Hi. My book comes out on Tuesday. You can get it on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Itâs about traumatized gays in space. Kthxbye â¨

2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Kaledo Art

blake kathryn
todays bird
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation

pixel skylines
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
Jules of Nature
Three Goblin Art

â

Kiana Khansmith


Product Placement

izzy's playlists!

Discoholic đŞŠ
cherry valley forever
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Belgium
seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Philippines
@ghostsrun
Hi. My book comes out on Tuesday. You can get it on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Itâs about traumatized gays in space. Kthxbye â¨

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
reblog if you like to see your own characters tortured
Wait, wait⌠lemme go get my favorite Jonny Sims quote real quickâŚ
Now playing â Green by Cavetown
Ghostâs Run â Summer â26
Meet Liv.
Ghostâs Run â Summer â26

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
coping mechanism <3
Lesser-known steps of the writing process:
Finding all the paragraphs where you used some hyper-specific word more than once
Rearranging paragraphs that you swear you wrote in the right order but turned out to be totally backwards
Going for a walk, coming up with the perfect line, and forgetting it as soon as you get home and open your laptop
Creating a separate document where you can dump all of those nice sentences that no longer fit in anywhere
Waking up in a cold sweat because so-and-so was supposed to be barefoot but never actually took his shoes off
Hey y'all why are writers always cold?
...why?
They're always surrounded by drafts!
How many mystery writers does it take to change a lightbulb?
Oh god.
How many?
Two! One to change the bulb, and the other to give it an unexpected twist at the end!
What do writers have for breakfast?
Coffee?
Synonym buns!
Where do all the struggling writers live?
How are you coming up with all these?
Where?
Writer's Block!
What do writers suffer from each spring?
(I've heard a lot of them over the years.)
Allergies. Next question.
you were close; A case of allegories
Why are writers always in great shape?
Circular prose
Nope! It's because we're always running out of ideas!
Did you hear about the famous writer who turned out to be a fraud?
I did not
His life had it's prose and cons...
Why is editing a better job than writing?
It's more rewording?
Correct! I am out of jokes. :(
A very enjoyable post. Thank you both!
@brightlotusmoon @boyslit hehe
Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE.
THE YARD.
THREE YEARS POST-WAR.
âThe gravity of the moon was off â too light, like he was fighting to stay grounded. Activating the grav stabilizer in his boots helped, but it didnât combat the sense of slight weightlessness as he walked through the dusty atmosphere. He felt like he was fighting a current. It made him slow and slow meant weak. Not something you wanted to be in a place like this.
âThe oxygen level was also dangerously low according to the shipâs diagnostics. Fourteen percent oxygen, point zero eightpercent carbon monoxide, and a particulate density beyond what he knew his body could withstand. He may have a death wish,but not this cheap of one. He sure as hell wasnât about to go out on some backwater moon in the middle of nowhere due to bleeding lungs. He didnât have many standards, but that was one of them.
He strapped his rebreather over his face, turning it down to a fifty percent mix to conserve the oxygen. It hissed as it locked in place. Breathing in, he let out a hacking cough before it began to filter in breathable air. It had cracked the last time heâd usedit. Perks of the job when you work with criminals and thieves ânever know when a punch might be coming your way.
âThe moonâs red glow came from the natural mineral that made up most of the landscape. Dust hung in the air and attached itself to any surface it could find, almost as if it were aliving thing. Within minutes of leaving his ship, he was covered in a thin layer. It wasnât toxic, not in small doses. Only if you breathed in too much and too deep.
Killian had heard rumors of this junk moon but heâd never had a reason to visit until now. They called it The Yard. It was where ships, droids, and other pieces of tech went to die. And where enough desperation might take you if you needed a part.
âAnd, unfortunately for him, he was desperate. Couldnât keep running from ghosts with a busted Quantum Flux Regulator. Heâd known it was only a matter of time before it fried. Like with everything else, though, he waited until italmost killed him before replacing it.
âSo, he found himself stranded on this junk heap of a scrapyard â his ship dead, low on credits, low on stims, and almost totally out of the will to keep going. He was forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel for a somewhat functional regulator â something that would get him to the next job, earn some credits, score some stims. The necessities. He would worry about the longevity of the piece later.
âPiles of scraps stretched to the horizon, but amidst the piles was what barely passed as a kind of scattered marketplace.Dozens of aliens he had never seen before rooted in the junk like vacuum beetles.Â
The market itself wasnât much better. Raised, angry voices,hard bartering, the sharp hiss of welding torches washed over him before heâd even stepped into it. A faint smell of rot and smoke penetrated through the rebreather â without it, his eyes would be watering more than they already were.
But he had a mission: find the part and get the hell out. He started his search amidst the piles. It took barely any time to realize that he wasnât going to find what he needed there. Mostly scrap torn from whatever would give â nothing functional.
Straightening, he faced the market like the threat it was, wondering if he should find a drink first. He decided against it. In and out. Thatâs what he had told himself when he got there. In and out.
With a heavy sigh, he trudged forward, pulling the hood of his jacket up. You didnât make eye contact in a place like this ânot unless you were looking for a fight. And his heart just wasnât in it today.
Low, mismatched canopies hung from shop to shop, layering an eerie shadow over the makeshift streets. Flickering blue and white holo-signs jumped out from every storefront he passed. Every step he took crunched â he didnât want to know what from.
He was examining a power coupling on a table in front of a stall when something crashed into his legs, sending him stumbling and almost taking the display with him. Without looking, Killian reached down, fist closing on rough cloth,yanking a small alien up to face him.
âSorry, didnât see youââ the little one said. Killianâs eyes narrowed. He wasnât buying it. He knew the trick â it was the oldest in the book.
âHand it over and Iâll make sure you can at least limp back to the hole you crawled out of,â Killian growled, holding out his hand.
The little alienâs single eye went wide, âI donât know what youââ
Killianâs hand moved to his blaster, âWanna try that again?â
The act dropped. A grumble, then the pouch they had nicked hit the ground.
âGood call, kid,â he said, letting go.
âNot a kid, shokâta!â the little alien shot back â Killianâs translator spitting static over the foreign word â as they skitteredoff, disappearing into the crowd.
Maybe he did need that drink after all.
âHe didnât have to go far to find a bar. Sliding onto a stool, he ordered something that would burn and let his eyes wander. They caught on the holo-board cycling above the counter. Faces flickered in pale blue light â smugglers, mercs, ghosts of the system. Then his own likeness stared back.
SPECTRE. WANTED FOR CARGO THEFT AND INTERFERING WITH REGISTERED TRADE. REWARD:Â 50,000 CREDITS.
Killian huffed a quiet laugh that crackled through therebreather. It was always a little surreal seeing himself wanted by a universe that didnât even know his name. The reward was flattering, though.
âCouldâve at least made me look less tired,â he muttered to himself.Â
The bartender slid his drink across the counter. The holoshifted to another face. Killian toggled the feed valve open, jabbed the pressure straw through the port, and chugged. The burn was exactly what he needed.
One drink. Now back to work.
Finding what he needed turned out to be harder than expected. The first couple of hours were a wash. Through the failure, his temper rose and the buzz from the stims faded. He just wanted to be done.
One more stall, he told himself. One more before going back to the Spectre for another hit and better oxygen. The rebreather was running low. Apparently the crack in it was worse than heâd thought. He was getting lightheaded, his vision tunneled.
The last stall was run by a Zerian, a reptilian species known for their money-grubbing, making a scrap moon like this more like its natural habitat. The alien looked up with two sets of eyes, scales rattling threateningly as it took him in.
âGot any Quantum Flux Regulators that actually work?â Killian asked, wasting no time searching.
The Zerian pointed to the pile nearest to the entrance. Without a word, he started digging, feeling eyes on him the whole time. A few minutes later, he found it â a surprisingly decent-looking regulator.
âHow much?â Killian asked, holding it up.
âHundred credits,â the Zerian said, unblinking.
ââThereâs no way this piece of trash is worth anything more than twenty creds,â Killian told the alien, âAnd thatâs generous.âÂ
âIt hissed. âA hundred and fifty credits.â
âKillian narrowed his eyes. âYou said a hundred.â
âA razor-toothed grin spread across the Zerianâs face. âTwo hundred, then.â
Killian scoffed, sounding robotic through the rebreather.
âBullshit,â he muttered.
âHe tossed the regulator back on the pile and stalked off, blood boiling. Killian was halfway back to his ship â a plan to go back later and relieve the Zerian of the regulator forming in his mind â when the grating sound of metal being ripped from metal made him freeze.
Down the alley to his left, two burly aliens he had no name for were dismantling what looked like a maintenance droid, piece by piece. No tools, just brute force. He scoffed. It was barbaric but none of his business what others did with decommissioned droids.
âKillian began to walk away when he heard it: a quiet static and garbled, mechanical plea.
ââStillâfunctioningâPleaseâdoânotâremoveââ
ââThe hellâŚ?â He backed up a few steps.
âThe droid was still operational. And these lunatics were tearing it apart for scrap.
ââYou seeing this? Full power core. Intact!â
ââThatâll go for fifty creds, easy.â
ââSystemâsystem malâmalâmalfunctioningââ
ââOy!â he heard himself call out.
âBoth aliens turned, rising from their predatory crouch over the droid. Killian instinctively stepped back. They were biggerthan heâd realized. His hand went to the blaster at his hip, thumbing the selector down to non-lethal.Â
He hoped.Â
Like everything else he owned, it had been faulty for weeks. Just another thing he needed to replace. It was mostly just for show, anyway. Mostly.
âThe alien on his right caught the movement and, faster than something that big should be able to move, reached for his own blaster. But Killian was quicker. The alien was on the ground before he could blink. Unmoving. Smoke curled from the barrelof his blaster â the selector had ghosted back to lethal. He froze.
ââAw, shit.â
âThe other scavenger roared, charging at Killian with a shard of scrap metal raised overhead. Killian chucked his defective blaster at the alienâs head, utilizing the moment of distraction to grab a rusted pipe from the ground and swinging as hard as he could. The alien fell to his knees. He was down, but not out.
ââYouâre gonna wish you hadnâtââ the scavenger spat, a loosened tooth hitting the dirt.
âKillian didnât waste time; he swung again, this time hard enough to drop him. He stood over the body, choking out a cough from the exertion and his dwindling oxygen.Â
Dropping the pipe with a clang, he turned to the corpse with a hole blasted through its chest. His jaw clenched, stomach churning. Heâd just wanted them to leave the damn droid alone.But, as always, the universe made even his heroics into a farce.
ââSystâemâerrâerrorââÂ
âKillian blinked, looking back up to the reason this happened in the first place.
âSystemâerrorââ the droid said again, staring with one bright blue optical sensor. The other was fractured.
ââYeah, you and me both, pal,â Killian scoffed, coming back to himself. No point in dwelling on what canât be undone. Thatâs what the drugs were for. âYou should get out of here before that one wakes up. Unless you want to be torn apart.â
âHeâd almost made it three steps when the droid behind him clicked and whirred, servos straining as it attempted to stand. When it finally did, it stood at least a head taller than him, looming as it limped forward.
It looked like an old military model, scrapped together by pieces of alien tech from at least five or six different planets. One arm was gone entirely; the other hung by a few exposed wires. The longer he looked, the more he realized that it was mostly just exposed wiring and patchy plating. It was in rough shape, held together with nothing but sheer will and rust, andsomehow still functioning.
He could relate.
ââSyâsystem errorââ it said again, still moving towards him. âMaintenance reârequired.â
âThatâs when Killian realized what was happening. He held up his hands, backing away. âOh no, absolutely not. I am in no position to help you. Can barely take care of myself.â
âThe ugly thing was â it wasnât a joke. He couldnât remember the last time heâd gone a full day without something in his care breaking â a weapon, a ship part, himself.
ââMainâtenanceââ
ââYeah, I heard you the first time, Tin Man,â Killian snapped. âAnd I need a fuckinâ Quantum Flux Regulator but the universe isnât kind to those who need.â
âThe droid paused, almost muttering to itself. âQuantumâQuantumââ
âIt turned its back on him, making him frown. He was about to turn and leave before the droid could follow when it bent over the bodies that had been assaulting it, rummaging through their gear. A moment later, it straightened.
âKillianâs eyes went wide, a breath that wasnât quite a laugh escaping him. âNo shit.â
âThe droid stood up to its full height, holding a surprisingly clean-looking regulator to him. âQuaâquantum for main-maintenance.â
âKillian looked from the regulator to the single working optic, a bark of laughter escaping him. âAre youâŚÂ Are you trying to haggle with me? To fix you?â
ââMaintenanceârequired,â it said again, as if driving the point home.
âThis was more than he bargained for. He shouldâve left the droid to be scavenged. He was down a blaster â albeit a faulty one â that had accidentally killed someone and still didnât have what he came to this hellhole for.
All in all, not a great day. The booze and stims on board the Spectre were calling out to him â practically screaming.
The regulator was the only thing keeping him on this rock.And the only thing between him and the regulator was this droid.Â
He didnât see much of a way around it.
Exhaling sharply, he scrubbed a hand down his face.âAlright. Fine. You give me the regulator, and Iâll fix you to the best of my ability. After that, youâre on your own. Deal?â
ââDâdeal.â
ââOkay,â Killian said, shaking his head as he led the way back to the Spectre. He had no idea when being extorted by a barely functioning droid had become his life. This was a new one.
ââAdd it to the listâŚâ he muttered to himself.
âThe Spectre was still where he left it. He was half surprised, but mostly relieved. As soon as they were on board, Killian hit the control to close the gangplank. It sealed with a hiss, his ears popping as the pressure normalized.Â
He tore the rebreather off and tossed it to the side, taking a deep breath that scraped his throat raw. A cough tore through him before his ragged breathing steadied.
ââHome sweet home,â he muttered, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it in the same direction as the rebreather.
âKillian glanced at the droid. It stood motionless near the bulkhead, watching him. Its servos whirred unevenly as it logged every movement.
ââDonât make yourself too comfortable,â he told it, moving to the pilotâs seat. âYou wonât be here for long.â
ââUnderstâstood,â it replied. Killian snorted.
âHe popped open the hidden compartment under the throttlewhere he kept the stims â three left. That was going to be an issue sooner rather than later. Grabbing one, he pressed it to his arm. The familiar sharp puncture, a faint hiss, then a fierce rushof adrenaline flooding his veins â like someone scraping his nerves clean with a blade. Too close to a feeling heâd spent years trying to forget.
âAn echoing voice. A cold, damp cell. Shackles cutting into his wrists.
He pushed that thought away. The Concordant were gone.Heâd made sure of it.
Breathing in deep, he exhaled shakily and let his eyes slip shut. When they opened, everything around him was bright, clear, focused.
Time to work.
ââHeartâheartârate elevated,â the droid stated, âNeurotoxinsadminâminâministered at danâdangerous levels.â
ââNot fun without a little risk,â Killian forced a grin. He held out a hand. âRegulator.â
âThe droid hesitated. âDeal.â
ââYeah, I know,â Killian rolled his eyes. âBut weâve gotta get off this moon first. Donât want that big guy that was after your power core coming after us, do we?â
âHe didnât mention the fact that the alien would probably kill him if he had the chance, like heâd done to its partner. Aswith anything, saying it out loud made it real. And he wasnât ready to face that just yet.
âThe droidâs functioning optic dilated. âGuilt deâdetected.â
ââDonât,â Killian ground out. âJust give me the part so I can get us out of here. Once weâre on the slip, Iâll fix you up and then drop you off at the next stop. Okay?â
âA pause â the optic whirring again. The droid handed overthe regulator.
âKillian huffed. âThank you.â
âHe wrenched open a floor grate and dropped into the heart of the ship. The air was hotter down there, metallic. Replacing the regulator wouldnât take long â not if the Spectre accepted it.
ââHey lovely,â Killian murmured, his hands moving in practiced precision. âHow about we get outta here, huh? I know you hate this place as much as I do.â
âHe worked in silence, muttering a few encouraging words to the Spectre as he rewired the part into place. When he finished, he waited with bated breath to see if it would take.Â
The gentle hum deepened into a steady vibration â success.
âKillian smiled â a small, rare thing â smoothing a hand against the plating around him. âThatâs my girl.â
âClimbing back up, he wiped the grease on his pants and moved to the pilotâs seat to take them as far from The Yard as they could get. He plotted a course to Halza Station â the next job â and the Spectre grumbled around him.
âSlipstream streaks flared past the viewscreen in long, broken smears of light. He didnât watch them much anymore; it was too easy to see shapes that werenât there. Light had a way of forming ghosts, and heâd spent enough nights remembering voices that used to point them out beside him.
Static flicked over the comms. He left the wide-band frequency open â mostly for background noise and possible job transmissions. It was better than silence. Silence was dangerous.
A voice crackled over the channel immediately.
ââopportunity available: temporary asteroid wrangler needed. Hazard pay included. Bring your own tetherââ
Killian snorted, muttering, âHard pass.â
He swiveled in his seat, finally addressing the droid. âAlright. Your turn.â
âThe droid watched him in perfect stillness, its single optic a steady, unblinking blue. Too focused. Too quiet. It made the cockpit feel smaller than it was.
âKillian dragged a hand through his shaggy hair. The stim clarity was wearing thin, leaving that familiar hollow buzz behind â sharp edges without direction. He hated it. Hated how close it sat to memories he tried to keep buried.
âHe narrowed his eyes at the droid. âStare any harder and Iâll start charging credits.â
âThe droid didnât move. Didnât answer. Just watched.
âKillian looked away first, exhaling sharply. âOkay. Letâs just get this over with.â
Do you ever write a sentence and then realize âNah, thatâs too self aware for youâ and backspace a bunch of times.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc
PROLOGUE.
âPEACEâ.
The stars burned quiet for the first time in years, wreckage of ships drifting like skeletons across the dark.
Whispers spread through a hundred systems of the six who werenât meant to be there- humans, from a world no one had heard of. Six who fell through a tear in space and ended a war that wasnât theirs to fight.
Only five saw it to the end.
Peace, some called it. The beginning of a new era. The dead didnât care what name you gave it.
As it turned out, peace demanded just as much as war. Worlds still burned. Colonies starved. The scars ran too deep.
So those who survived kept working- patching what they could, protecting what was left. Still fighting, just a different battle.
They had been steeped in the fight for so long that no one knew what it meant for it to be over.
Because war was loud. But peace was louder.
Hi all! Iâm Jaeger, a non-binary author working on a queer space opera called Ghostâs Run. Iâm trying to spread the word and gain some traction as I work on this passion project. If you love Voltron (first few seasons), The Expanse, Firefly, Star Trek, and any other sci-fi centering on a found family and what it means to be human in the cold void of space, please give this novel a chance. It would mean so much to me. I will be posting the prologue and first chapter. Please let me know what you think and if you want more. Thank you! Now hereâs the summary to give you a tasteâŚ
Five years after the Seyshon War, pilot Killian Satou drifts through the outer systems, running cargo and outrunning ghosts. When he discovers that his droid carries Concordant military techâthe same enemy that once destroyed everything he lovedâKillian realizes the war isnât over. The Concordant is rebuilding, and he might be the only one who can stop it.
On the peacekeeping ship Mondaire, Commander Mads Baylor canât let go of the pastâor the man he lost. When Killianâs signal flickers back to life, Mads begins a desperate hunt through the galaxy, torn between duty and obsession.
Told through interwoven timelines of war and aftermath, Ghostâs Run is a story of purpose, grief, and the bond that endures even when worlds fall apart. In a galaxy full of ghosts, some loves refuse to die.