). He laughs at her fantasy, not listening to what a real life woman is telling him she wants because it is inconsistent with the cultural messages he receives. After he criticizes her, she frustratingly says something like "fine you have a big cock, is that what you wanted to hear?"

He is an evolutionary biologist who thinks that he is smarter and more logical than everyone else. In a lecture, he discusses how zebra's stripes don't blend in with things in their natural habitat; it is a little baffling at first glance why they developed them, but when zebra are in a group their stripes protect them from easily being targeted by predators.

Human psychology (which Paul seems to reject as a field of study) might seem counterintuitive to nature. Given that we are rational beings, why would we judge things based on appearance when we know that there is evidence otherwise (these are just dreams or socialized biases about class, race, gender, etc.; we think we should know better)? Unfortunately, our own psychology is not always clear to us, and there are things going on below the surface of our stated beliefs and intentions, even if we haven't done the work to reflect on it.

On the other hand, developing a defense against traumatic events (real or imagined) can be a healthy defense mechanism, but such thinking is also harmful to those who get thrown under the bus for the group to feel safe (the singled out zebra and society's scapegoats). The dynamic is not fair, but it does make sense despite seeming irrational or arational.

He wants his academic work to be acknowledged, but he is famous for appearing in peoples' dreams. He is frustrated that he can't control his image or the narrative around it.

He hates that people make assumptions about him based off of their dreams, which he has no control over. He doesn't want to be boxed in. He starts to lose his status due to the box he's being put in.

He loses his job, and his wife also loses work opportunities because she's married to him. He continues to spiral and not consider his wife or kids' pov when they ask him to stop feeding into the media hype. He makes decisions that actively ignore his family's reported feelings and experiences because he feels he knows best. His wife leaves him.

Eventually, he is such a social pariah that only Jordan Peterson, Joe Rogan, France, Tucker Carlson, etc. will have him, but he doesn't want to be associated with right-wing hate.

Because he is boxed in such a stifling way, he can choose only between railing against his box, which gets him nowhere and leaves him with no financial prospects, or conforming and being allowed to participate in society in some compacity (much like people who are marginalized due to their perceived social identity).

Paul didn't care about other peoples' experiences (his wife and kids' reported lived experience of being uncomfortable and wanting him to stop what he was doing) because the system was serving him well enough that he didn't feel the need to question it, which is also why during his downfall, he threw in the school admin's face that he has a PhD and she just has a BA (even though she had her master's); he wanted to reinforce the hierarchy that had served him until it singled him out (via society forming bias against him based off things outside his control, like most marginalized people).

It is ironic because Paul keeps talking about the zebras, but he can't apply the same logic to human beings and that was his hubris. He thinks psychology is bullshit, but it does make sense from an evolutionary standpoint, just like the zebra's stripes do.

He took his privilege for granted and didn't realize he won the social lottery by being white, straight, and upper middle class. He scoffed at the idea of "lived experience" and griped that people need to grow up and that they are too sensitive.

Ironically, the discrimination he faced was his lived experience and other people didn't care because they couldn't help the way their brains formed negative associations with him/his image.

He wanted people to acknowledge his lived experience and check their biases towards him that were informed by their nightmares, but he ignored his wife and kids' lived experience, and he was unwilling to consider whether he was biased in his thinking that he knows best or that they were being too sensitive.

The final scene was crushing. He goes to his wife in a dream to give her the fantasy she described earlier in the movie: him in the DB over-sized Stop Making Sense suit. I wonder whether the suit was maybe meant to symbolize that Paul needed to let go of thinking he was right about everything and that all life adheres to Rationality™ (and instead adheres to a kind of logic he previously rejected). He needed to stop trying to make sense and be more open minded to others' views.

[furorsopher]

things i think we forget when talking about hamilton as a person (and that’s not necessarily a bad thing bc that guy lived 200 years ago, it’s good to keep distance sometimes)

hamilton was a real human being who had a personality, in jokes with friends and family, and varying emotions. and as a kid, multiple things occurred that would permanently affect and change a child.

he grew up in an town where abuse of other humans - specifically slaves - was a day to day occurrence, and since he lived close to the port and worked in trading, he had to have witnessed a lot of gruesome mistreatment of fellow humans. not to mention the tragedy of his mothers life, and the end she met.

he had to grow up and work to keep himself alive at 14, think about a cousin, or sibling, or somebody you know that’s 14, do you think they’re adult enough to sustain themselves? hamilton wasn’t some other species that matures sooner, he was still a child. but nevertheless he became fairly successful and then a natural disaster came and he had to endure suffering again, saw others die, families being separated never to be reunited.

all of that takes a toll on somebody. even one of those events would traumatise some people - especially children and teens - so bad they wouldn’t be able to live normally ever again. it’s pretty safe to say that hamilton was no exception to that.

his college mates described him as deeply depressed, he was so religious it stuck out at fucking king’s college, a very christian institution that required attending mass daily - even if it was simply routine to him and he wasn’t actually as religious it’s still quite the feat. his fleeing into his studies and prayer was his form of escapism. when he found his coping mechanisms in work, he was gonna work until he dropped.

that’s a pretty tell-tale sign of somebody with substantial issues. not to mention the shit that happened later in his life, his life in the army, the annual reoccurrence of the illness that killed his mother, the death of his closest friend, the death of his only even remotely positive father figure.

just because tragedy in childhood was something most people had - and have - to deal with, doesn’t make it any less traumatic. those were still people.

hamilton wasn’t of an overtly weak psyche, but not because “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”, but because he literally didn’t know anything else. and we can see that in how he reacted to other traumatic stuff that happened to him - or rather how he didn’t react. how he shut down, basically nobody heard from him after phillip died, he shut up and closed off after laurens died. his immune system was shit, he was susceptible to fainting spells. physical weakness is also a symptom of something wrong. he forced his oldest son into a strict schedule to get all his studies and life done in college. that’s a shit thing to do, but we can see how scared he was that phillip won’t be able to achieve something of his own.

and also we see how self destructive hamilton got, constantly overworking, throwing himself at the nearest parent-aged adult around, the symptoms of hyper sexuality often seen in trauma victims are also apparent in his time working under washington. that twink knew to get what he could by batting his eyelashes and he did exactly that.

and later, when he went to duel burr, he fully prepared to die then and there, spending time with his family the days before, being as affectionate as he could to his kid - specifically the one in a prime age to be permanently traumatised by a parent dying. the others were either older and more independent or too young to really understand what was going on. he was planning to die and had a hunch even before burr knew he was gonna kill him. he had been in like a dozen other duels and all of them settled without shooting. why would that time be different?

- though i don’t think that was his goal when provoking burr, that was just his actual opinion and maybe some repressed bitterness shining though, it was probably just an added bonus -

also: he was mostly atheist during his adult life, but turned back to religion and clung to it after phillip’s death - suicide was a sin (though not a mortal one like in catholicism which AHam actively hated on btw) in the anglican belief at that time i believe (correct me if im wrong) so maybe the duel could count as self murder over a corner or two.

hamilton was a person. an actual man who lived 49 very productive years and died after he had had enough. a person who was deeply effected by his experiences.

please don’t take any of this too seriously and everything with a huge grain of salt, i’m a 17 year old who likes history and trauma psychology, im not gonna get everything right - this is all highly speculative and probably not even relevant to most conversations abt the guy i just wanted to put my thoughts somewhere, no this isn’t proofread pls correct me on any mistakes ive made <3 have a lovely dayyyy :3

main source is Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow and various documents found in the founders archive

[toni-peperoni]

I am begging you to share more of your mechanic alex vision

Okay so: We know that Alex actually wanted to be a mechanic for Marc rather than a rider himself, but Marc pushed him to at least try.

And Alex subbed in in Moto3 for the first time in 2012 and then did the entire season of 2013 and for this we have to pretend it didn't go as well as it actually did, so he decided to stop, focus on school and pursue his dream of becoming a mechanic.

I'm not very familiar (at all) with the Spanish school system, but it would probably mean, he'd finish school in 2014 and after that find a university to study remotely at. Finishing the school in Spain had meant almost a year of barely seeing his brother and that just wasn't something either could or would choose (love my codependent babes), but it would also lead to Alex being a little less dependent, because he knows basic life can work without Marc there, though for Marc basic life was racing and Alex was still present at every European race if possible.

The public would of course know Alex as Marc's brother and very rarely bring up that he used to race too, but they would know them more in the way Carola is known as Pecco's sister rather than Luca is known as Vale's brother, if that makes sense?

He'd start his apprenticeship at a racing team shortly there after, spending his first year learning with the Moto3 bikes, but his talents didn't go unnoticed, so he was moved up to learn about the difference of the 250cm³ and 765cm³ engines.

He finished his apprenticeship there in 2017 having made some appearances in the Repsol Honda factory already, seeing as he also needs to learn about the 1000cm³ bikes after all. That meant he had lots of experience with racing and working under pressure already and without hesitation, he was signed as one of Marc's mechanics at the beginning of the 2018 season.

They won two championships together and Marc knew no matter what, no matter how shit something went, he could always return to the garage and have his brother's support no matter how often he crashed, how much pain the bike caused him, his brother was there in and out of the garage.

There's two ways to go from here:

1. They became even more codependent and Marc leaving Honda was like a slap to the face for both of them.

2. They drifted apart a bit always aware, that they could rely on eachother for everything and have someone to talk to no matter, but Marc learned through seeing his brother work through the night on the bike, that he wasn't doing it only for Marc, but also for his love of bikes and Alex learned, that no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted it, he couldn't always make his brother happy.

Either way, there were long discussions held and many tears fell, while Marc thought about whether he should leave or not.

In the end Marc left and Alex stayed. Why? Because he basically had only worked with Hondas for his entire life, there was no set up, no aero, no engine, he knew as well as the Honda. He lived for that bike.

While Marc's crew chief switched over to the other side of the box, now working with Joan, Alex stayed on his side of the garage and started to work with the new guy. Luca.

He knew Luca, of course he did, well at least by name and from the few stories Marc had told, when he and Vale were still okay.

He had even raced against Luca, one single race in 2013, when Alex did his one and only podium in Misano in the Moto3, Luca had subbed in for an injured rider.

But it wasn't Alex to bring that info to the table. It was actually Luca, who after Alex had introduced himself with the rest of the crew had told him that little fact. Alex would have forgotten about it.

That was the first encounter Alex had with Luca's very observant nature, leading to him noticing the smallest details about people's habits and making positive remarks about those.

Away from the track Luca was kind, gentle and always in for a laugh, but on the track, he was just as fierce as everyone else. Despite the Honda being... well the bike that it currently is, he never once tried to blame his mechanics, rather giving feedback about the bike, than telling them in a condescending voice how shit it was. That would have been very understandable and Alex had been rarely actually mad, when riders had done that, he understood the emotions and knew that most riders would come around to apologize later, because it had been a heat of the moment thing.

They were working very close together, going over data until late at night, because Luca was as determined to make that bike work again as Alex was. So it became natural to them to spend time together and they were starting to become friends and eventually more...

[hedgiwithapen]

Stargirl + Metakitties! Again, I heavily encourage expies of real-life cats in our lives.

"Man," Jakeem said, looking from his Spanish textbook  on Mike's bedroom floor to the black cat sitting directly on his worksheet. "I wish I'd known about you before I got my class schedule." He gave the cat a scritch and failed to shift her off his paper. "C'mon Bean. Scoot."

"Nein," said the Bean. 

"I think you need to ask her in German," Mike said.

Jakeem sighed. "Bean, please move. In German."

The Bean stretched out one leg and shifted just a little bit.

"Huh. Usually works," Mike said. "I'll go get us some snacks. Maybe she'll follow me to the kitchen?"

The Bean, for once, did not. 

Mike elbowed his way past Courtney to get at the toaster. It was getting pretty crowded at home, with everyone already constantly over, plus all the cats that came and went but always seemed to be under someone’s foot. Usually his.  Sparkle still hadn’t forgiven him for stepping on her tail. “Tomorrow, I’m studying at Jakeems,” he said to no one in particular. The back door popped open. “Look who I found down in the tunnels. Again,” Rick said, holding up the long, and long haired tabby-and-white kitten.

“Yoink!” Mike said, reaching out. Yoink looked at him, seemed to mentally count how many people were in the room, and quite literally high-tailed it out of the kitchen. He smacked into the doorframe with a little 'spoft!' noise and skittered out into the hall, sliding on the hardwood. 

“Yoink?” Rick’s face fell a little. “I thought we were calling him Jax….”

“Yeah, except he kept yoinking Courtney’s jewelry,” Mike explained. 

“I thought you’d rather have one of the non-criminal cats named after your old dog,” Courtney said, apologetic. "And it really does fit.  I caught him with my bracelet yesterday, and Yolanda's hoop earrings are gone."

“No, it’s fine,” Rick said, brushing cat fur off his jacket. Courtney caught a glimpse of the hourglass. “Anyways… I don’t know why he keeps going down there, but it's probably not safe. We really need to block the entrances.”

Mike scoffed. "Good luck with that," he said, grabbing his poptarts and heading to his room. 

“Wait, why were you down there?” Courtney asked Rick. 

“Just looking for clues. Don’t worry, I had a buddy.” Rick promised.  Everyone was on the strict buddy-system until the killer was caught, and no one was exactly thrilled by it.

“The cats don’t count, no matter what Thunderbolt said,” Pat called, entering the room with the enormous orange cat trying to balance on his shoulders. “ Someone, take Strider? I’m trying to make dinner, here.” He saw the foil packet Mike had left on the counter and raised his voice as Courtney tried to take Strider, who was busy trying to melt directly into Pat's skin--thankfully not an ability he actually posses, just the ability to go boneless. 

"Mike! How many more times do I have to tell you, no poptarts before dinner?"

"Uh... twice?" Mike called back

“I was with Yolanda, she counts,” Rick said. "We didn't find anything, anyways. Except for Yoink."

"I do not understand that cat," Courtney said. "Seriously I think he hates me? But Strider doesn't, do you, big guy?" she asked, petting the orange cat's head until his amber eyes closed and he started to purr.  

Someone knocked at the back door. Courtney frowned a little. "Who could that be?" Beth had a key, and would have come in the front anyways. The Crocks and Sylvester didn't knock. Jakeem was in Mike's room, Yolanda was in the dining room, Cameron would have texted first...

"Hi, Cindy," Courtney started, already opening the door.

But it wasn't Cindy Burman standing there. It wasn't Jennie or Todd, either, or even the other Jenny, looking for Jakeem.

"Oh my god," Courtney said, dropping Strider.  The tabby gave a reproachful meow as he landed, then went to sniff the newcomer. His feathery tail brushed the door, his fur a perfect match for the stranger's hair. "Henry?"

"I need help. I think," Henry King Junior said as he staggered into the kitchen and collapsed.