Be careful, it bites @stars-hide-our-fires - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
Be careful, it bites
@stars-hide-our-fires
Call me Exo, or Stars, get creative. Blog for my black and deep desires (whump fiction). They/them/it/its, non-kink but no shame, fave tropes include team whump, leader whump and found family
DO NOT FEED MY WRITING TO AI
Hi, my name is Exo, they/them/it/its, British, I love movies, horror, the arts and of course, whump! Interests include stop-motion, scuba diving, marine life and SHARKS, writing and Shoot From The Hip. Feel free to send prompts, asks, or yap to me about your OCs!
I am also running a whump challenge in November 2026, you can find it @nowhumpber-challenge, here are the RULES and PROMPT FORM
I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WRITING TO BE USED TO CREATE, GENERATE OR PROGRESS AI IN ANY CAPACITY
DNI: homophobic, transphobic, racist, ableist or hateful full stop, pro-censorship or pro-AI
Top tropes:
Living weapon whump>>>>
Forced to watch
Found family/adoptive friends
Military whump
Stoic whumpee
Team/Leader whump
Gruff caretaker
Hurt/comfort
Self-sacrifice
Betrayal/angst in general
Squicks:
Not many except some pregnancy whump, incest or minor/adult sex
My tags:
The Fallout (my story) - #the fallout
(each character and arc has a relevant tag as well)
My prompts - #exo prompts
Film rants - #exos watchlist
My art - #exo doodles
Random overshares - #exo rambles
My writing:
The Fallout
What’s the way to Heaven? (AITCM 2026)
My art
Challenges:
Whumpsgiving 2025
Hurtcember 2025
Whump Wheel 2026
Whumpuary 2026
Febuwhump 2026
Asks
⚠️Please don’t send me donation asks as I cannot help⚠️
I'm gratitudemaxxing rn. I love my comfy bed and chocolate chip cookies and my weird gay friends and blorbo from my shows. I love libraries and parks and movie theaters and restaurants and festivals. I love bubble tea and hip hop and honeysuckle. I love everyone who's reading this.
I love hair dye and nail polish. I love my weighted blanket and musical theater and acting. I love national parks and forests and trees and lakes. I love drinking water when I'm really thirsty and petting dogs. I love fanfic, that it exists, that I can read it, that I can write it. I love listening to a song that really makes you feel. I love that the sun always rises and gives us another chance at living. I love everyone just trying to survive.
he likes having his autonomy violated and his boundaries overruled it's literally good for him. he likes being given a meaningful task within pre-defined constraints that he absolutely must do Or Else. and he likes being packed up and kept in a box. send post.
My woke take, as someone who has worked in both a public library and a school library, is that we desperately need both more books that are at a higher reading level but a less mature subject matter, and more books that are at a lower reading level but a more mature subject matter, because 8 year olds who are advanced readers are still 8 year olds and don't want to read about graphic violence and torture, and teens and adults who have learning difficulties or who are just later readers for whatever reason are still teens and adults and don't want to read about Billy the Bunny going to school or whatever the hell.
Shoutout to people in the notes also mentioning people learning the language, I should've mentioned that really, given that I've been stuck reading German picture books myself while learning German.
OKAY.. i wanted to explore some themes about human weapons so like.. TW for genocide and guns and mindless killing and guilt and whatnot.
BTW Zaja is russian for Bunny and I feel like it contrasts the story well! :)) also I was also thinking of an anthro rabbit throughout this so. do with that information what you will.
12 & 13 August 2026.
------------------------------------------
It was another bleak day. Another mission of cleansing the streets. For the 'cleaners', it was an unremarkable date. For the folk of the land who grew up with terror engraved into every breath, it was a mighty scare.
Zaja, one of the newest recruits, only two years into this role, set out on their patrol as they did many times before. Time taught them well, and their masters taught them better.
Anyone who resists is to be destroyed, and anyone who does not follow their benevolent plan is an enemy to be neutralised. Better help the people rather than cause threats to lurk at every corner and passage way.
The first home was empty. Cold. No signs of life. As expected.
The second no better. The door creaked open, and the usual spots they checked - storage closets, under beds, inside furiture such as kitchen cabinets and wardrobes.. not a soul.
But the third time's the charm. Zaja entered the house with zero resistance, the people there held terror across their faces. Their expressions sealed in sheer horror as The Cleaner approached, mouths glued shut, eyes flickering from one another - always returning back to the one who held the gun.
What a pitiful weapon it was, wasn't it? An object of such blunt force. One meant for quick and painless kills. Always targetted just an inch away from an instant kill. Enough for the victim to register the pain, not enough to have any fighting chance though.
''You are fugitives against the law, do not try to resist!'' Zaja cried, raising their weapon high, as if it was the only thing protecting them from three unarmed adults and a child with endless tears to spare.
''Please,'' one of the women explained. She had no face, mainly because Zaja did not want to remember one.
As soon as she had begun her next phrase, she was shot right there in the center of the room.
The kid screamed as soon as the thud sounded out across the room, and was silenced shortly after.
The teen boy, no older than 18, stared Zaja in the face.
He was unarmed. All of them were. His eyes held a resounded peace to them, but not one of acceptance, rather, of vengance.
Nothing was said, the father merely looked down at the two forms across his feet and had to cover his mouth to not puke from the smell. from the sight. the feeling.
It was all too much, and yet, he remain frozen.
But the boy just stared. Stared right down Zaja's barrel of a gun. It was a pathetic thing, really.
Normally, he'd mock how low quality it was, pointing out the brand, how it was only given to those deemed expendable or who did not have any finances to buy themselves anything better.
But this time, a singular phrase escaped him. He knew what was coming, and this time, he decided to leave with a message. Not a fight, never a fight.
''Your commanders want you to think you are doing the right thing.'' He explained, immediately raising a brow in surprise when the trigger-happy individual before him did not immediately blow his brains out. He continued.
''You are not.'' again, his chest had clenched. he knew what was coming. and yet it did not arrive.
''When all of the land is gone, when every last worker gives you all their labour and tears, when nothing is left, you will understand. But I fear then it would be too late. We prayed for change of heart of the organisation, but no one heard. Perhaps, they did, and yet it just is too late already. I sincerely hope not.''
Zaja stood there. Their arms unshaken, gaze unbroken.
Initially, the two before them believed something may have gotten to their head.
And then the shot came.
The father remain in place, shoulders heaving in silent gasps, body trembling from the overwhelming grief and shock.
''Where do you keep your documents?'' Zaja asked.
He had pointed to a desk below a large circular mirror, many compartments and drawers lining it..
''Thank you.'' They admitted softly.
Stepping over the last of the bodies, they wasted no time in shoving the firearm into their holster, immediately scavenging through the papers and letters.
Lots about rent, many checks, some loans.
''Why the hell would they keep so many useless papers..'' They grumbled out loud, flickering through each one, fingers weakly sifting through trying to find the red and yellow stamp they needed to see.
It was fruitless. They growled, snarling at noone, and shouted profanities like it was their last day alive.
Their hand immediately pulled up towards the holster, mind assuming that if they are upset and angry, there must be a threat to eliminate.
But the only gaze that watched them this time was their own reflection.
Instantly, their features fell. Hand slowly returning back to their side, the other still gripping the edge of the table.
Those eyes held something they never wanted to see in themselves. They never knew they would react like this. This was all for the better, right?
Their scrambling grew more restless, more hasty, as they rushed and pulled out chunks upon chunks of papers, throwing them across the table, many falling off the table, and still - to no avail.
It was looking to be a hopeless search until they finally caught a glimpse of the emblem of their organisation.
They had immediately lost their grip, sharply trying to grap it from the air as white and yellow rectangles and envelopes spread across the room.
A singular letter, one softly drifting side to side, escaped from their little corner.
It swam through the air like a serpant in water, slowly going towards the little vole who was bound to be dinner.
They tried to swipe for it, and the air dispersed it instantly.
Slowly, it floated down, landing like a feather amidst a growing pool of blood.
Red began to seep into the fibres. The old yellowy tinge of the paper slowly turning pink before going full crimson.
they snarled, crouching down to pick it up, shaking off the liquid as if it were just rainwater, and placed it back on the table.
and the mirror stared at them accusingly.
The gray haired individual standing before them was not the saviour they were promised.
Eyes of mania and agression across a face with skin all too soft. Far too soft for a world in deficit from basic resources.
Clothes too clean, hair too pristinely kept. Even with strands astray and wild, their haircut was still in tip top shape, their appearance conformed and sharp, just like they had to be.
Those hands, mottled with light scarring, arms burning from phantom clasps of prey begging to be spared,
they were not the one who chose to start this. They were merely following orders.
Zaja would never hurt someone who did not deserve it, not intentionally at least.
Returning to base was more.. weighted this time around.
They had done this a hundred times before. Heard the same shpeal of 'please dont do it, i want to live, there is still so much left for me to do!'
But something within their mirror, something in that appearance of an alien person in the reflection had left them more distant.
With warm steel still pressing into their thigh, they entered the cold rooms, metal barrackading every inch of the building, enough to keep those wrong out, and those right in.
''Zaja! Just where the hell were you? We had been waiting on you for nearly half an hour. Have you no shame?! And where is your pager, you of all people should know not to leave it anywhere further than arm's reach from you!''
Zaja just bowed their head, nodding quietly.
''Sorry, sir. I understand. I had another mission, by the will of-''
''Silence.'' the figure growled, stepping close enough to hover over them with a physical threat in every heart beat. ''You do not use our moto as an excuse against your mistakes. Be a dilligent worker and go fulfil your duties.''
Zaja nodded, ''Yes sir,'' and set off like a soldier.
They were told they were one of the greatest, the one who would finally bring success to the organisation. The one who would complete their goals, finally solve world peace.
But so far, it seemed like they were just the punching bag. For anyone of any sliver of power. And that angered them.
Their paws clenched in the air as if already having a finger on the trigger, snarling at noone, and slammed a fist into a wall.
Surely their efforts would pay off. They did so well, after all! They worked so hard!
day after day, no weekends or holidays, no breaks even to go back home. They were the best worker there, right?
''Move.'' A gruff voice called, her tone as unmistakable as ever. They had something wrong again.
The woman dressed in all black save for the patches across her biceps and shoulders walked past Zaja with disdain in her features, sneering like they were but a lowlife crook in a high-class establishment.
And that was mostly true.
Zaja hadn't managed to find peace amongst these walls because they would never truly be a Cleaner, they were taken out from school, thrown into prison, and released under a singular condition.
But they were to be of use. They just had to be.
Nights passed coldly. Another mission complete. Another. and then another.
It suddenly grew.. sickening.
Their instant shots and heartless ways started to feel.. wrong.
Something was wrong.
Something was not right but they couldn't pin point what.
They entered the next home, this one they didn't have clear order to, but something just felt right.
And the homeowner was armed.
Shudders ran through their spine as they watched as metal glistened at them, and suddenly, they were the rabbit.
Hunted for a pelt that would keep them warm all through the winter nights and up to summer.
They raised their hands, mainly because moving to the holster would be to sharp of a move, and they were already a thread length away from it all just stopping there.
And suddenly their heart was racing.
Shivers ran across every inch of skin, their eyes darted across faces they would never grow to remember, and feet felt weak.
They were always at the other end of the barrel, and yet it never seemed so daunting to have one pointed at them in training. This just felt- wrong.
''Drop your weapon.'' The man before them growled, and they froze up like a statue.
''Fine. If you make any sudden moves, you are getting a hole through your head.''
He approached Zaja. They watched every move intently. A predator being stilled by a mere human.
Suddenly it was no longer a cleansing. It was interrogation.
''And if you thought your extermination could reach us, you had another thing coming..'' He growled, sharply pinning them against the wall, gun sat well in his other hand.
.. 'extermination', they never thought of it like that, and at this point, it held little meaning, either.
''Your- your stupid little games-'' the man was patting down Zaja in search for concealed weapons or microphones, finding neither.
''You thought you could just prance in here and we would just give in? Fucking pathetic.''
It was not genuine fear they felt, more like a sense of heightened awareness. They knew they were at risk right now, but nothing in their body seemed to cooperate.
A blink. An inhale. and suddenly they were out cold.
Cold metal and glass clattered to the ground, and they could open their eyes weakly enough to see the syringe, recognising the leaking contents, and understanding they were sedated.
They tried to snarl, but all that came out was a weakened whine.
Hours later, who knows how long later - actually,
They groggily shifted up, arms weakly propping them up, eyes drifting from one edge of the room to the other.
Zaja couldn't quite remember what they had been doing here, or let alone where 'here' was, but they knew they had to get out somehow.
They got to their feet, shakily, and started to make a way to the exit.
Yet there was no exit - only a door into a bedroom. They frowned.
Why hadn't they slept here, at the very least, why the hard wood floor?
Then the memories started flooding in.
Just as quickly as the pager registered in their pocket.
They fished it out quickly, assuming it was urgent, and it always was.
Coordinates set out there, and they immediately jumped out the window to meet them.
It was only the first story, so no dramatic flips and kicks as they did so, but they could have sworn they saw a familiar face in their peripheral vision.
''Commander,'' Zaja greeted quietly.
''Where the hell is your gun, C429?'' he snapped instantly, nothing leaving his gaze full of scrutiny.
''I.. left it at the training grounds.'' They swiftly lied. It was believable enough as it happened before, yet instead of it being taken at face value, their collar was grabbed sharply and Zaja got yanked forward with the same weightlessness of a child playing with a stuffed toy.
''I told you, if you fail me even once, you are out of luck, young man.'' The man growled, and Zaja only rolled their eyes.
He reitorated their teachings, ensuring not one miss their ear,
''First of all, you do not lie nor question your authority.'' He begun, glaring at Zaja until they agreed.
''Yes sir.''
''Secondly, You complete all the missions given by cleansing our land of threats to absolute peace. You got that?''
''Yes, sir..''
''And lastly, you never- ever- step out of line. If you show distrust to our ways, the rightful and only good ways, we will have no choice but to dispose of you, too, C429. And I do not want to do that.''
Zaja meekly bowed their head, trying to nod without looking like they were distracted or lost in thought, which they were. ''I understand.''
Their commander dismissed them near instantly, expression of care suddenly carrying a sadistic undertone. They could see it in his eyes. those same eyes that Zaja met in the mirror just last week. They weren't of righteousness. They were of control.
And it suddenly irked then hard enough that the instant they returned to their barracks, they began to speculate.
They sat at the edge of their bed, frowning, thinking hard.
Suddenly everything they were taught was under question, and they felt ever more awful the more they considered things.
Blood. Innocent blood. Blood of the innocent everywhere.
In their hair. their skin. under their nails. deep in their clothes.
These jeans were washed with the most pristene of soaps, the highest quality water, and most wanted of machines in all of the land.
Yet it didn't rid the memory of childrens' hands clinging to the edges of it. Of their blood seeping deep into the threads, painting their trousers purple and a sickly maroon.
What led to all of this, what was really behind this, they thought long and hard.
Was it truly to ensure peace amongst the land? Or was there something else going on?
They took out a piece of paper from the notebook they kept under their mattress, hoping that sketching out the thoughts would help answers reveal themselves. And they sure did.
Having started with what key points they were taught, they began to expand on them.
Three bullet points were the first to be written,
The ideal world is where every resource is shared equally amongst the masses,
No one is to be of higher status to anyone else apart from the organisation,
Anyone who opposes the organisation's plans are an enemy and want to bring harm upon the world, and neutralisation is the only solution.
They frowned deeply at that last one, because after all, thinking that such helpful rules are wrong is a bad thing, right?
Zaja hadn't slept that night. Not in the slightest.
After all, they, and many many more, had lived by these for as long as they knew it. Just now, Zaja and a select few also got the ability to protect themselves and those close to them,
and is it not an honourable thing to want to save your friends and family?
The clock's ticking was insufferable, and yet it reminded them that even amidst all the thoughts brewing, they were still alive, still well, and in their 'home'.
Faces which they never cared to get to know any better slept in their seperate beds within the room, some softly snoring, some dead silent as if the corpses that littered thousands of homes of this town.
It took a few good hours of self reflection before they abruptly shot up from the bed,
Rushing to the bathroom as if racing the devil himself,
They leaned over the sink, trying not to hurl up their guts, as their hands trembled on the porcelain.
Before their inner vision, there was their little sister, her eyes rolled back, brain splattered across the floor.
They had held the gun in this scenario, and it sickened them to the very core.
Guilt over an imaginary scenario rushed into their heart, eating away at every last excuse and belief they placed around it to protect the tenderness within from the harshness of the world.
Protection slowly crumbling like a sand castle in high tides, they tried to shake away tears that already ran down their cheeks and chin.
None of those kids, those many, many kids, all of those small people staring at the barrel of the gun they held, had any connection to the crimes their parents, aunties and uncles, brothers and sisters had commited.
And was it really a crime just to want to live? Was it a punishable crime to try to eat, feed those you care about, and simply run far far away? Far from injustice, from impulsive murders and killings.
They never had the upper hand, really, and most never even given a choice. A chance to explain. To be heard and cared for.
And it came crushing like a sickening weight of lead across their throat.
Blood was across their hand, sickening patterns of fresh and old blood swirling as if alive,
Shuddering, they immediately switched on the tap to try wash it off, but the water came out clear as it rushed across every bump and ridge.
The world was no longer kind as they realised, but it had not occured to them that it was their fault, all along, and the organisation which had made them into an unrecognisable being.
They hardly had the right to rations, what made them think that the common folk would not resort to looting and scavenging to be able to feed themselves?
'Equality' they contemplated, was a meaningless concept. Instead, the role of everyone else is to be the cattle to the organisation's whims.
And the labour of all this training was that they made Zaja into a killing machine. Cold heartened, thoughtless, and obedient.
Each hour spent in preperation, mentally and physically, for the next outing, for the next time they would merely eradicate everyone in the name of progress,
And only now did they think to ask - how many were left?
And an idea was born.
They returned to their bed, getting out a spare change of clothes from under it, and as quietly as possible, snuck out into the corridors.
It was 4am, and only two or three hours until the others woke up and began their day with excersize and sparring as usual.
Most would recognise Zaja, their face, aswell as the barn coat they usually wore with the emblem of the organisation sewed into the shoulder, it was an unpreferable choice to try go undercover.
Into all black - black cargo pants, black jacket, black scarf wrapped tightly around their head, they considered this a good way to be unthreatening.
A gun still wouldn't do much harm, just incase.
They set off into the coldness of the night, forgetting how the world seemed to batter them much worse when not in multiple layers that they usually wore, and yet- it was decided.
Zaja walked with their usual pace, somewhat rushed but still calm.
First street they set off on was a more well-kept 'show street' of their idealisation, but as they knocked on multiple doors, nobody answered.
Most people do not barge in uninvited, and so they chose not to aswell, keeping up the disguise.
The next street they came across, about eight minutes through barren fields and parks, was more.. sad.
It was run down, empty, and unkempt. Most were.
They knocked on one, and a frail elderly woman opened, her eyes full of fear despite Zaja's appearance looking no different to many of the other scavengers who roamed the town.
''Oh sweetie,'' the lady gently purred, her eyes flickering to worry, as he assumed they must be injured or lost to be knocking at a stranger's door, ''Come inside, I'll give you some tea. We have no sugar, sadly, but it would be better than nothing, especially to warm you up.''
The home felt cold. Not cold as in lacking love, it clearly was well lived in and somewhat cared for, but physically cold.
No radiators, no heaters, not even a fire going. Zaja lightly frowned.
They never really cared to look at the environment of their victims, only to where the people were, and straight back out.
The woman ushered Zaja onto a couch, where they gently waved a hand to try catch her attention,
''No need, really. I had some just before coming here.'' It was hibiscus and blackcurrant, their favourite, with some honey too.
The old woman merely smiled, before nodding, and instead called upstairs, seemingly asking two or more people if they would like some.
A few minutes later, three young boys came down. They did not seem related - one with bright blue eyes, another with deep hazel eyes, and the last one seemingly already graying despite looking no older than in his early teens. Must be a trick of the lighting, which was also scarse.
They sat at the table as the woman gave each a cup of black tea, and the youngest, only 7, sneered at the taste, immediately setting it down, eyeing the sink.
''If you do not want it, then give it to one of your brothers. Do not even think about pouring it away, you know how much we payed for it.''
Zaja only frowned. Tea was one of the cheapest things in the store, was it not? It was a long time since they went there, anyways. Usually everything was delivered in neat little shipping containers and boxes.
As they watched the three slowly drink, sometimes bickering, before returning the empty cups to the sink and going upstairs, a certain weight settled in Zaja's heart.
They had not even questioned a stranger in their home, nor even payed any mind to them.
Instead, it was almost like they were used to it. That was quite strange.
Was there some sort of unspoken rule they had not been informed of? Was this customary amongst the people?
Given how many doors were usually unlocked when they patrolled, it did seem like it.
''Lady-'' Zaja called, before immediately feeling like that was a bit rude, but continued anyways,
''Is it possible to know what your plans for the day are?''
She only laughed, quietly, as it seemed that atleast one other person must be sleeping upstairs.
''I will only try to care for my little ones. They came from a really unpleasant time, and I want them to atleast know what it's like to have warm food in their tummies and love in their hearts.''
Zaja could have rolled their eyes at how corny it sounded, but something in her softened gaze made it seem like she was not merely talking like a grandmother, but a saviour.
That wasn't right. Only Zaja was the saviour here.
''What did they go through?'' They asked, a bit cold and upfront, not really noticing their own tone.
''Poor Jackie there, the youngest one, blue eyes, he had his family taken from him by one of those.. 'clan-sers', same with the oldest, but he actually was apart of the few that escaped the latest new project of theirs, I think called Camp. July? Really horrible place..''
''Do you mean Cleaners?'' Zaja corrected nearly instantly.
''Oh I suppose, yes..'' She nervously looked away, keeping her voice hushed,
''They never really did recover, even with all the love and food and kind words I tried to provide them with. The boy with the fluffy hair actually belonged to my sister, long ago.. before- ..''
She had fallen silent, and so did Zaja.
They didn't usually consider the aftermath of what the Cleaners usually do, not ever staying long enough to know what happens to the bodies, or where the orphaned kids go, or what others do about this.
And again, that leaded weight of guilt sunk deeper into their throat, silencing them like a fish on dry land.
One second, two, three.. they stood up, head bowed, scarf still wrapped tight - only permitting their eyes to be visible, the same eyes feeling guilt for the first time in their life.
''Thank you.'' They admitted, and set off.
This was a newfound world they intended to explore without anyone knowing who they truly were.
So they set off.
Next seven homes did not answer to knocks, the only one that did immediately followed by a man growing from behind a chain about some 'debt collector' and 'camper', both terms they did not really know well enough to react to in time before the door was slammed in their face.
Next three homes were the same. Silent. Only as they approached the innumerable one did they suddenly pause. In the window, a family cried.
The table had three pictures, and what seemed to be four adults and two children sat huddled across the couch, all weeping.
They furrowed their brows, stepped away, and decided not to try anymore homes.
Instead, they walked, and walked, and walked.
Until they found a store.
Zaja honestly had not visited one in.. maybe months? a year now? So it would be nice to see what it sold, aswell as the prices.
They began to approach it, all the while weak lamps lit up the street in flickering breaths.
Instead of a clear path there, though, another figure in a balaclava ran past, shoving them in the shoulder, and with sincere desperation cried,
''Run, man!!''
Zaja watched him zip by into the shrubs, barely processing what was happening.
Instantly, though, the answer came in the form of an armed body flying at them, immediately pinning them to the ground.
They gasped, eyes widening, as they choked out a cry.
It was one of the men they knew, Alejandro, and he seemed to not have any patience at all right now.
Zaja tried to kick him off and speak, but instead got a fist full of pain right to the jaw.
They blearily tried to clear the sudden fog from their brain but everything seemed to blur,
and as the man ripped off the makeshift mask they had made themselves, he stopped.
''Zaja!? What the actual fuck are you doing here? And better yet, why the hell do you look like that?''
He was still pinning them to the ground with his full body weight, at the least twelve more kilograms than Zaja if not more, as they tried to find their words,
A walk? no that would seems suspicious, albeit they were quite close to their base. Looking for the truth? Absolutely not. Instead, they said the only phrase that other Cleaners knew to never question,
''On a mission. Had to wear a disguise.'' Zaja calmly said, lying as easily as they usually do.
Alejandro stilled, leaning back, before getting off. No hand offered, no apologies, instead, looking around for the culprit he had been looking for.
''Where did that fucking prick go, then?'' He laid an accusatory gaze at Zaja, and for the first time, they felt a need to protect the criminal.
They pointed into a direction they knew the man had not ran to, and Alejandro immediately set off.
Still and quiet, they just.. stood there. Confused, unsure, and.. pondering.
That stranger, someone who clearly seemed to be a scavenger, had not only been running from the store, but also advised Zaja to do the same. Did they look like a scavenger, too?
Initially, it was good to have confirmation their disguise worked, but nonetheless, the fear of being trapped, helpless, and unable to plead your case had terrified them.
Should Alejandro not cared to unmask him, Zaja was sure he would have just shot them right then and there. They say his finger on the trigger. They saw the merciless anger in his eyes.
While all that thinking was going on, sitting on the cold grass somewhat stunned, a familar voice immediately rushed over, panting, but worried.
''Hey dude, are you okay? Wow- I can't believe he just let you go, I never saw those Cleaners do that. You hurt anywhere?''
Zaja paused, looking up at the masked man, confused.
Did he not recognise them? Even without the mask, they had the sort of face that any man, woman, or child would remember for centuries to come.
''Alright, just confused.''
The person behind them laughed, offering up a hand, and assessing Zaja for any injuries.
''Yeah, aren't we all. The name's Borislav, you?''
Zaja accepted the hand, still a bit at a loss, and thought for a moment.
''Misha.'' They curtly lied.
''Haha, nice! I knew a Misha once, Mikhail the Wilted we called him. Could not keep a plant alive for the life of him.'' Boris joked, before helping wipe some dirt off 'Misha' 's shoulder.
''You got a clan?'' He asked, and Zaja was at a loss for words.
They knew the looters and criminals sometimes formed tribe-like groups, but they hadn't a clue they had names of all things.
''No..'' They admitted, albeit the organisation did seem like one, ''Should I?''
Boris chuckled, looking at them like they were asking if the sun was round, ''Well, yeah! Come on, then, I'll show you around.''
Zaja followed him with a bit of apprehension, wasting no time to tie the scarf back around their face. They didn't need anyone to recognise who they truly were, not when they were so close to figure out something big.
Written while listening to
thanks to @sunny-harlequin for the prompt/inspiration!!!
took me like 2 hours and a bit not counting the breaks and I AM PROUD!! also do be kind. I am actually suffocating from the heat. 32*C in a brick house is basically an oven. hhahahh.... even the CAT who SITS IN THE SUN left MY ROOM because it was too hot and instead layed in the corridor. maybe i shouldn't have opened that window earlier in the day LOL.....
Whumpee was kept at as a living weapon in a military type base, after being punished after so many failed missions, they decide to run away. They get at far as they can, before the adrenaline runs out, before the pain is too much, before they give in to their injuries and collapse.
Whumpee in found unconscious by their best friend medic and older brother caretaker, who take them home.
After months of conditioning Whumpee as a hard time adjusting once they've healed from they're wounds, they don't quite realize they're safe. They are expecting to be hurt, and expecting that they're gonna have to hurt others.
They have frequent panic attacks and nightmares of their time with whumper. They're terrified that whumper is going to come back and find them, surely they couldn't get away that easy!?
During their healing, Whumpee has a hard time letting people get close to them, physically and Emotionally. But caretaker, they're older brother, the person they grew up with, he could get close, he was the only one Whumpee would let comfort them after a nightmare, they wouldn't let medic help them unless caretaker was there too.
After some time, Whumper does find them. But this time whumpee isn't alone. They have medic and caretaker, Whumpee is terrified, they think there's no way they could win this fight. But with medic and caretaker by there side, whumpee uses what they learned from they're time with Whumper as a living weapon to take them down. But, whumper doesn't go down without a fight.
After the mess of the battle, whumpee is hysterical, looking around for their brother. Whumpee sees him on the ground, they run over, caretaker is barely breathing, face bloody as whumpee holds him in their arms, afraid, is their brother gone? Memories of the them together flood Whumpee's mind, they cry.
Caretaker looks up at whumpee, one of his eyes is gone, whumpee is scared and sorry, they apologize for everything, for going missing, for getting caretaker involved, for not protecting him better... Caretaker just lifts his arm and touches Whumpee's face, and tells them everything's going to be okay, they don't have to apologize.
Medic comes over as caretaker passes out again. Medic does they're best to comfort whumpee, but they're pretty shaken up, not wanting to leave their brother. But Medic needs to get them to help.
NO OTHER PLANET IN OUR SOLAR SYSTEM GETS TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSES!! THE SIZE AND DISTANCE OF OUR MOON FROM EARTH AND THE SUN MAKE THE PERFECT CIRCUMSTANCES TO GET TOTALITY!!! THE EARTH AND MOON ARE SOOOO COOL AND OF COURSE OUR SUN!! I LOVE LIVING ON EARTH I LOVE YOU EARTH I LOVE YOUUUUU MOON I LOVE YOU SUN
it pains me to say it but the more people talk shit about the women who wear those shorts/leggings with the weird butt seam that looks like it gives you a terminal wedgie, the more compelled I feel to take the women’s side
and while we’re at it, I’m done worrying about cameltoe. I don’t have time to be pulling and tugging at my clothes all day. if you can see the outline of my pussy you should say thank you and go about your business
Thank you everyone for your support, they make lovely bike shorts for when I'm in a skirt or a dress and my partners claim the added butt bumpin' effect is even more of a good thing.
i feel like a lot of people-- and tumblr especially-- are seriously sleeping on Paris Paloma! even if you don't recognise her name, it's very likely you've heard her voice before: she's the artist behind the song labour.
what you may NOT have known is that she also has a whole bunch of other bangers about other current and social issues: primarily related to women and feminism, but also covering other topics.
i'd like to introduce just a few of my favourites that i feel are as good as "labour" (if not better), and should definitely be just as popular:
feminist topics
good girl - in her own words: "this year I reached my limit with diet culture, anti-ageing culture, cosmetic surgery culture, and overall culture of policing women’s bodies."
last woman on earth - a grim rumination on how women are sexualised, objectified, and often violated from the moment of birth to even beyond death
as good a reason - about subverting beauty standards for women, set by a male-led industry to make a profit off of our insecurities
good boy - turns the gendered idea of "submission" on its head by pointing out that nobody is more submissive than a man to the billionaires (other men) at the top of our capitalist and patriarchal society, in the hopes that they too will be rewarded (they won't)
pre-raphaelite - in her own words: "pre-raphaelite is a love letter to the female gaze. it speaks about being mesmerised by feminine beauty without sexual attraction. the way you look at a cool girl and appreciate her like a painting: alive, beautiful, and full of depth."
knitting song - about solidarity and kinship between women and girls, the passing down of traditions between generations of women, and sharing in and celebrating a valuable craft and custom often derided for being feminine/female-dominated
boys, bugs and men - how boys realise at a young age that they can use physical and emotional harm towards women as a form of domination and power
drywall - about the double standard regarding men's and women's emotions: how men as seen as "logical" and women as "emotional", despite the fact that men are allowed to throw tantrums at simple inconveniences
other topics
miyazaki - anti-AI banger of all time! about paris' (and humanity's) natural need and desire to create art, and how soulless AI will never replace that (she will never let it)
triassic love song - the most beautiful and sad song about the triassic cuddle ever created. in the top 3 paris songs for me personally
hunter - about someone fighting-- and learning to live peacefully-- with the spectre of the mental illness they suffer from. in paris' own words: "hunter is a reckoning and a reflection on all the times I decided to keep living instead of giving up."
stem the flow - how it feels to love someone and realise they have hurt you extensively, and being unable to forgive them while also hoping they will change so that someday you can. begging them to prove they love you while also being angry at the realisation that maybe they don't know how. aka: toxic family song that breaks me every time
notre dame - sung from the pov of the hunchback: a figure who is both exiled from society but still wants to bear witness to people's loneliness, and give them comfort by existing invisibly in the rafters of the cathedral and being "a higher power, in case there isn't one"
it's called: freefall - a cover of the Rainbow Kitten Surprise classic, given a new haunting vibe through paris' classic folk sound
yeti (feat. Old Sea Brigade) - a song about the aftermath of a relationship, where two parties who were once obsessed with each other now no longer are. described via a metaphor of yeti sightings, and an explorer who no longer cares about them
anyway... these are all amazing songs, and you should definitely check them out! she has a new album coming out on sep 4 that i am veeery excited for (and no, she did not pay me to write this and promote it lmao), so now's the perfect time to get into her music!
Reminders as Disability Pride Month comes to a close this year
transcript for video text and plain text under cut
Note : video contains music! This was originally made for my tiktok account but I thought it'd be a good idea to repost this on other platforms
[PT START]
Reminders as Disability Pride Month comes to an end this year.
Transcript for video and plain text under cut.
(Video)
Note: video contains music! This was originally made for my tiktok account but I thought it'd be a good idea to repost this on other platforms
[PT END]
[Video text transcript]
Clip one: Reminders as Disability Pride Month comes to an end: You cannot say you are against ableism if you...
Clip two: 1. Believe thought crimes are real 2. Hate on people with paraphilic disorders just because they have the disorder and not because they did something actually wrong
Clip three: 3. Hate on people with BIID ( including those who use the label transabled ) 4. Refer to every self centered person as narcissistic
Clip four: 5. Call yourself antisocial when you are asocial (unless you literally don't know the difference) 6. Throw around words such as "psychopath" , "sociopath" , "delusional , or (again) "narcissistic"
Clip five: 7. Use the words "hyperfixation", "spin" or "special interest", "meltdown" , etc as a neurotypical person or directed at neurotypical people 8. Hate on yumeshippers , darkshippers ( that don't support darkfiction tropes IRL ) , fictionkins/alterhumans, or xenogenders and xenopronouns
Clip six: 9. Make fun of triggers; yes, this includes people asking for TWs on bread scoring videos, it can be a trigger even if it's "dumb" 10. Hate on women/femme presenting folk that shave because of sensory issues
Clip seven: and remember, even though it is the end of disability pride month, doesn't mean you can't still be an ally to disabled folk
Clip eight: adding clear trigger/flash warnings, clear captions, translations for your typing quirks, and transcripts to your posts (in the case of transcripts and translations, the descriptions) will not "ruin the aesthetic", it just makes your content more accessible
Clip nine: always fight for disability rights and accessibility ;even in small ways and even when it's not disability pride month. We are deserving of rights and opportunities too
