Breathe Deep And Move

A woman with far too many hobbies. Not a minor.

[cleo-fox]

Writing tips:

“You feel the bulge in his pants” - implies that you are feeling some guy’s penis, may be sexy depending on context

“You feel the bugle in his pants” - implies that this guy has a military horn in his pants, invites confusing questions like why does he have that and how big are his pockets

[maple-seed]

Both options convey that he's horny

[cleo-fox]

How dare you be funnier than me on my own post

[thatfreshhell]

The First Time

Not my usual thing...but i'm doing my annual A:tLA rewatch and this hit me so...enjoy. Like barely proofread. after careful consideration with my beta reader, this will be a series.

CW: We got some gore folks. She's rather graphic. Oh and some vomiting.

WC: 1052

By the time Sozin's Comet arrives, Sokka has more than a few lives under his belt. This is how he took the first.

________________________________________________________________

Sokka had been thirteen the first time.

            His father and the other men had been gone a little over six months when he saw the flash of red on his way home from an unsuccessful hunting trip. A blizzard had been brewing, and he knew everyone else was likely already sheltered in the village. He crept toward the snowbank where the red has disappeared to, keeping his steps light and his ears poised for sound. There is a silence unlike any other that only ground smothered by snow can cause, and it was because of that that he managed to hear the voices of two men long before he could see them.

            “I don’t see a waterbender. Yon Rha must’ve been right about wiping out the last one.”

            “So, we came all the way down here for nothing?”

            “Well not for nothing. Look, no men.”

            “So?”

            “So, none of these women have had anyone to warm their beds. It’d be ungentlemanly to leave them to their lonely solitude.”

            Sokka had stood stock still listening, fingers gripping his spear until they began to grow numb from the tension. He listened for several minutes as the two uniformed men discussed the pros and cons of each woman, creeping closer as he did until their backs finally came into view. He was trying to think of a plan to drive them off, but before he could he heard the first man speak again.

            “Oh, would you look at that? The little one’s mine.”

            Sokka’s heart had dropped so quickly he felt lightheaded. The little one. The only young girl older than an infant at the time had been his eleven-year-old sister. 

            Fuck the plan.

            The first man was easy. Sneaking up on those who didn’t know how to hunt in the snow was easy. The spear pierced the back of his neck and stuck out the front below his chin. It was dishonourable to attack from behind, but desperate times had called for desperate measures, and Sokka had a job to do.

            The first man had fallen quickly, choking, but not for long. The second man had been harder. Sokka’s spear had gotten lodged somewhere in the first man’s throat and would not come loose, and the second man was quickly getting over his shock as adrenaline took over. He lunged and Sokka had rolled awkwardly out of the way. To this day he doesn’t remember much of the near silent skirmish that followed. He doesn’t remember how the man had pressed the flat of his left hand to Sokka’s side and burned a hand shaped scar into the tender flesh over his ribs. He doesn’t remember the warm furs of his parka melting into skin and making a home there. He doesn’t remember pain. He doesn’t remember how he managed to get on top of him, the man belly down on the snow and Sokka with his knee dug into the centre of his back to hold him steady. 

            He remembers what came next. His spear was still stuck through the throat of the first man, and if he released a hand to grab the knife tucked into his boot there was a high likelihood that the much larger man he was pinning would break out of his hold. He had no plan; his body moved on instinct.

            He found one hand gripping the man’s hair, and the other reaching inside his mouth, holding tight to his upper jaw. Normally Sokka would have never had the strength to do what he did next, but adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

            With both arms he pulled, keeping his knee pressed hard into the man’s back. He vaguely registered his shoulder slipping out of the socket, but pain was a distant dream to him as he continued to yank the man’s jaws apart.

            The sound it made. That he will never forget. A horrible choking noise, and then the feeling of something ripping, and then wet heat. The man’s eyes went cold as his head was pulled from his lower jaw, dangling lifelessly as spurting more blood than Sokka had even known a person could house.

            He could see the white bone of the man’s spine sticking out from what had at one point been throat and mouth, and when he dropped the body next to this first one it landed with a dull thud that still rings in his ears from time to time.

            He sat silently, he doesn’t know how long. Before finally rolling over and heaving whatever he had eaten in the last twelve hours into the red-stained snow at his feet. His furs were covered, and his hands coloured a deep crimson that seemed to hold a sentience all their own. 

            He looked over the bodies once more. He went through their pockets; found some knives and some papers in a language he couldn’t read. He took them anyway. He couldn’t bring himself to pull the spear from the first dead man’s throat, so instead he dragged man and spear both to the edge of the water and threw him in. He did the same for the second man. 

            A bloody trail marked his path, but the blizzard was picking up, and in an hour, the evidence would be long gone. The leopard-seals would handle the bodies, nobody needed to know. Nobody needed to worry. 

            He scrubbed his hands raw in the icy water, continuing long after his fingers had lost all dexterity and gone white and numb. His fingernails were still tinted red, and eventually he gave up the effort. He tugged off his bloodied furs, throwing them in the water with the dead men, and only then noticed the dislocation of his right shoulder. 

            He put it back to the best of his ability, wrapped the knives and papers up and stuck them into his shirt, and went back to the village. When asked what happened he made up a story about a hunt gone wrong, and a broken spear. Nobody asked too many questions.

            By the time he crawled into bed that night, he was the calmest he’d ever been. It scared him how calm he was. But what scared him the most was how excellently he slept after his bloody deed.

            He had never been so well-rested.

[veryfastnighuncatchable]

I did not watch all of Star Wars: The Clone Wars just to lay down and die in the war against AI

[animentality]

[cabbagege]

One more piece in my Tech-is-obviously-alive collection

May the 4th be with you!

[talesfrommedinastation]

sick art!!!

[dajo42]

Do a little dance. Make a little love. Get the FUCK down tonight.

[dajo42]

people werent ready for this post in 2011. what about now

[kathaynesart]

Why do Leo and Jacksepticeye both pose the same way when searching for hidden passages?

[beroyika]

not a true star wars fan cuz i dont think we should make milk all those colors

[beroyika]

MATURE CONTENT FILTER?

[stillnaomi]

using violence to liberate people from sweatshops, unsafe mines, and grinding poverty isn't the same as using violence to impose those things on people. the idea that violence is morally repugnant regardless of context is a belief that every oppressor throughout history would love for the oppressed to hold

[bookwyrmofthenorth]

Posting this because of the prev post, but I've had this headcanon in a while.

Imagine Cody during the Solitary Clone ep; he's ordered his general (a man he trusted, a man he loved; he painted his armour grey in mourning, his has tears on his bucket) shot down. He lost his battalion, his men. He's leading children into battle, brothers that have barely left Kamino, that have never earned their paint and probably never will. He is a good soldier, he follows orders, but what he does... General Kenobi would have never ordered him to do that. There is blood on his hands, the blood of innocents and no pragmatism, not practicality, no war tactics can explain it. The Jedi were slaughtered in their Temple, even the younglings. And his brothers did it. Under his orders. He is sent to cull rebellions and kill dissidents, or are they just terrified civilians?

And then the mission with Crosshair. He tries, as much as he can, to be kind where he can. The droids feel good to crush. And to negotiate for peace- He feels the ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi by his shoulder, his voice in his ear. And then she's ordered dead, Crosshair follows orders, and Cody can do nothing but look as she drops dead.

He stands in front of the memorial for his lost brothers, knowing the brothers he lost on the mission won't be added, because the Empire wouldn't spare a credit on it, and he thinks- what makes us different from droids. We make our own choices and we live with them too (unbeknownst to him, deep in his brain, a chip is eroding, the codes breaking down).

Cody deserts. He drifts. He bombs imperial posts and he tries to snap brothers out of it, but mostly, he drifts. He doesn't join the budding Rebellion, has no reason to (he doesn't know Rex survived; he learned about the helmets of the 332nd, but he knows if someone had survived that wreck, it would be a Jedi; and he doesn't want to see Ahsoka, can't bear to look her in the eye and tell her he killed her grandmaster. He thinks she might kill him; he thinks she'd be right).

Ten years. He's had to live with his choices for ten years; he still doesn't know why he did it. He would have thought himself better than this, he'd always thought himself better than this. He doesn't know why he turned his back on Obi-Wan Kenobi, why he corrupted everything he'd ever stood for. He wonders what kind of man that makes him, to follow orders blindly; it's worse, he thinks, than if he were a droid. A droid can only ever do what its told. Despite what the natborns think, he (all of them) has never been a droid. He knows better. He should have- Regrets choke him. But he lives with them. Because he refuses to be cowardly and not face his own actions. Obi-Wan Kenobi deserves better. He always did; all the Jedi did.

Ten years. And then he sees a Wanted poster for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi, alive. After ten years. After Cody betrayed him and shot him down.

He spends close to a year searching every nook and cranny, uncovering every stone (if he slinks back into Coruscant and breaks into a certain Senator's penthouse to riffle through his things, then no camera can prove it).

He ends up on Tatooine. It is dry and dusty and hot. Ben Kenobi is the name of a hermit wizard living in the Wastes. Cody wants to strangle him.

He goes through the Wastes, finds the Hut. Obi-Wan Kenobi walks out. His hair is whiter than it was, his skin darkened and reddened by the sun. He looks older, sadder, but he still stands strong. His 'saber is unlit in his hand.

Cody stays. He doesn't have an explanation for what he's done (he never has and he never will; he doesn't know about the chip. Obi-Wan doesn't know about the chip). He's had to live with it, and now, Obi-Wan has to as well.

He knows Cody betrayed him, shot him. He knows Cody spent the last eleven years regretting it. He looks into worn eyes, greying hair, new scars and wrinkles, and although Cody shot him in the back, he opens his home to him.

Cody never forgives himself.

Obi-Wan learns, slowly, to trust Cody again. It is painful to live with the man who betrayed you. It is beautiful to live with the man you've loved for longer than you've known him. Some days, Cody's hands shake; some days, Obi-Wan can't even look him in the eye. Some days, they spend the day in bed, clothed or naked, cold in the night, hot in the day, and they are simply grateful to the Force that, despite it all, they get to have this.

(Cody will die, eventually, his fast-aging catching up to him, and Obi-Wan will shed tears he shouldn't waste. Neither of them will ever learn about the chip; rather, they learned to live with it, learned to live together, to forgive and love despite it all. Obi-Wan will die on the Death Star, facing his former apprentice, saving his Luke and Leia, his hope. And despite the fact that he always thought he was meant for infinite sadness, Obi-Wan Kenobi did manage to carve out some happiness for himself. It wasn't perfect; it ended, as all things do, in tears and death. But for a while, it was beautiful. It was cold cups of tea and caf in the morning; broad, tanned, scarred hand brushing his hair away, arranging his robes and fixing the vaporator; dark hair turning grey; dark eyes shining with kindness and love and stoicism; a smile, rare and all the more beautiful for it, shining brighter than the suns. It was Cody, despite betrayal, Cody with betrayal, who, unlike everyone else, came back to him after he left. It was Cody, whom he'd joined in the first.)

[thatfreshhell]

buddy we’re gonna have to fight. thems the rules.

[heathertrash10-blog]

Reblog if

It’s 104% okay to come to your DM and just say, “Hi, can we be friends?” And then start asking you random questions.

[societyfolklore]

Do this!! Please!!!

[wizard-email]

hey, don’t cry. one half flour one half yogurt knead into dough and fry for easy flatbread and dip in balsamic vinegar, okay?

[rudjedet]

After three batches, my findings so far:

I use full fat Greek yoghurt and self-rising flour

Ratio by weight

Add a pinch of salt

Knead until no longer sticky, adding more flour if necessary

Roll them with olive oil instead of flour and fry in an otherwise unoiled, preheated pan (medium heat) (trust in the lord; it will seem like it's going to stick to the pan at first but they'll unstick in about 15 seconds)

Roll them thin but not too thin; mine take about 45 seconds on either side

Serving with garlic butter is also a very good option

[strangeducks]

I’m gonna be eating these for a month

[wonderstruck]

If you see this you’re legally obligated to reblog and tag with the book you’re currently reading

[thickness-protection-program]

Stop warning me about mature content I'm literally an adult

[99tech99]

tHiS mAy CoNtAiN sExUaL tHeMeS

[pinkiemme]

Tech is a busy man, hopefully he will make some time for you

NSFW version on patreon

[z1ish]

"Why do you talk so much about being intersex?"

Over 90% of parents of visibly intersex children opt for cosmetic surgery on their infants.

The ones that don't experience medical violence then, likely experience it as a teenager.

I didn't.

I am very rare in that I did not experience medical violence.

Why? Because I learned what intersexuality was as a young age, and I actively fought against what doctors wanted to do to me. All the way down to legal research on what medical care minors can be forced into. I remember walking into that doctor's appointment with the state law written down that proved that if I did not consent they could not do surgery.

That is why intersex activism is important. It saved me and it will save more.

[pixelartpeach]

Reblog to give a trans person a fresh and perfectly ripe mango wait huh

It's the wikipedia image??? How big could it be

What

Huh???

[bonesbeetle]

can see the pores on that thang

[crow-with-a-pencil]

Reblog to give a trans person a shockingly high resolution mango