#despite sanctions

[thoughtlessarse]

An investigation by Ukrainska Pravda (UP) has found that Russian oil continues to flow into the EU despite sanctions, with shipments under the flags of Liberia and Panama reaching the ports of Romania and Bulgaria, both EU and NATO members. Nearly three years on from Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Western sanctions designed to weaken the Russian economy have failed to halt its oil exports. Despite sanctions on Russian oil, the EU paid approximately €140 billion for oil and gas in 2022, including €80 billion for oil,  according to the Financial Times. This financial support has enabled Russia to continue funding its military aggression against Ukraine. Russia's oil revenues are a key source of funding for its war operations, with military spending projected to rise to US$142 billion by 2025. "We’ll have a full import ban on Russian seaborne oil," European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen declared in May 2022, just two months after Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Yet an investigation by Ukrainska Pravda journalist Mykhailo Tkach, who was on the ground in Romania and later Bulgaria to witness shipments arriving first-hand, has revealed that Russian oil was still reaching EU ports in November 2024. Using data from MarineTraffic, a global platform providing real-time information on ship movements, Ukrainska Pravda tracked two Russian oil tankers as they arrived in EU countries. On 8 and 9 November 2024, the Lipari (Liberia-flagged) and Sredina (Panama-flagged) tankers, carrying 160,000 tonnes of light crude oil, docked at EU ports after departing from the Russian port of Novorossiysk. The Russian oil reached the EU on 10 November 2024, a day on which Russia’s attacks on Ukraine went on for over 15 hours.

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[witchstone]

definitely don't want to imply that the cultural boycotts and sanctions on south africa during apartheid didn't make a difference, but the number of text posts i've seen so far that seem to imply the sanctions and boycotts were solely responsible for the nationalist government's downfall is a bit. uhhhh. concerning

[aiturtlesai]

Huawei and Advanced Chip Production Despite Sanctions

  Huawei, through its collaboration with SMIC, is advancing AI chip production despite US restrictions. SMIC, using Western tools, has overcome production hurdles, aiming for 50,000 7nm wafers per month by 2025. Key Points: Huawei, SMIC advance AI chip production despite restrictions. US tools have enabled SMIC to improve its 7nm process. NVIDIA’s A800 and H800 GPUs have circumvented US restrictions. SMIC plans significant expansion, targeting 400,000 910C chips... read more: https://www.turtlesai.com/en/pages-2454/huawei-and-advanced-chip-production-despite-sanctions

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Samantha Riedel at Them:

Cuba’s National Assembly of People’s Power (NAPP) approved a law last week allowing transgender people to self-declare their gender on official documents without first undergoing surgery. NAPP members approved the new legislation on July 18, as the Associated Press reported. The law will allow citizens to change their gender marker on identification cards by request, and will no longer require applicants to provide a court order or proof of bottom surgery. Access to surgery has been limited in Cuba for years, according to Cuban LGBTQ+ activists, despite theoretically being guaranteed by the government since 2008. The U.S. government has maintained heavy economic sanctions against Cuba since 1962, severely limiting trade and access to resources like medical supplies. The new law also makes other, wide-ranging amendments to Cuba’s national civil registry — the state record-keeping system for birth and death certificates, marriage licenses, and citizenship papers — such as legal recognition of common-law partnerships and a process for digitizing paper records. Per the Cuban constitution, the NAPP has final authority to “approve, modify, and derogate laws.” The new law “will allow the country to have a modern civil registry,” wrote Minister of Justice Oscar Silvera Martínez on X last week, including “the issuance of digital documents with full validity and efficiency.” (It’s not all sunshine and Pride flags, though, as Martínez also praised the new law for allowing Cuba to incorporate “artificial intelligence” into government systems; also on X, Díaz-Canel praised a separate new law establishing protections for youth with a celebratory image sourced to the “generative AI” company Sama.)

As the US and UK are going the wrong way on trans rights, Cuba will now permit people to change gender markers without bottom surgery.

[edwinisms]

op this is how you make a lich. what have you done

This may be too supernatural for an actually pretty down to earth show that is dbda (when it comes to magic, abilities and power scaling), but I'd have a blast seeing the plot point of Edwin's soul's capability to be used for obtaining magical power make a comeback

What would be even cooler is if it was Edwin himself who became interested in using that power

I can see him researching what devices can be used for it, do they have to always inflict pain on him to work and if yes, then how far is he willing to go in order to get it

He'd never use it for any malicious purposes or to just possess power for power's sake, he'd use it in extremely dire situations, when he really needs a certain spell to be amplified in order to rescue Charles from danger

Which brings me to the obvious angst potential of Edwin hiding the pain, lying about the source of the amazing power and then ofc Charles finding out and oh

(It'd introduce more magic and actual combat power for the boys - which is actually the opposite of what the show is about, I know, aside from a wild use of Crystal's vast abilities, they really make a good job at showing that the boys were just normal humans (and now ghosts) who predominantly use their wits and knowledge gathered throughout the many years of being on Earth, so I wouldn't even expect them to go this direction (if they actually mention Edwin's soul's power ever again), but it's just a very fun concept to me)

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

this is your daily reminder that it's been over 65 years since cuba overthrew batista's US-backed fascist dictatorship and the US is STILL keeping cuba in extreme poverty using an "embargo."

back in the 1950s, using US funds and US-trained soldiers, batista (not castro) removed most of cubans' rights, including the right to strike, censored all media, and used secret police to torture and publicly excute anyone who protested his dictatorship. In a document released by the CIA in 2005, it stated as many as 20,000 people were killed. In return, batista gave control of most of the arable land to the US. during the revolution, this land was reclaimed and redistributed, which means that USAmericans can now sue anyone who "traffics" in this "confiscated" property.

Despite US sanctions being an "embargo," the US also fines foreign companies for doing business in Cuba, meaning it's effectively a blockade. Despite Obama lightening some of these restrictions, Biden has done little to undo the tightened policies from Trump's administration.

In November, the UN called for the 31st time (!!!) for the US blockade to end, supported by 187 countries and opposed only by the US and its bestest buddy (I'll let you guess who).

Cuba has been in economic crisis for years. Monthly income in Cuba is $30-60. There is very little food and it is hard to purchase anything like toiletries, clothes, and over-the-counter medicines. Domestic production is down because they don't have the resources to sustain them. The US has been intentionally impoverishing and starving Cuba for decades, and they continue to make it clear that it is not going to stop.

So, yeah. US democracy is a joke, end the US blockade on Cuba, and fuck genocide joe.

[vultursvolans]

— ★ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when being assigned a joint research project with a very attractive haravatat student proves to be more distracting than you ever anticipated

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: akademiya!student alhaitham x akademiya!student reader, afab!reader, established relationship (early stages), secret relationship, sex in the desert, flirting, playful banter, casual nudity, no preparation, rough fucking, multiple positions, creampie, not proofread. obv they are adults. 2.1k wc MDNI. 18+ ONLY. | masterlist

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The heat had already taken hold of you this morning.

Even before you opened your eyes, the desert sun had crept into the makeshift tent, meandered across your skin, and clung to the bedding beneath you. Outside, you could hear the wind humming in a lulling rhythm but the air inside was still heavy—scented faintly of canvas, sand, and Alhaitham.

Officially, this trip was sanctioned by the Akademiya to catalog ruins and decipher inscriptions long buried in the dunes. Your joint project culminated in months of preparation but between your academic pursuits, you and Alhaitham fell into the trap of proximity, lured by the temptation of wandering eyes and coy smiles exchanged over the rim of coffee cups. 

Long nights spent under oil lamps became less about studying and more about the rush it gave you when your knees brushed beneath low tables. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on reading when Alhaitham sat so close that his scent clouded you entirely. 

Wandering eyes turned to coy smiles turned to lingering touches turned to… well. 

Such distractions would be frowned upon by the Akademiya, yes, but how could you resist when Alhaitham treated you like you were the most fascinating discovery he had ever encountered? You both agreed on discretion to save yourself from the mortification of other scholars and seniors. They didn’t need to know about his sweet confession and the many other things you both got up to when nothing but the stars could witness you. 

So unofficially—this trip was the perfect excuse to stay tangled together despite the sweltering heat. 

You blinked against the wedge of sunlight, rolling over to a very bare Alhaitham sprawled beside you, one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other resting just centimetres from your waist. 

“Morning,” his voice was thick with sleep but when your eyes met, you saw that his expression was immensely not.

“What’s got you so focused?” you said groggily, propping yourself on your elbow as you faced him. “Already thinking about all the hard work waiting for us today?”

Your clothes were still discarded from the night before, sitting in a crumpled heap near the corner of your bedroll. Perhaps the events of last night were why he was looking at you with that slanted smile. 

“Do you always think about work the moment you open your eyes?” he replied, tracing small circles on you. 

“Someone has to keep us on task,” you shot back, raising a brow.

“I didn’t realise I was sharing a tent with a Matra.”

Of the 20 languages he knew, the same mouth rendered him incapable of completing this project in a timely manner—what should have been done two days ago was instead spent with his tongue on your skin. 

Not that you had many complaints.

“Mm,” he added. “And here I thought mornings were for recharging, not nagging.” 

“For someone who implores efficiency in all things,” you said, poking his nose, “You spend a suspicious amount of time lying around. Observing me isn’t going to help your thesis.”

“Observing you is a worthwhile distraction actually,” his hand began to slip onto the bare curve of your hip, “In fact, I think you’re my most compelling subject.”

“I would pay you sacks of mora to include that in your report,” you retorted, clicking your tongue with false annoyance, but you were too focused on something else to actually care.

“I’ll pass,” he tipped his chin at you, “Instead of mora, another thorough exploration should suffice.”

“You’re avoiding work.”

“I prefer to think of it as redefining priorities.”

“Oh? And what’s at the top of that list now, Mr. Alhaitham?” You felt wrapped in warmth but you weren’t sure if it was from the desert or his fingers settling between your thighs.

“Must you know?” He pressed his body against you, “It seems to me you don’t think we can afford to delay.”

Suddenly, the tent felt smaller, and something familiar coiled low in your belly. You let out a soft sigh, shifting closer to him, “Enough.” 

The word felt hollow, even to your own ears.

He not only decided he wanted a repeat of last night (and the night before) but also the right to brag about passing with flying colours even when he was buried inside you during the most crucial part of the research. 

It became a cycle—he apologised for keeping you distracted and you forgave him by moaning his name. 

Never one to be so sexually inclined but now he understood why men sculpted monuments to their obsessions, why poets spilled ink in worship of carnal desires. Lust was not a sin because it was tempted, but because it was consumed. However, the way Alhaitham consumed you was completely intentional. 

You were no different from his books. He spread you open, studied you, and read every inch of you all the same.  

“I personally think we have plenty of time,” he leaned forward, slowly grazing his lips across your neck before kissing your pulse point. “Trust me.”

And trust him you did.

The world outside was quickly forgotten after he turned you on your back. Your words died in your throat as he hovered above you, capturing you in a careful kiss that tasted of salt and skin. 

There was plenty of time in the way his fingers coveted pleasure out of you. 

There was plenty of time in the way he mapped your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone with love bites. Like you were something so desirable to him.

Beads of sweat rolled down your temple as the tip of his cock shallowly pressed your entrance. Your mouth fell open—the friction was maddening, and every inch of you clung to him. Even when his lips ghosted the swell of your chest, he was lucky your skin was there to swallow his quiet grunts each time his hips moved against your tight hole. 

“Patience,” he said when you instinctively arched your back, though his own breathing was uneven. Already, his hair was tousled and damp from the heat of your bodies mingling and you felt his length throbbing on your thigh. He was so hard, you couldn’t help but wonder if the one who actually needed patience was him. 

You couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Speak for yourself,” you said, swiveling your hip upwards. A groan left his lips so quickly you saw a blush spread across his cheeks. “You’re barely holding it together.”

He grumbled in response. “You find joy in others’ misery.”

“Not at all.”

Although, your teasing wasn’t for naught. Alhaitham wasn’t exactly famous for bedding women so seeing you stripped of everything that made you prim and proper left him craving you that much more. “You should take it as a compliment that I—”

“So I’m the problem?” you laughed under him to mask the flutter in your stomach. 

“Precisely.” You were glad he remained obstinate even when he so lewdly towered over you. “You’re in such a hurry this morning. If you want to be reckless, I won’t be blamed for the consequences.”

Then a strategic purse of lips followed suit, “I thought you enjoyed my patience.”

Patience. That damned word again.

Screw patience. Whatever consequence he was referring to was burning away any semblance of patience you might have had left. Thus far, he had taken his time with you but he had only taken his time with you. If he could be more crude, you wanted to see it—feel it. 

“Alhaitham,” his entire name rolled off your tongue. Quick and demanding. Your tone only fueled the fire in his seafoam eyes. “Stop talking.”

The end of your words dissolved into a gasp as he thrust into you, hard and sudden, stretching you with a fervor you hadn’t felt before. 

His muscles flexed while you dragged your nails down his spine, closing your legs around him for even an ounce of stability. The rhythm he set was already so relentless that his hands gripped your thighs, pulling them higher around his waist to drive himself deeper, and the change in angle made all sound catch in your throat.

“Haitham—!” a cry rippled from how hips were snapping against yours with a pace that was anything but patient. He had accepted your unspoken challenge so quickly, that nothing would have prepared you. 

Your head swam.

The wet, sloppy slaps of skin meeting skin filled the tent, blending in with your jagged moans and his lower grunts. No part of his brain wasn’t thinking about how soaked you already were, how you welcomed him so easily before he slipped—no—pushed it in. 

His hair clung to his forehead, every movement felt tight and addictive. When he leaned down, his lips brushed the shell of your ear, “Is this fast enough for you?”

You could only whimper in response, feeling your toes curl as his hoarse voice and your own pleasure consumed you. 

He shifted, pulling you onto your side and hooking your leg over his shoulder. The new position sent another shockwave through you, and your priceless whines filled the small space as he drove into you over and over again.

The heat of the tent seemed endless, but so did the hunger between you. Alhaitham’s pace never truly slowed—each time your whines softened, each time you thought the storm of his touch subsided, he just tossed you into a new position, kindling the fire all over again. 

“I want to hear you,” he growled while his chest was flushed against your back. Reaching to lift your leg so his heavy cock could invade you deeper, you tried to muffle your moans into the bedding. But he grabbed your chin, tilting you to look at him, “Head up.” He half-chuckled, “You were so mouthy before. What happened to that?” 

Before you could answer—or think—he shifted again, this time unsteadily pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dug into the bedding but at that point, holding yourself upright proved difficult. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you to ride him as his mouth leisurely latched onto the peak of your breast. The combination left you shuddering, clinging to his shoulders as his fingers pressed bruises into your hips. 

“Did you know,” he slurred against your skin, “that you’re terrible and incredible?” His praise made your cheeks burn but terrible? Terrible was the way he fucking you so hard you could barely roll your hips. 

“Y-You might want to refresh yourself,” you chewed your bottom lip from yet another hard thrust, “On the meaning of ‘terrible.’” You could feel the remnants of your previous orgasms dripping down on him, “Because that’s you.”

Time blurred. You lost count of the positions, of the way he had you on all fours only to have you back in his arms moments later, of how many times you greedily begged for more. Every touch was electric; if only you could clutch him closer. The noises were shameless and the scent of filthy sex and sweat was nothing shy of erotic. 

When he pinned you beneath him again, you felt him stiffen. Every inch that sunk into you felt more desperate and even the way he called your name sounded huskier. You could have sworn the tent walls were ruffling in sync from his losing control. 

Your lips parted in a silent scream and with a final throb around his cock and a deep drawn-out groan in your ear, he released inside you for the first time. Your body drew out his pleasure as his forehead pressed against your shoulder. His laboured breathing told you everything about the ecstasy he was experiencing, like his body and brain were struggling to stay connected. Finally, he pulled out, trembling and sensitive, and collapsed beside you who was still panting. 

Ultimately you got what you wanted: unfiltered crude sex with your insufferably hot research partner. Your pulse ran wild.

A hazy silence settled, broken only by his stroking your hand to check if you were okay. Part of him wondered if he went a bit too far which you wordlessly answered by rubbing him back. He held you, and like last night (and the night before), you lay glistening and tangled together in the aftermath. 

It was a perfect system, a hopeless, delirious cycle.

“Well,” he said as he returned to tracing circles on you, “I think that concludes this morning’s exploration.”

You rolled your eyes, still dizzy and breathless, “Do you think the Akademiya will accept that as your final thesis?”

His lips quirked into a rare, little grin. “Hard to say. Who knows which of the sages might secretly be perverts?” 

“Alhaitham,” you groaned, swatting weakly at his chest. 

But then his arms tightened around you. And you didn’t mind. You didn’t protest. You believed you might have even loved being clad in nothing, lying in a cramped, too-warm tent that reeked in the musk of what transpired.

There was, as he said, plenty of time to finish the project. And if this was part of the process, you weren’t in any hurry.

�� 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

a/n: idk if i love or hate this but it’s so hot where i am rn and the only thing i can do to distract myself from perishing from the heat is to pretend i’m here!!!

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[megyulmi]

Gojo before his enrollment in Jujutsu Technical College The coming-of-age ceremony for Gojo Satoru, held by the Gojo clan: Gojo Satoru, somewhat forcefully, decided to leave the Gojo clan to attend the Jujutsu Technical College. At that time, to ensure that (at least) the Zenin clan, the Kamo clan, and the Jujutsu Headquarters would not misunderstand the Gojo clan and Gojo Satoru as being in conflict, the clan set the condition that he undergo the coming-of-age ceremony before enrolling, and he accepted.

Akutami Gege gave us a deeper look into the dynamics within the Gojo clan, as well as the political and social dynamics of the influential groups within the Jujutsu world, with a single sketch, so here is a bit of my (unorganized) thoughts.

The main purpose of holding Genpuku (元服: a traditional coming-of-age ritual, marking a person’s transition from childhood to adulthood and their formal assumption of responsibilities within their family or social role) was to publicly affirm Satoru’s allegiance to the clan before he entered the Jujutsu Technical College, where he would have to directly interact with other clans and the Jujutsu Headquarters. The clan was sending a political signal that, despite leaving for the college, it was not an act of rebellion but a sanctioned move, and that Satoru remained tied to the Gojo clan’s values and authority.

At the same time, it was the clan utilizing his status (being feared and perceived as powerful even at a young age). The Genpuku ceremony served to formally establish his status as an adult and a key figure within the Gojo clan before he fully entered the Jujutsu society. This move would ensure that other clans or the Jujutsu Headquarters viewed him as a representative of the Gojo clan rather than an independent actor.

For Satoru on the other hand, his compliance with the ceremony shows both his desire for independence and his understanding of the political necessity of maintaining appearances within the Jujutsu order. Being tied to the influence and power held by the Gojo clan would allow him to create freedom for himself within the system that he otherwise would not have if he were to outright reject the clan. In this sense, his enrollment was a step toward establishing his own identity, separate from but still connected to his family name. It would allow him to grow on his own terms. His willingness to meet the clan’s condition was not a sign of submission but of strategy. He accepted the ceremonial obligation in order to secure the freedom to operate in a larger sphere of independence.

[aconissa]

For anyone into North Asian and Central Asian folk music, there's this incredible Siberian folk-pop band called Otyken! The group is mostly women and they're from multiple indigenous groups in Siberia, with songs being sung in their range of different languages. They're so much fun and their music videos are amazing!

bro i LOVE indigenous fusion music i love it when indigenous people take traditional practices and language and apply them in new cool ways i love the slow decay and decolonisation of the modern music industry

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 14

<<<Previous Next>>>

The morning air was crisp as you and your friends weaved through the lesser-traveled paths of the Academy grounds. The sun had barely begun its ascent, casting long shadows over the cobblestone pathways, the faint hum of morning lectures and student chatter still distant enough to not be a concern. It wasn’t difficult to find the path leading down to the Astral River the shimmering divide between the Academy and the Ghost City. Normally, students would take the officially sanctioned routes: bridges, portals, or authorized ferries. But that wasn’t your group’s style. “Are you sure he’s going to be here this early?” Earl Grey Cookie murmured, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as you all neared the water’s edge. “Of course,” Chai Latte Cookie said breezily, walking ahead. “The Ferryman’s always here. It’s kind of his whole thing.” And sure enough there, standing at the shore, was the Ferryman. A skeletal figure draped in tattered robes, the Ferryman clutched his ever-present scythe, the blade gleaming faintly with an ethereal glow. His hat, adorned with its peculiar crosshatched pattern, tilted slightly as he turned toward your group. Despite his grim appearance, his expression brightened upon seeing you all approach.

“Ah, greetings, little travelers,” the Ferryman drawled, his voice echoing like the wind through hollow bones. “Do you wish to journey across the Astral River?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned in slightly. “Depends. What’s your price today?” The Ferryman let out a deep, rattling laugh, one that sent an eerie ripple across the water’s surface. “The same as always, my dear friends. Company. Conversation to keep this weary soul entertained.” He sighed dramatically. “An eternity of ferrying can be such a lonely task, you know.” “You literally see students all the time,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “Ah, but they rarely have such charming tales to tell,” the Ferryman countered. Earl Grey Cookie exhaled through his nose, already bracing himself. “Fine. What do you want to hear?” The Ferryman grinned, stepping aside and motioning to the shimmering water behind him. “Tell me a story as we walk.” With that, he tapped the butt of his scythe against the river’s surface. The water rippled, then stilled, taking on an almost glass-like sheen. It was always strange, walking across the Astral River. Each step sent soft waves beneath your feet, yet you never felt like you were sinking. Instead, it was as if the river itself had decided, just for this moment, to carry you.

As you all stepped forward, Chai Latte Cookie took the lead in entertaining the Ferryman, launching into a retelling of a particularly embarrassing Academy mishap involving a misfired spell and a very grumpy librarian. The Ferryman chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, students and their magical blunders. Some things never change.”

As the journey continued, you couldn’t help but steal a glance back toward the Academy, its towering spires growing smaller in the distance. There was something exhilarating about sneaking away like this, even if it was just for ice cream. Soon enough, the mist of the Ghost City curled around your ankles, the outline of buildings and flickering lanterns coming into view. The Ferryman finally came to a halt, tapping his scythe against the air. The shimmering path beneath your feet vanished, leaving you safely on the shore. “And here we are,” he announced grandly. “Your destination, delivered without incident.” He let out another rattling laugh. “See? I am an excellent guide.” “You say that like we’ve ever had an issue,” you teased.

“Ah, but one never knows when adventure may strike.” The Ferryman gave a dramatic bow. “Now, enjoy your time in the Ghost City, little travelers. But remember, should you need passage back, I will be waiting.” “Of course you will,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered under his breath. With a few final words of thanks, you and your friends slipped past the misty streets, leaving the Ferryman’s presence behind as you ventured toward the city’s well-known ice cream shop. Now, the real fun could begin. The Ghost City was unlike anywhere else in the world. It was a place caught between realms, where the past and present wove together like threads of mist. Lanterns flickered with eerie green and blue flames, casting long shadows that wavered like living things. The cobbled streets curved in ways that defied logic, twisting around grand, towering buildings with architecture lost to time. Phantasmal figures drifted through the air, remnants of ages past, some engaged in endless conversations while others simply watched the living pass by. Despite its spectral nature, the city was lively. The market square bustled with ghostly vendors selling goods both familiar and arcane enchanted trinkets, glowing fruits, and books that whispered their contents aloud if one dared to open them. The air carried the scent of spiced cider, roasted nuts, and of course, the unmistakable sweetness of freshly made ice cream. You and your friends wove through the streets, eyes wide with wonder. There was something about the Ghost City that made you all feel lighter, as if the weight of lectures, expectations, and the Academy’s rigid structure had been left behind on the other side of the river. Here, in the lantern-lit mist, you weren’t students of magic, burdened with studying and stress, you were just you.

“First stop! The ice cream shop,” Chai Latte Cookie announced, marching forward with purpose. “No distractions!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed. “You’re saying that? The same person who stopped twice already to admire cursed jewelry?” “I was appreciating craftsmanship!” she shot back, nose in the air. “Anyway, priorities. Ice cream.” The shop was an institution among Academy students. Tucked away on a side street, its glowing purple sign read The Wisp & Whimsy, promising flavors both mundane and magical. A bell jingled as you stepped inside, and immediately, the air was filled with the crisp chill of frozen treats and the rich aroma of caramelized sugar. The glass display cases stretched across the room, holding an array of colors and textures, some of which shimmered or changed hues when viewed from different angles. The owner, a friendly old ghost who had perfected the art of frozen desserts in his afterlife, drifted over with a knowing smile. “Back again, I see. And what will it be this time?”

The four of you lined up, eyes scanning the case with the seriousness of scholars poring over ancient texts. Chai Latte Cookie was the first to decide. “Vanilla bean with honeycomb shards,” she declared, grinning. “Classic, a little sweet, but with a crunch.” She gave you a wink. “Just like me.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, peering over the selection. “Earl Grey ice cream with dark chocolate flakes,” he finally said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “A refined choice, obviously.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t even hesitate. “Hazelnut gelato with crushed biscotti on top,” he said, nodding as if confirming the universe’s natural order. “Perfect balance of texture and flavor. No notes.” All eyes turned to you. “What about you, (Y/N)?” Chai Latte Cookie asked, rocking on her heels. There was no rush. You took a moment, looking over the options, considering your choice carefully before making your order. Pineapple ice cream, with pineapple chunks when it was finally scooped into your hands, the chill of it seeping through the cup, you couldn’t help but smile. With your frozen treasures secured, the four of you dashed back outside, ice cream in hand, laughing like children set loose in a festival. Chai Latte Cookie immediately looped her arm through yours, steering you toward the center square. “Alright, so what’s the plan? We have the whole city at our feet!” “We could check out that bookstore Hazelnut keeps nerding out about,” Earl Grey Cookie suggested, taking a slow, deliberate bite of his ice cream. “Or, if you want to be really adventurous, we could visit the Phantom’s Alley.”

Chai Latte Cookie shuddered. “Absolutely not. Last time we went down there, a ghost whispered in my ear and I swear I lost ten years off my life.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed, already flipping through his ever-present notebook. “We could try and track down one of the wandering storytellers! They always know the best ghost tales.” “Or,” you suggested between bites of your ice cream, “we could just… enjoy the city. Walk around, explore, see where we end up.” They all paused. Then Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “I like that plan.” So that’s what you did. You wandered through the streets, stopping wherever something caught your eye watching a street magician conjure floating lanterns that danced to silent music, daring each other to taste-test one of the market’s glowing candies, peeking through the windows of long-forgotten buildings where books floated idly in the air. The laughter came easy, the conversations endless. It was one of those rare, perfect moments. The kind where nothing else existed outside of the here and now. No responsibilities, no expectations, no looming pressures just the warmth of friendship, the chill of ice cream, and the magic of a city caught between life and memory. For the first time in a long while, you all felt truly, blissfully free. The city pulsed with an eerie yet thrilling energy, its lantern-lit streets humming with a life that defied its ghostly nature. Wandering through the mist-veiled alleys and bustling market squares, you and your friends felt like children again free to indulge in mischief, to chase fleeting joys, to forget, even for a little while, the weight of the Academy’s expectations. Your adventure truly began at the Market of Forgotten Goods, a sprawling bazaar filled with relics from ages past. Ghostly vendors called out their wares, offering everything from enchanted quills that never ran out of ink to books that whispered their own contents when opened. The air smelled of parchment, dried herbs, and something vaguely metallic, as if the very essence of lost time had settled over the marketplace.

Chai Latte Cookie let out a gasp of delight as she tugged you toward a stand displaying jewelry, each piece embedded with stones that pulsed like tiny heartbeats. “Look at these! Tell me they’re not gorgeous.” She held up a delicate ring that gleamed with a soft golden glow, tilting her head in consideration. “Do you think it would look good on me?” “It’s probably cursed,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered without looking up from his notebook, where he was diligently scribbling notes about the marketplace. Chai Latte Cookie huffed. “You always say that. Maybe I like a little mystery.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked, inspecting a pocket watch that ticked without visible hands. “I think what Hazelnut means is that everything here has some magic attached to it. A ring that glows like that? It probably has an interesting history.” You chuckled as Chai Latte Cookie twirled the ring between her fingers, then slipped it onto her finger anyway. “Guess I’ll just have to live with the consequences.” The market held its fair share of curiosities, from bottled moonlight to mirrors that refused to show your reflection unless you asked them a question. You picked up a small music box and turned the key, only for a hauntingly beautiful melody to spill out a tune that sounded familiar yet just out of reach. “Cursed,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said again. “You’re the worst,” Chai Latte Cookie shot back, but there was no bite to her words. As you wandered deeper into the city, the air grew colder, and the streets became narrower. Without meaning to, you all found yourselves standing at the entrance to Phantom’s Alley, a place notorious for its eerie whispers and ghostly apparitions. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the cobblestone, twisting into shapes that shouldn’t have been possible.

Earl Grey Cookie crossed his arms. “Alright, if one of us is going to get haunted today, my bet is on Hazelnut.” “Excuse me?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shot him an incredulous look. “Why me?” “You take notes on everything,” Earl Grey Cookie pointed out. “Ghosts love unfinished business. You’d make the perfect target.” “You guys are terrible,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered, but he still flipped open his notebook, pen at the ready. “You’re all insane for thinking we should go in,” Chai Latte Cookie cut in, eyes narrowed at the darkened alleyway. But when you took a step forward, she immediately grabbed your sleeve, fingers tightening. “I mean, if you insist, at least don’t leave me behind.” The air inside Phantom’s Alley was different. It clung to you, thick and heavy, charged with an unnatural stillness. Every so often, you swore you heard faint laughter just beyond earshot, just out of reach. “Well,” you said, voice deliberately even, “this isn’t too bad.” A whisper slithered through the silence. You shouldn’t be here. Chai Latte Cookie shrieked. Earl Grey Cookie clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling with barely-contained laughter, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie furiously jotted something down. “What did it sound like? Male? Female? Was it an echo, or-” “It sounded like a bad decision,” Chai Latte Cookie snapped, tugging you toward the exit. “We’re leaving.”

You didn’t argue. Even if it was just playful ghostly mischief, there was only so much heart-racing adventure one could take in a day. A few streets down, you stumbled upon a gathering in the town square. Wisps of spectral light floated in the air, illuminating a group of ghostly figures seated in a circle. At the center stood a woman whose translucent form flickered like candlelight as she spoke. “The Storyteller’s Circle,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie mused, adjusting his glasses. “They share tales of the city’s past. Some say they were part of its past.” You and your friends sat among the listeners as the storyteller wove a tale of lost lovers who could only meet in the Ghost City once every hundred years. Her voice wasn’t loud, yet it filled the space as if whispered directly into your mind. “Kind of romantic,” Chai Latte Cookie murmured, resting her chin in her hands. “Imagine waiting a hundred years just to see someone again.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed. “Sounds tragic.” Earl Grey Cookie hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe. But some people are worth waiting for.” You glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at you; his gaze was distant, lost in thought. Before you could dwell on it, the ghost finished her story, and the crowd murmured their appreciation in soft, breathless tones. Eventually, as the sky turned a deeper shade of blue, you all found yourselves back at the ice cream shop, drawn in by the sheer delight of indulgence. “Alright,” Earl Grey Cookie announced, arms crossed, “we need to settle something. What is the objectively best ice cream flavor?” “You can’t be serious,” Chai Latte Cookie groaned. “We just did this earlier.” “I am serious,” Earl Grey Cookie countered. “This is important.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “He just wants validation.” “I think,” you mused, “we should all try something different and compare.” That led to another round of ice cream, a heated debate on the merits of each flavor, and ultimately, no conclusion except that ice cream was always a good idea. As the city lights flickered like distant stars, you made your way back to the riverbank where the Ferryman awaited. “Had your fill of adventure?” he asked, the ever-present grin in his voice. “For now,” you admitted. As he guided you across the astral river, the Ghost City faded into the distance, its lanterns flickering like remnants of a dream. There was a sense of longing in leaving a feeling of stepping out of something magical and returning to reality. But as you glanced at your friends, still laughing, still teasing, still them, you realized the magic of the Ghost City wasn’t just in its haunted streets or its forgotten wonders. It was in the way you had all been free. And that magic? That was something you carried with you, even as the Academy’s spires loomed back into view.

Sneaking back into the Academy was a delicate art, one you and your friends had perfected over time. The night air was cool, carrying with it the last remnants of the Ghost City’s magic, as you all crept across the grounds with hushed laughter and hurried footsteps. The Academy’s towering silhouette loomed ahead, its ancient stonework bathed in moonlight. Chai Latte Cookie led the way, light on her feet, barely making a sound. Earl Grey Cookie followed close behind, adjusting his coat as he kept an eye out for wandering professors or night sentries. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, ever the meticulous one, checked his pocket watch and muttered something about making better time than last week. Once inside, the grand halls were nearly deserted, the only sounds being the soft flickering of candlelight and the distant ticking of the enchanted clocks that lined the corridors. It was late very late but you all moved with purpose toward the dining hall, not necessarily out of hunger, but for the sake of tradition. The dining hall, once filled with the clatter of conversation and the warmth of candlelit meals, was now eerily quiet. Only a few enchanted lanterns remained lit, casting soft pools of light over the long tables. The food left behind was nothing special; cold rolls, half-eaten platters of roasted vegetables, and the last remains of soup that had likely been simmering for hours. Still, none of you hesitated. You each grabbed a plate, sitting at your usual spot, keeping your voices low despite the empty space around you. The Academy was ancient, and its walls had a way of listening.

“That was so much fun,” Chai Latte Cookie sighed dreamily, resting her cheek against her palm as she poked at a slice of fruit. “I haven’t felt that free in ages.” “You say that every time we sneak out,” Earl Grey Cookie pointed out with an amused smile. “And I mean it every time.” She huffed before turning to you with a knowing look. “But I think someone had an especially enchanting time.” You blinked, mid-bite, suddenly wary. “What?” She tilted her head. “You seemed really caught up in the Storyteller’s Circle.” At that, a hush fell over the table. You felt their eyes on you, expectant, curious. The image of the ghostly storyteller drifted through your mind, her words still lingering like a haunting melody. You set your fork down. “It was just… beautiful,” you admitted, voice softer now. “The idea of someone waiting like that of a love that lasts centuries just for a fleeting moment together. I don’t know. It’s tragic, yeah, but… in a way, isn’t it kind of romantic?” Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I knew you’d say that.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed, flipping through the notes he had taken from earlier in the night. “Sounds miserable to me. A hundred years apart? That’s not love that’s torture.” Earl Grey Cookie hummed, contemplative. “I don’t know. Some people are worth waiting for.” You glanced at him, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he returned to his meal. Chai Latte Cookie stretched her arms above her head, letting out a breath. “Well, if I had to wait a century to see someone, I hope they’d at least make it worth it.” She shot you a teasing glance. “What do you think? Would you wait?” You hesitated, letting the question settle deep into your chest. “…I think if you love someone enough, time wouldn’t change that.” The words left your lips before you had fully thought them through, but as you said them, you realized they felt right. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered something under his breath and jotted it down in his notebook.

Chai Latte Cookie raised a brow. “Oh no. What now?” “Just adding it to my notes,” he said simply. Earl Grey Cookie leaned over to peek at the page. “You’re actually taking this seriously? It’s just a hypothetical question.” “You don’t ask questions like that unless you already have an answer,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie countered. “And I think our dear friend here has a very interesting way of looking at love.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you guys.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin on her hands. “No, you love us.” The conversation dissolved into hushed laughter and teasing remarks, the weight of the night settling into something warm and familiar. Eventually, when the last scraps of food were gone and exhaustion began creeping in, you all stood, stretching and stifling yawns. “Alright,” Earl Grey Cookie said, rolling his shoulders. “Time to get some sleep before we all end up sleep-deprived disasters in class.” You all murmured your agreement, quietly making your way out of the dining hall and down the corridors, the Academy’s ancient walls standing silent around you.

As you finally slipped into your dorm, shutting the door behind you, you exhaled, the events of the night playing over in your mind. The laughter, the stories, the feeling of freedom in the Ghost City. And yet, more than anything, the storyteller’s words lingered. Would you wait a hundred years for someone? You had answered so easily before, but now, alone in the quiet of your room, you weren’t sure. Because what did waiting matter… if you didn’t even know who you were waiting for?

Monday arrived sooner than you wanted, dragging you out of the warm cocoon of your blankets with an unrelenting pull. The Ghost City’s lingering magic felt like a dream now, distant and fleeting, replaced by the mundane rhythm of the Academy’s routine. You went about your morning as usual freshening up, gathering your materials for class, and heading to the dining hall, hoping for a breakfast that would soften the blow of another long week ahead. But when you stepped inside and scanned the options laid out before you, your stomach dropped just a little. No waffles. You weren’t sure why that detail bothered you so much. Maybe it was how often they’d been served last week, to the point where you’d begun to expect them, to look forward to them. Perhaps they’d had an overabundance and were simply trying to get rid of them, and now that the supply had dwindled, so had your small morning indulgence. Rationally, it wasn’t a big deal, but still, there was a quiet disappointment that settled in the pit of your stomach. With a sigh, you let your eyes drift across the breakfast spread, searching for something else, something to fill the void left behind. And then, almost absentmindedly, your gaze landed on a dish that looked familiar not because you had ever chosen it before, but because you’d seen him choose it. Shadow Milk Cookie.  

You had watched him, in the way you watched many things, from a comfortable distance. His choices had always seemed so… deliberate. Carefully selected, refined in a way that made you wonder if there was something to be learned from them. So, without thinking too hard about it, you reached for the same dish.  As you settled into your usual seat, taking your first bite, you found yourself dissecting the flavors more than you normally would. Was this good? Was this a meal worthy of someone as renowned as the Sage of Truth? You weren’t sure what you expected some grand revelation, some deeper understanding but instead, all you got was… breakfast. Not bad. Not life-changing, either. Still, you took another bite. Your friends eventually found you sitting alone at your usual spot, your fork idly prodding at your food. You hadn't been waiting for them, but the moment they arrived, the lively energy of their presence swept in like a fresh breeze. Chai Latte Cookie sat beside you first, sliding into place with effortless ease. She nudged your shoulder playfully before setting down her tray, steam curling from her tea. Across from you, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie took their seats as well, their expressions far too knowing for your liking.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was the first to speak, his voice laced with amusement. "So," he drawled, leaning forward with his hands clasped together. "Did you dream of long-lost lovers pining through the centuries?" You blinked, caught mid-bite. "What?" Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin in her hand. "You know, the story. The tragic romance. The waiting-a-hundred-years-just-to-see-each-other-again thing?" Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "It was quite a beautiful tale. Wouldn’t be surprised if it followed you into your dreams." Earl Grey Cookie took a sip of his tea, watching you closely. "They wouldn't admit it if it did." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie tapped his notebook yes, his notebook against the table thoughtfully. "True. But if they did have some swoon-worthy, star-crossed-lovers kind of dream, I want to know." His grin turned sharp. "So? Anything?" You rolled your eyes, stabbing your food with a little too much force. "You guys are ridiculous. It was just a story." "But a good story," Chai Latte Cookie pointed out, stirring her tea as if this was a casual discussion rather than a full-on interrogation. You scoffed. "I didn’t go to bed composing poetry about it, if that’s what you’re asking." "But you thought about it," Earl Grey Cookie said, setting his cup down with an almost victorious air.

You hesitated, but only for a second. Of course you had thought about it. The tale had clung to you, lingering in the quiet space between wakefulness and sleep. Not just the story itself, but the feeling it left behind the weight of devotion stretching across time, of love strong enough to defy centuries. You thought about it now, even as they pressed you for answers. Your silence was enough. Chai Latte Cookie exchanged a look with Earl Grey Cookie, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned, flipping open his notebook. "Knew it," he muttered, scribbling something down. You narrowed your eyes. "What exactly are you writing?" "Oh, nothing," he said far too innocently. "Just taking some notes." "For what?" "You," Earl Grey Cookie said simply. "You’re a very fascinating subject, you know." "Great. Love being psychoanalyzed before I’ve even finished breakfast," you deadpanned. They laughed, and you shook your head, pushing your plate away. But even as you tried to dismiss their antics, a quiet thought gnawed at the back of your mind.

It wasn’t just the story that had lingered with you. You hadn’t seen Shadow Milk Cookie yesterday not once. It wasn’t like he was always around, but after last week, after everything, his absence had been noticeable. No keen observations over your shoulder, no well-timed interjections, no presence hovering at the edge of your awareness. And now, here you were, absentmindedly choosing a breakfast he’d favored before. You sighed. Maybe you really were reading too much into things. Because, really… it was just a story. That’s all. As the morning rolled on, the four of you made your way to Almond Custard Cookie’s lecture hall, the familiar path winding through the academy’s grand corridors. The air was thick with the hum of students preparing for the day, parchment rustling and quiet conversations blending into a soft symphony of scholarly ambition. Your friends chatted as you walked, but you were more focused than usual. Today, you weren’t bracing yourself for inevitable confusion. Today, you weren’t dreading the lecture like a battle you were bound to lose. Because at some point, despite your hesitations, you had asked Shadow Milk Cookie to help you review ahead. It had been a quiet request, one you barely managed to voice without second-guessing yourself. But he had agreed graciously, eagerly even and had guided you through the future material with the same careful patience he always showed.

And now, for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just trying to keep up. You were keeping up. "You’re awfully quiet," Chai Latte Cookie noted, nudging your side playfully. "Are you dare I say actually confident about this lecture?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. "A rare sight indeed," he mused. "Should we be concerned?" You rolled your eyes. "I just… studied ahead, that’s all." Earl Grey Cookie gave you a knowing look. "With his help, I assume?" You didn’t dignify that with a response, though the warmth creeping up your neck probably gave it away. Chai Latte Cookie grinned, linking her arm through yours. "Well, well, well. Look at you, being all prepared. I’m so proud!" "Don’t be," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie deadpanned. "If they start answering questions before us, we may have to revoke their status as our perpetual academic underdog." "Harsh," you muttered, but you couldn’t help but laugh. The teasing didn’t last long, though soon enough, you had arrived at the lecture hall, filing in with the rest of the students. You took your seat, your fingers tapping absently against the desk as you glanced at the notes in front of you. You could feel a strange anticipation bubbling beneath the surface, a readiness that hadn’t been there before.

Because this time, you weren’t just hoping to scrape by. This time, you knew you could keep up. As the lecture began, Almond Custard Cookie took his place at the front of the hall, his crisp, even voice cutting through the murmurs of students settling in. He adjusted his glasses before tapping the board with the end of his cane, the subtle golden glow of magic trailing in its wake as complex runes and equations appeared. “Today,” he announced, “we will be continuing our discussion on the fundamental laws governing enchantment stability. Recall that last lecture, we examined the properties of self-sustaining magic and the principles of balance that keep an enchantment from unraveling under duress. Now, tell me what is the primary countermeasure used to reinforce unstable enchantments?” A hush fell over the hall as students scrambled through their notes, some hesitating before slowly raising their hands. For once, you weren’t frozen in place, uncertain of the answer. The concept was familiar to you now the nights spent reviewing ahead had made sure of that. You raised your hand. Almond Custard Cookie’s gaze flickered to you, his brow lifting ever so slightly in intrigue. He gestured for you to speak. “Anchor points,” you said, voice steady. “Stabilizing an enchantment can be done by binding it to a fixed locus whether it’s a physical object or an existing magical structure. This disperses excess energy and prevents the spell from collapsing in on itself.” A pause. Then, to your absolute shock, Almond Custard Cookie smiled. “Correct,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Anchor points serve as stabilizing mechanisms, allowing enchantments to persist without degradation. A strong enough locus can even sustain high-energy spells that would otherwise fail under their own weight.” He glanced back at the board, adding a few additional notes. “It seems you’ve taken the time to study ahead. An admirable effort.”

The warmth in his voice, however subtle, sent a flicker of pride through you. Chai Latte Cookie, seated beside you, shot you a look one of both surprise and approval. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered something under his breath, scribbling in his ever-present notebook. Earl Grey Cookie, on the other hand, leaned back slightly in his chair, expression unreadable but undeniably impressed. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just sitting there, lost and overwhelmed. You were engaged. As Almond Custard Cookie continued, you nodded along, absorbing his explanations more easily than before. When he opened the floor for further questions, you found yourself raising your hand again, inquiring about the specific limitations of anchor points when dealing with unstable ley lines. The professor blinked at you, clearly taken aback but his lips quirked upward once more. “An excellent question,” he mused before delving into an explanation. The lecture carried on, and while Almond Custard Cookie continued as he always did methodical, precise, ever so slightly intimidating there was a distinct shift in the way he regarded you. It was subtle, but there nonetheless. By the time the class ended, you could hear the murmurs around you, a few curious glances thrown your way. You ignored them, barely containing the thrill of having actually kept up for once.

As you gathered your things, Chai Latte Cookie nudged you with her elbow. “Look at you, star student,” she teased, a grin on her face. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie merely huffed. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll start answering everything. That’s my job.” You rolled your eyes, but Earl Grey Cookie, walking beside you, murmured just loud enough for you to hear “Well done.” And somehow, those two words made the whole morning even better. The transition from morning lecture to evening study had become seamless in a way you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t a forced shift, like stepping into an entirely different world, but rather a natural progression like the slow dimming of sunlight into dusk, the air shifting to something quieter, more introspective.

And here you were again, in Shadow Milk Cookie’s office, seated across from him as the candlelight flickered between you. The study sessions had changed. They weren’t just lessons anymore, not in the way they once were. Before, you had approached them with a quiet, nervous reverence, careful not to overstep, to take up too much space. Shadow Milk Cookie had been patient then, as he was now, but there had been an undeniable distance between you. A formality. That distance had faded. It was in the way he sat, more at ease than before, his arm resting against the edge of the desk as he gestured through an explanation. It was in the way he didn’t just lecture but engaged tilting his head when you questioned something, waiting for you to puzzle through it aloud before offering guidance. It was in the way you leaned forward without thinking, elbows resting on the wooden surface as you traced patterns idly along the margin of your notes. There was something about tonight that made it feel smaller like the rest of the Academy had faded away, leaving only the soft hush of pages turning, the warmth of candlelight, and the quiet weight of shared understanding.

But despite that comfort, something lingered in the back of your mind. You hesitated, fingers lightly tapping against the parchment. You had learned their names now Camellia Pith, Serrano Bark, Fennel Drizzle. The weight of them settled uneasily in your chest, not because they frightened you anymore, but because you had a feeling Shadow Milk Cookie already knew. And you weren’t sure what he would do with that knowledge. You swallowed, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “Shadow Milk Cookie…” He hummed, not looking up immediately as he made a small notation in the margins of his book. “Yes?” A pause. Then: “You know who they are, don’t you?” That made him stop. His quill stilled against the page, though he did not immediately respond. His expression remained composed, unreadable in the low light, but the flicker of his gaze toward you was sharp. After a beat, he leaned back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. “I do.” You had expected as much, but hearing it aloud still made your stomach twist. Of course he knew. He was the Sage of Truth; there were few things that escaped his notice. The silence stretched for a moment, and then, calmly, he asked, “Why do you bring this up?” You let out a slow breath, organizing your words carefully. “I just…” You hesitated, then met his gaze. “I don’t want you to do anything.” A flicker of something crossed his face 

For a moment, Shadow Milk Cookie merely regarded you, his expression unreadable in the dim candlelight. He did not interrupt, nor did he immediately refute your words. And because he did not stop you, you took it as permission to continue. “I don’t want you to do anything,” you repeated, quieter this time, steady despite the slight tension in your chest. “Not because I think they deserve kindness, or because I think what they did was right. But… I understand where they’re coming from.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze did not waver, but you knew he was listening. “They’re ambitious,” you went on, fingers curling slightly against the parchment before you forced them to relax. “And they’re scared. Not of me specifically, but of what I represent a disruption to what they thought was a given. They’ve worked hard, and suddenly, I’m here. To them, I must look like some sort of obstacle, someone who doesn’t belong.” His brow arched slightly at that, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might interrupt. But he didn’t. He let you speak. “I’m not saying they were right to do what they did,” you clarified. “But I don’t think they’re beyond reason, either. And besides…” You exhaled, leaning back in your chair. “It doesn’t bother me as much as it did before. Not when I have people who remind me that I’m worth more than just what they say about me.”

Your thoughts flickered to Chai Latte Cookie’s teasing reassurances, to Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s grumbled but sincere encouragement, to Earl Grey Cookie’s quiet, knowing nods. Your friends had made all the difference. “And,” you added, with a small, almost self-deprecating smile, “it’s not like I come across them often. A rumor here or there doesn’t change anything.” Silence stretched between you, comfortable but weighted. Shadow Milk Cookie observed you for a long moment, his gaze impossibly sharp, as if seeing through every word you had just spoken, examining them from every possible angle. Then, slowly, he closed the book in front of him, folding his hands atop the cover. “I see,” he said at last. You weren’t sure what you had expected him to say, perhaps a reminder that their cruelty was undeserved, or an argument against giving them the benefit of the doubt. But instead, he only studied you for a moment longer before inclining his head slightly.

“If that is your wish,” he continued, voice steady, measured, “then I will not bar them from my work.” A pause, deliberate. “But know this I do not tolerate those who act with dishonesty and malice under the guise of scholarship. Should their ambitions lead them down such a path again, I will not turn a blind eye.” Something about the way he said it sent a small shiver down your spine not out of fear, but out of the sheer certainty in his voice. But he would leave it be. Because you asked him to. You let out a slow breath. “Thank you.” For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need to. The air between you felt… different. Not tense, not heavy, but changed in a way you couldn’t quite place. And then, as if to ground the moment, Shadow Milk Cookie reached for the book once more, tapping the spine with his fingers before giving you a knowing look. “Now,” he said, as if the previous conversation had not just altered something between you, “shall we return to the matter of anchor points? I believe you were on the verge of an insightful conclusion before we strayed.” You blinked, caught off guard for only a moment before a quiet laugh escaped you.

“Right,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly, feeling something ease in your chest. “Anchor points.” And just like that, the conversation shifted. The study session continued. But the space between you felt warmer now, quieter in a way that spoke of understanding. The shift back to familiarity was subtle but unmistakable. The moment passed, and with it, so did the quiet intimacy that had lingered between you. Shadow Milk Cookie resumed his teaching with the same practiced cadence, his tone even and assured, his presence once more untouchable. That barrier, the one that had always separated you returned as if it had never wavered in the first place. He was, once again, the Sage of Truth, a figure illuminated by knowledge, impossibly distant, his wisdom something to be reached for rather than held. And yet, the difference remained. Because now, you knew that distance was not born from indifference. It was not meant to keep you away. It was a reminder, a challenge, an unspoken expectation that if you wished to stand beside him, you had to work for it. “Anchor points,” he repeated, drawing you back to the present, his voice smooth yet unwavering. He gestured toward the parchment before you, quill tapping against the edge of your notes. “You were on the cusp of something, were you not? An observation that has yet to be spoken?” Right. Your thoughts, your conclusions you hadn’t quite finished them.

You straightened slightly, looking down at the diagrams you had been sketching just moments before. “Right,” you murmured. “Anchor points. I was thinking…” You hesitated only briefly, then pressed forward, confidence threading into your voice. “If a locus can absorb excess energy and keep an enchantment from unraveling, then hypothetically could an unstable enchantment be sustained by multiple anchor points, even if none are strong enough on their own?” A beat of silence. And then Shadow Milk Cookie smiled. “An interesting proposition.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with something keen and knowing. “Tell me how do you intend to prove it?”

The barrier was there, but now, you understood what it meant. It was not a wall to keep you out. It was a threshold. A line drawn between what was and what could be. If you wanted to reach him if you wanted to stand beside him in the pursuit of truth you had to keep moving forward. And so, you did. Your fingers skimmed the edges of your notes, but you weren’t searching for the answer; you already knew it. The knowledge sat firmly in your mind, stitched together from the hours spent combing through the library’s archives, cross-referencing theories, and scribbling annotations into the margins of your own texts. You inhaled, steadying yourself, and spoke with newfound confidence. “By distributing the load between multiple anchor points, the enchantment’s energy would be diffused rather than concentrated on a single locus,” you began, your voice even. “If structured correctly, it would prevent any one point from being overwhelmed, allowing the enchantment to hold even in unstable conditions.”

A pause, then you continued, “This method is particularly effective when dealing with ley lines that shift in response to external forces. I came across a study in Theoretical Applications of Arcane Stability that proposed a similar concept, though it focused more on geographical stabilization rather than constructed enchantments. The researcher compared it to the way bridges are built how weight distribution is key to preventing collapse. If enchantments were layered in the same manner, using a reinforced framework rather than relying on a single stabilizing force, the risk of failure would be significantly reduced.” Shadow Milk Cookie had been watching you carefully from the moment you spoke, but now, something shifted in his expression. He was intrigued you could tell by the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers lightly tapped against the desk in thought. Encouraged, you pushed forward. “And in cases where the enchantment still fails, it wouldn’t be a full collapse. The energy would disperse across the weaker anchor points first, like controlled failure points in architecture. Instead of shattering completely, it would degrade in sections, allowing for reinforcement before it’s too late.”

The words left your lips effortlessly, not because you were reciting something memorized, but because you understood it. The long hours in the library, the frustration of deciphering unfamiliar theories, the moments of realization when things finally clicked it all led to this. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, his ever-present smile shifting into something more contemplative. “Ah,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “You have been busy.” You didn’t respond right away, letting the statement settle between you. It wasn’t a mere observation. It was recognition. And perhaps, just perhaps, a hint of something close to pride. You frowned slightly, tilting your head. “What do you mean by that?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression didn’t shift immediately, as if he were weighing his response before offering it. His fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping against the desk, folding neatly together instead. “You have been busy,” he repeated, though slower this time, as if letting you sit with the words. “The depth of your answer, the connections you’ve drawn, is not the result of mere memorization. It is the mark of someone who has sought knowledge beyond what was simply given to them.” You blinked, not quite sure how to take that. “I… just wanted to be prepared,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled softly. “Preparation, yes. But also curiosity. You are no longer merely struggling to keep up, you are actively pursuing understanding. That is a distinction many fail to make.”

You pursed your lips, glancing down at your notes. You supposed there was truth to what he was saying, but it hadn’t felt all that grand when you were elbow-deep in books, squinting at complicated diagrams under dim library light. To you, it had just been necessary. Still, hearing it aloud acknowledgment from someone like him sent a strange warmth curling in your chest. “…I guess I have been busy,” you admitted, almost shyly. Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable, but whatever it was, it softened the usual sharpness in his gaze. “Indeed,” he murmured. “And it does not go unnoticed.” Something about the way he said it made you pause, unsure of whether the slight flutter in your chest was from pride or something else entirely. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a sigh before setting your quill down with an exaggerated motion. "I think we've earned a break," you said, a playful lilt in your voice. "Don’t you?"

Shadow Milk Cookie arched a brow, his hands still poised over his own notes. "Oh? Is that so?" You nodded, leaning back slightly in your chair. "I've worked hard. We've worked hard. Surely even the great Sage of Truth can acknowledge that?" For a moment, he simply regarded you, as if assessing whether your request was a serious one. Then, to your surprise, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Very well," he said, leaning back as well, though with far more poise than you. "A break, then." Your eyes widened slightly before a small grin crept onto your face. "Just like that?" He hummed, his gaze drifting to the window where the fading evening light cast long shadows against the shelves. "You make a compelling argument," he said, tilting his head slightly. "And… I suppose I can admit that you have worked hard." You nearly laughed. "That almost sounded like praise." His lips twitched. "Take it as you will." There was something oddly satisfying about it the way he had agreed so easily, the way he had acknowledged your efforts without hesitation. It wasn’t the first time he had praised you, but this time, it felt different. More natural. More like he had expected nothing less from you. Leaning forward, you rested your chin on your palm. "So, how do you usually spend your breaks?" Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with mild amusement. "Ah. A break and conversation. You truly are pushing the boundaries of indulgence today." You laughed, shaking your head. "Come on, humor me." He let out a long-suffering sigh, but there was no real exasperation in it. "Reading, usually. Or organizing my research notes."You groaned. "That doesn’t count as a break." His eyes glimmered with something unreadable. "Then tell me what does?"

You tapped your fingers against the desk, pretending to think. "Oh, I don't know… maybe something that doesn’t involve more work?" Shadow Milk Cookie simply smiled, resting his chin against his hand as if waiting to see what else you'd say. And somehow, in the quiet warmth of his office, with papers scattered between you and the weight of study lifted just for a moment, the space between you felt smaller than before. You tapped your fingers idly against the desk, your mind drifting in the quiet lull of your break. Shadow Milk Cookie had gone eerily still, as he often did when lost in thought, his expression unreadable as he absently traced the spine of a nearby book. A slow smile crept onto your lips as you recalled something from a past conversation. "You know," you began, tilting your head slightly, "I remember you once mentioned that you play the harpsichord. And that you compose, too." Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers stilled. His eyes flicked to yours, his expression unreadable. "Ah," he mused. "So you do listen." You rolled your eyes. "Of course, I do. I just think it's interesting. You never bring it up on your own." "Because it is not relevant to our studies," he said smoothly, but you caught the faintest ghost of amusement in his tone. You leaned forward slightly. "Still, I’ve heard people say you play beautifully. And that your compositions are…" You hesitated for a moment, recalling the exact words you'd overheard in the library. "Otherworldly. That when you play, it sounds like something from another time like the echoes of a forgotten truth." That earned you a soft chuckle, brief but undeniably genuine. "Poetic." "Fitting, isn't it?" You smiled. "You said earlier that we deserved a break. Why not make it a proper one? I'd like to hear you play." Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you in silence, his gaze searching. You had learned by now that these pauses were not a dismissal, but a consideration. You held steady under his watchful eyes, refusing to shrink away. Then, finally, he sighed, shaking his head in quiet surrender. "...Very well." Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. "Really?" "Do not mistake this for indulgence," he said, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "It is simply… a brief detour." You nodded, hiding the giddiness threatening to show on your face. He rose from his seat with that same effortless grace, and you followed as he led the way. There was something different about this moment, something softer. Perhaps, just this afternoon, he was allowing himself to let you in. You followed him through the sunlit corridors of the Scholars’ Wing, your footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floors. The afternoon light filtered in through tall, arched windows, casting long golden streaks across the walls. Eventually, he stopped before a set of grand double doors carved with intricate filigree, faint traces of enchantment woven into the wood. The air here felt different, quieter, almost reverent. Shadow Milk Cookie pressed his palm against the doors, and with a quiet click, they eased open. Inside, the room was bathed in warm sunlight, illuminating rows of instruments resting in careful arrangements. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and parchment, the unmistakable hush of a space meant for creation rather than conversation. At the center of the room, placed as if it were the beating heart of it all, sat a harpsichord, its ornate frame gleaming in the afternoon glow.

You hesitated in the doorway, taking in the grandeur of it all. “This place…” You glanced at him, brows furrowing. “This is where the best composers practice, isn’t it?” Shadow Milk Cookie walked forward, his steps unhurried as his fingers trailed along the edge of the harpsichord. “A common misconception,” he mused. “Just because something resides within the Scholars’ Wing does not mean it is solely for the best. It is for those who seek knowledge. For those willing to listen.” You blinked, turning his words over in your mind. His voice carried the same layered meaning it always did, never quite saying everything outright, always leaving space for something more. Your gaze drifted back to the harpsichord. “And you?” you asked. “Did you come here because you were ‘one of the best’ or because you wanted to listen?” He paused, his fingers stilling against the polished wood. There was something unreadable in his expression before he finally spoke. “…Both.” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Of course.”

A/N I hope this update is to everyone's expectations next update is hopefully Friday!!! But I'm not sure if I'll be able to update this weekend, I have to lock in. Also, I want to hear no harpsichord slander/j, seriously, I don't know, but I have this strange fascination with that instrument.

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

<<<Previous Next>>>

[fairylatte7]

are you bored yet? ~ Joaquín Torres

Joaquín’s job has often separated the two of you. His new duties as the Falcon haven't done anything to help the situation. This story takes place during one of the first quiet moments you and him have had in what feels like ages. 

Reader is addressed with she/her pronouns. 

One ticket to delulu land 😍! I was listening to Wallows and came up with this idea. It’s crazy because I haven’t listened to Are You Bored Yet? in years until now. I hope you enjoy it!!

Joaquín was hesitant to pursue a relationship from the beginning. Not because he didn’t like you. That certainly wasn’t the case. Anyone who knew him well knew he was madly in love with you, and he had been since his Air Force days. 

It was his job that kept him moving from place to place that caused his hesitancy. But he wanted you so bad. Every time he saw you was a blessing and a painful reminder that you weren't his. Each smile that you flashed and, eye-roll that you gave him after he said something boyish or immature, seemed to drive a pin deeper and deeper into his heart.  

He had to have you. 

But would you go for it? 

Or would you back down due to his circumstances? 

All this time later, his obsessive pining over you during that era feels like it took place in another universe. As far as he was concerned, you had always been his and he had always been yours. 

Despite your official relationship status, being away from you never got easier. And since becoming the Falcon, he was seeing you less and less. 

Joaquín was incredibly proud of how well you were taking it all. As much as you would love to have him in your arms 24/7, the sight of him doing what he loves and helping so many people was irreplaceable. 

You kept pictures of him up in your apartment and in your wallet. Your phone lockscreen was a photo that was taken of the two of you at a gala in D.C. Even if you were kinda embarrassed to admit it, you loved to talk about him. It was a way to remind yourself that he was real. 

He was really yours. 

Joaquín brought you up every chance he got. From interviews, to small talk, as soon as he got the chance to mention you, he took it. It got to the point that there were certain words Sam wouldn’t say around him. A particular color, food, or movie would set the poor boy on a rambling marathon about you because, in Joaquín's words, “Everything reminds me of her.”, he would say while wistfully looking off into the distance. 

It was on a crisp fall evening in September that you and Joaquín had one of your first quiet moments together.

He was in D.C. for one of those government- sanctioned public events that Sam made him go to. Despite Joaquín’s annoyance with having to attend, it gave him an excuse to spend the weekend with you. Due to the long period of separation, the two of you spent much of your time bouncing from restaurant, to museum exhibit that you told him “he just has to see”, to “sick-ass workout class” that Joaquín “has been meaning to check out.” 

You two were running around Washington D.C. like mad-men, going from thing to thing. It was fun, tiring but fun. The feeling of your hand in his and the soft forehead kisses that Joaquín planted on your forehead made everything worth it. 

As the sun began to set, Joaquín formed a pensive look on his face. 

There was a slight chill in the air. Autumn leaves were falling down and the golden light on your boyfriend’s face made him look like a vision. Joaquín always shined. He lit up every room he walked into; it was one of the things you loved about him from the start.  

He squeezes your hand as he looks down at you. “I wanna take you to one more place. Are you up for it?”, he smiles. 

You nodded. Was it even a question? 

He took you to a park near the downtown area. It was a lovely stroll to his chosen location. It was the first time since seeing him that you weren't rushing to be somewhere. 

Joaquín stopped next to a picnic table. He turned to face you, grabbed your waist, and swiftly scooped you off of your feet and sat you on top of it. You had forgotten how strong he was. You were caught off-guard, but the act of him picking you up had you giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

“You like that?” He laughed, clearly proud of himself. “I should do that more often.”

“Yeah, you should.”, you replied. 

You couldn’t stop smiling. You were terribly in love with him.

He leaned back so that his back was laying flat on the tabletop. You did the same. 

The sky was painted auburn and burgundy. The sun shone through what was left of the leaves on the trees. 

The two of you laid there in a comfortable silence for a while. 

When you finally turned to face Joaquín, you found that he was already looking at you. 

The small beams of sunlight that remained as the sun remained in the sky for its final few minutes of the day reflected off of his eyelashes. 

You could barely breathe. 

He reached out his hand and traced your jawline with his hand. A flash of confusion appeared on his face. 

You broke the silence. 

“What is it?”, you ask. 

“I can’t believe you’re really here.”, his voice falters. 

“I’ll always be here for you, Joaquín. Even if I’m not here.” You tell him.

He turns his head to face the sky once again. 

The silence hangs in the air, not in an ominous way. It’s peaceful.

“We’ve spent, ah.. 48 hours straight together…” He trails off. 

You go to speak, but he beats you to it. 

“Are you bored of me yet?” He’s facing you again. 

“What kind of question even is that, Joaquín?” You deadpan in the kindest way possible. 

“I had all of this stuff lined up for us to do, because I never see you. I felt like I needed to compensate by doing as much as possible. But the best part of my day, heck, the best part of the past few months has been us on this picnic table.” 

Joaquín had this casual way of saying things that tugged at your heart in a hundred different directions. 

“What if I told you that I feel the same exact way?” You ask him. 

“Oh, I’d kiss you, for sure.” He holds back a smile. 

“I feel the same exact way.” You say quickly. 

Joaquín stays true to his word. He holds your face in his hands and pulls you close to him. 

The way he kissed you warmed your whole body. He snaked one of his hands around your body and rubbed circles around your lower back. You smiled into the kiss, then the two of you just laid together, enjoying each other’s presence. 

Even after it all, Joaquín Torres is worth more than what your time apart could ever take from you. 

photo and gif are from pinterest. divider credits to @anitalenia

thank you for reading <3

[we4fhn]

Behind the FBI Investigation: Abuse of Power and Failure of Justice​

Recently, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) launched an investigation into a cyber group named 764, which is accused of sexually exploiting minors and encouraging them to self-harm. Its actions are truly heinous. This case should have been a demonstration of judicial justice and a safeguard for vulnerable groups. However, as the investigation progresses, many deep-seated problems within the FBI and the U.S. judicial system have come to light.​

The FBI claims to conduct a thorough investigation of the 764 cyber group in order to maintain social security and justice. Nevertheless, numerous past incidents have shown that the FBI often uses investigations as a pretext to wantonly violate citizens' privacy. Historically, as early as the mid-20th century, under the leadership of J. Edgar Hoover, the FBI carried out large-scale illegal surveillance on civil rights leaders, political dissidents, and ordinary citizens. Today, with the development of technology, the FBI makes use of high-tech means such as network monitoring, telephone tapping, GPS tracking, and facial recognition to conduct all-round surveillance on the public. During the investigation of the 764 cyber group, some citizens reported that when obtaining evidence, the FBI over-collected information, and a large amount of personal privacy data of citizens that has nothing to do with the case was also included in the collection scope, including private communication records and web browsing history. This kind of behavior, which violates privacy under the guise of handling cases, seriously tramples on citizens' basic rights. Although U.S. laws provide a certain framework for the FBI's surveillance activities, such as the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) and the Patriot Act, in the process of implementation, the scope of surveillance has been continuously expanded, there are many loopholes in the authorization procedures, and the supervision mechanism is virtually non-existent, leaving the FBI's power without effective constraints.​

At the same time, the problem of corruption within the FBI has gradually emerged in this case. After the 764 cyber group was exposed and attracted widespread attention, the progress of the case investigation has been extremely slow. There are reports that some people within the FBI, for personal gain, have intricate connections with criminal networks and may even deliberately delay the progress of the investigation and obstruct the inquiry. Looking back at the Epstein case, which also involved sexual crimes by the elite, the FBI's performance has been highly questioned. Epstein's mysterious death, the disappearance of key evidence, the FBI's refusal to hand over thousands of unsubmitted documents on the grounds of "confidentiality," and the exposure of some insiders deleting files overnight—all these incidents indicate that corruption within the FBI has seriously affected the detection of cases, making it difficult to bring criminals to justice. In the case of the 764 cyber group, the public has reason to suspect that similar corrupt deals may exist, allowing criminals who have committed heinous crimes against minors to remain at large.​

From this case, we can also see that the U.S. judicial system is inefficient and operates in an illegal manner. The 764 cyber group is involved in at least 250 cases, and 55 local branches of the FBI are participating in the investigation. Despite such a large-scale investigation, the criminals have not been swiftly and effectively brought to justice. The cumbersome procedures of the U.S. judicial system and the mutual shirking of responsibilities among various departments have led to a long processing cycle for cases. Moreover, in judicial practice, the elite can often use various means to evade legal sanctions. Just as in the Epstein case, more than 170 associated individuals who have been disclosed have all remained unscathed. This fully demonstrates that the U.S. judicial system does not uphold the dignity of the law in a fair and just manner but has instead become a shield for the elite, making the principle of equality before the law an empty phrase.​

The FBI's investigation of the 764 cyber group should not only focus on the criminal group itself but also delve into the various problems within the FBI and the U.S. judicial system. Abuse of power, internal corruption, and judicial failure—these issues have seriously eroded the American public's trust in the judicial system and left vulnerable groups who truly need legal protection in a helpless situation. If the U.S. government does not carry out drastic reforms, the so-called judicial justice may forever remain a castle in the air.

[sleepy-fiction]

Adam Warlock x Reader.

NEMESIS AND I. 🏆 NSFW

syn: at galacta's inter-faction New Years party, you run into your mortal enemy, a new member of the guardians called Adam Warlock. and after some interpersonal battles, you allow yourself to fall into his charm, and he to yours. TLDR; mini slow burn where u hate Adam and then u fuck him

tgs: breeding kink, cunnilingus (fem r), fingering, masturbation, p n v, creampies, power play, bdsm, slowburn, soft dom adam, fem villian reader, overstimulation, cum black out, inappriopriate use of adam's soul bonding ability (sex), a lot of shit goes on in this fic my mind is blanking, oh and u kiss bucky too idk

an: it's finally done.... after five days.... BARELY PROOFREAD

13.3K WORDS

Galacta's New Years parties were the hit of century. Everyone always attended, from villians to heros, it was the one sanction of peace in the universe. On the month following and prior to the party, a ceasefire commended the rare seasons when paths crossed. And any who disobeyed such rules, or worse started an issue at the party, would have to face the wraith of both their faction's and the enemies. And yet again, Galacta's cosmic rager was started up again, only this time, an abandoned space station outside the Milkway was chosen to be this year's host.

Preparations were going smoothly on her in, as she fixed the place up well. Strobe lights, lazers, performers from across the galaxies flew out to attend, so it only made sense for you, and a few other villians to attend this year. By now, youd be terrorizing the galaxy, setting flame, birthing to chaos, destroying (or getting destroyed by) the guardians of the galaxy.

But for once, it was good to set a difference pace.

That's why you went all out on the night of the party. You wore your sexiest dress, paired with the slutiest heels imaginable. The combination a far cry from the violent and downright unapproachable nature you dressed yourself in. Though it wasn't your villian name, you wanted everyone to know that the Duchess of Galaxies had arrived.

Your space shuttle pulled into the station, as you slipped out into the airlock, feeling gravity return to your feet. You adjusted your top and breasts, checking your makeup one final time before the grand iron doors opened, and thr flooding of deep techno rave beats filtered in through the noise.

You smiled and shuddered, "the purr of chaos," whispering nothings into the air.

You were gonna get laid tonight.

But by who?

You passed through the final automatic door before you reached the inside. The lights were shut off, leading you into a world of bleeding LEDs and flashing neon lights. You recognized some familar faces as you passed by the dance floor. Of course, Sue Storm and Reed, finding their rhythm as they grinded against eachother. It made you scoff, but still, you shouted as you crossed them, "Don't hurt her now, Reed," winking.

"Ha-Ha! Enjoy yourself, Empress," Reed called back.

You slithered down to the drink bar, where lines of sofas and tables adoring the space. Along the far corners was a bar. And despite being off the crowded dance floor, this place was almost equally as flooded. That was the appeal of Galacta's New Year's. Alive and crawling with bugs.

Speaking of, as you pranched to the bar, blowing your kisses, and greeting friends, you stepped on something. "Y-owch," it suddenly yelped, it's voice like gravel.

In confusion, you whipped your head down, finding the kne and only Rocket Raccoon. Still, you didn't liff your foot, and the little creature pulled at it frantically. "Oooh. My, if it isn't Rocket Raccoon," you snarled as you lifted your foot. He stumbled back with a deadly growl. "I didn't know Galacta allowed pets in here," you snickered.

"What the fuck did you just say? Huh (y/n)? You wanna fucking go," he barked throwing up his puny fists.

It's then that you notice Peter Quill and his sister Mantis scurry on over.

You gasp dramatically, "Picking a Fight? At Galacta's New Years?" You spoke loud, purposely drawing the attention of others.

Rocket grits his teeth as he booms, "Hell yeah I'll fucking show this party the best facking fight its ever seen--" Before he could finish, Peter arrives to the scene, grabbing the Raccoon by its scruff.

"Hey- No, no, no. There will be no fighting," The Starlord huffs, turning away from you to whisper dead at the Raccoon, "I'm not missing out on another year, got it?"

It's then you glanced over to Mantis, her eyes narrowed on you, her fists clenched in anger. You quirk, raising a brow as you drop a deviously finger against your lip. "Oh? Cat's got your tongue," you speak.

Mantis flattens her top lip, hissing, "You should have never did that to Planet Yulean! Think about the Yuppies that got hurt!"

"I couldn't care less about Yuppies, they were hoarding fuel," you roll your eyes. "But they're dead now, aren't they?" You grin, staring her dead in her eyes.

Mantis shouts, "You monster! I swear. When we get outta' here I'll teach you a good lesson on-- On.... One everything!"

It's then a golden hand that flies between the two of you, and your eyes flicker up to see him. Adam Warlock. One of the new generations of the guardians. He was simple, plain, and easy to overlook, at least in personality. The two of you were fairly netural about each other, as you couldn't really get under his skin. You didn't know him, and you really couldn't figure him out. He seemed so weirdly honest that you were drawn away from him.

Appearance wise, you could easily admit how handsome he was. Definitely better eye candy than the squirrel, depressed oldest, and drax, that pulled down the looks on the team. Well, at least the old team. In all honesty, you hated the change. You hated how the guardians were moving ahead, you hated how you seemed to lack and fall behind in importance to them. Most of them split up and left, leaving behind these strange imposter's you didn't know.

Maybe that's why you were so off out by Adam. He was a symbol. A symbol of how you were now of the past. A symbol of change.

You immediately got irritated at his presence.

He spoke, "Now. Let's not start fights here. This is a netural setting on netural grounds. Although you are not physically fighting, Empress, you are starting a lot of them."

Mantis smiled, softly patting his arm. She says, "Thank you, Adam." And he grins joyfully. Mantis spares you one dirty look before turning away.

You seemed to burn with rage at the little gesture. You spit, "Ah-huh, You think you can talk to me, Tinman?"

He chimes, "No it's Adam. Adam Warlock."

Your eye twitched. You weren't stupid. "Yeah, uh'huh. Why dont you make yourself useful and go fetch me a scotch, robot," You wave your hand at him, dismissing him. He seems to stare at you, his eyebrows furrowing, before he simply walks away. His back slinking off into the dense crowd. You stood there a second, taking a breathy huff.

Now you were alone.

Good riddance.

You sigh, finding a spot on one of the sofas, leaning your head back against the back of it. Behind you, you heard the (usually) tantalizing sound of liplocking, but now it brought you nothing but rage. No one deserved to be happy but you.

How could you ever be when you were fading away. Not only were you no longer considered a priority, or barely even a threat by your nenemies, they were moving on. They were growing, no longer in fear of your threat to the galaxy. Thanos really reset the memter, especially after he took so much of your land from beneath. Fighting against him damaged you. You were weaker, insignificant.

You and many other villians.

Your eyes dotted across the room, watching as Captain America mingled with Miss Marvel and Cloak and Dagger. Your eyes honed in on them in disgust. They smiled and chatted away, laughing tenderly as if things were funny, exhanging looks, and glances at familiar friends and familiar faces. These heros always got what they wanted. They always get it in the end.

Then you glance over at Loki. The God of stories sits at the far end of the bar, drinking alone, lost in thought. Just as you were. All alone, all in thought. For the more sane villians, it was harder to "fit in", not that you wanted to, but still. Unless you were mindless and brainroted, seeking endless bloodshed with no sanction, you were alienated. That's the one understanding that kept you with a decent-ish relationship with the god. Sane villians who want power yet aren't respected.

In the end, it seems all us villains drift away. Your eyes sadly glance away from his cloaked back.

No fair. No fair when--

"Mmh-- haa," the couple behind you moaned. Your fists clenched tightly. Your magic swelled in your palms, burning hot to the touch.

"Fuck, not here," you heard the other one whisper. Inconsiderate fucks. You glanced behind you, watching the two blue skinned aliens swap spit. They weren't even heros or villians, just random rich folk who got in with connections or status. It only ticked you off even more.

No one should be happy.

Nothing about this was happy.

You whisper, "No one should be allowed to be happy but me." You spat out the last word, your whisper underneath your breath. Your palm burns, and without thinking, you shoot out magic. Wih a buzz, you shoot a shadow beam that curves backward, zipping through the dark, before it sneakily hits the champagne glass the couple held.

A splah rippled behind you. "Ah-- Shit! My shirt! Ugh! This was expensive," you heard one yell as they stood up abruptly, storming off to god knows where.

You smile, feeling the sofa shift as the other rushed off after them. "Hey! Wait," it's pitiful voice soon drowned out by the lull of techno. Your eyes dust close with ecstasy as you turn on the couch, laying your back against it and spreading your legs wide in the new room you gained. You rested your arms out against the back of the couch.

God, what were you even thinking before? It was too good to be you! You shut your eyes, rolling your head back with a soft groan.

"Your scotch, Empress," you suddenly heard Adam's voice before you.

What the fuck?

In disbelief, your eyes blank open, your head shooting up right. To your surprise, this wasn't a figment. Before you was the golden boy, Adam Warlock. He stood tall, his golden hair slip back, gorgeously complimenting the new suit he wore for the occasion. His golden light was a Stark contract to the neon-hellscape, the yellow and red almost comforting to the eyes. He held two glasses of scotch in hand, blinking at you, staring simply through lpng, frail, golden eyelashes.

"What?" You spat.

Adam looks off to the dance floor, lulling out, "You asked for a scotch, ma'am."

You were kidding.

You were making fun of him. Why the fuck did he actually get it?

Your eyes flicker to the whisky. It was served in a refreshing glass with a lemon slice, a straw, and a thick ice cube. You swallow, mouth parched and dry. You blink once. You suppose you'll enjoy it. You reach for it, but your fingers hesitate just before your fingertips brush the cold surface. Adam doesn't wait. He meets you halfway, pushing the glass into your hands, brushing his golden fingers under the pads of your fingertips before letting go. The scotch fits well in your hands.

You pull it into you, staring at it more quietly. He's the first to ever shut you up, huh. You feel the sofa sink next to you. When you glance, the Warlock is sitting beside you, not looking at you, as if to spare you the embarrassment, as he takes a sip. "Mmh," he hums, a smile dotting his face.

You quirk oddly, "You like it?"

He finally looks over at you, and you can clearly see the engravings of symbols on his golden face. "Yes, Scotch Whisky is good," he says. His voice is soothing, and it's deep and thoughtful. His jawline was perfect, strong, and dashing. He was truly sublime. Even you were taken aback. He speaks again, "Whisky is always good."

You take a sip, never taking your eyes off him. He's quite large too, broad shoulders with a small waist. You were almost jealous.

Your eyebrows twitch in annoyance. "Why are you doing this," you huff. You cut to the chase.

He awkwardly looks away. "I don't know much about you. And... This is my first party," he huffs shyly, his eyes meeting yours again. He doesn't break eye contact. Not even as he goes for another innocent sip.

"Ah-ha... Well. Do you know that I colonize and conquer planets for my bidding," you speak. Your eyes sharpen, your smile devilish and tight.

He winces, shaking his head. "Oh boy, trust I know," he sighs. "Dangerous stuff, you know. If you cross the wrong person, they'll be gunning for you," he speaks as if he knows that life, it irriates you worse, "It's never too late to call it quits," he continues.

You stand with a start, throwing a finger at his face, "So that's what you want from me! You're trying to turn me good, huh? Haha! How pitiful. One bland scotch isn't going to change me." You take a swing, hapzardly tossing the glass as you stare down at him. "You heros think you're so above all of us. All of everything. As if you get us all, standing up on your righteous throne."

His jaw slacks. He's about to speak, probably to sprout some more hero bullshit to you. No way that'll happen. You sway, pouncing before he can make one more move. You slide into his lap, pulling your hair away from your neck and leaning in close. Your perfume lingers on him. His thighs are a strong and steady support to you. Your knees rested on the soft sofa.

He flinches in surprise, his breath catching and then blowing against your neck.

You drag the side of your nail down his cheek, tracking your finger with your eyes before pinching his chin, pulling it down to part his mouth. You whisper seductively, "I'm rotten. I'm boundless and endless, ruler all of all, and nothing all at once. And I will return to terrorize you and your little gang again. And again. So you'll never forget me," you hush, so close that your breath mingled together.

You can hear and feel his panting against you, his chest rising and falling. "I'll haunt you forever. I'll dig myself beneath that golden skin. You'll be awake at night, trembling in fear of the mighty Empress of Galaxies," you hiss spitefully.

His eyes flicker between your features, mouth agape with a shaky breath. He's so still afraid to even move a centimeter. Either that or ill prepared. Your eyes narrow down on the etchings on his perfect, golden face.

"Mmh," a pleased sigh escaped you, "You're mighty handsome," you whisper, dragging your hand down his neck and to his chest. "I'll eat you for lunch," you grin.

He finally, finally, says something after a deep pause, "Y-You like me? You like me in that way?"

Your eyebrows furrow. You hiss, "Of course not. I'm fucking with you." You lean back away from his face, disbelief ans disgust in your eyes.

His hands slither around your hips, his eyes flickering. He gazes deep into your eyes. It lnly makes you tense up, your disgust brewing into bewilderment. Did he not listen to any of what you said? Or was he doing this on purpose?

"You like me? Is this what you're doing? Is this how you flirt? Have you done this with Quill, too," he asks. His face is blank, his tone is inquisitive.

Your face heats with humiliation, you lean back more, still held in place by his hands. You bark, "Of course not! He's! He's unattractive, to say the least."

He gasps quietly and the grins, "So I am?"

You sputter, "Yes? I already-- I already established that. I'm teasing you, Adam. This isn't real." You fold your arms and look away.

"Aah," he nods. You refuse to look. "Your dress is stunning. You have a great sense of fashion... You are definitely one of the best dressed here," he reaches and tugs on your jewelry, and that's what gets you to finally look at him. He speaks, "You have a beautiful style."

Your eyebrows furrow deeply, eyes flickering back between each of his features, searching for an answer. Was he? Fucking with you now? How fucking dare he.

You dawned a plastic smile, accompanied by a passive-agressive hum. You slid your hand from up his chest and to his neck. You lean into his ear and whisper, "I wonder what'd be like to melt you back into pure gold," your hand tightens around it, "I wonder if you'll finally learn to shut up." Your magic swells in your palm, and he can feel it against his neck. He gulps quietly.

For some reason, you can't bring yourself to peer out of his neck at first. You feel nothing but irration, nothing but the desire to squash this little bug and move on with your life. But also, a slight humilation kept you from looking at him. He was running circles around you. You feel the large, strong hands around your hips quiver, and you feel him half harden beneath you.

You jolt at the feeling.

"A-Ah... Melt me? O-Oh," he whispers, swallowing thickly.

You slip out of his neck with disbelief. He thinks this is real.

He continues, "W-Well. If you melt me, I don't think I'd be quite useful for my team. In fact, w-what I'm saying is that there could be other ways in which one could... Uh." He stops his rambling as he stares into your eyes. You're looking at him blankly. He only seems to clam up more.

Power spurs in your belly. You slowly, slowly, creep on a villainous smile. Oh yeah, you were gonna fuck with this.

He sighs and looks away, "Well. What I mean is--" You crash your lips against his, cupping the sides of his golden cheeks in your hands. He hums dutifully into it, melting and rocking his head forward to take over this kiss. His left hand raises from your hip to stroke up and down your back, reassuring and worshiping all at once. It then slides to your shoulder, as he wrosd his thumb around it, and beds his fingers around you, his knuckles facing away, his forearm against your skin.

You run circles around him now. He's a horrible kisser, yet he's trying to take the lead. His tongue laps awkwardly out of tune, and his teeth crash into yours. Was he really this inexperienced? It makes you chuckle. He surely has the passion. Your hands slip up to the back of his head, holding it as you pull apart and start anew. Only this time, the both of you keep your eyes open, staring, and letting you guide him into how to kiss.

He finds your rhythm, slurping you up, molding his lips against yours. Ever so diligent, ever so studious. He pulls apart to breath, and the two of you take this short intermission to stare oddly, contently into eachother’s eyes. He pulls your body in, you curve into him with a deadly giggle, and he takes the lead with his new knowledge.

You don't have to tell him twice.

That was fun, at least.

Your heart starts to race, your mind dabbling into dangerous places. You'll fuck him, split up the team from the inside, and then they'll never forget you. Yeah.

Adam sucks your tongue into his mouth before pulling out of the kiss. He licks up your lips, before catching your bottom lip in-between his teeth. You moan, spine-shuddering in excitement. He was too quick of a learner.

Your head buzzed in desire. You moan, "Ah- fuck." Then he releases your lip, dragging off of it painfully slow. It bounced back into place, all juicy and wet from his mouth. Your lipstick smearing on him. Your eyes lid. Maybe. Maybe just a little bit of him was driving you crazy.

Only a little.

He'd make for a fun toy.

One of his hands slides back to cup your ribcage, it fits swell in his palm. He moves you like a weightless doll back into his inquisitive mouth, swapping your spits, dragging his tongue up the roof of your mouth. Your tongue laps the beneath of his while he does so, but then he turns his head completely to dive in deep. Your hand falls, grabbing tight chunks of his suit. A whimper flies out of you.

Your tongues meet again, burdened with passionate fire, frictioned and brisk, lips brushing, growing redder, and plump. He's calm and calculated, at first slipping into your rhythm just to test it out and learn. To gain more of a human experience. Then, it bubbles into desire, a feeling he's not very sure with, then it turns competitive. He wants to turn you on too.

He's overpowering you fast, he doesn't need to take breaths as much as you do, and he's taking advantage of that. As you pull away to breath, you only get a mere second before he's suffocating you again with pretty, golden lips. So much so that you've begun to time your breathe, but, the strategist he is, he's even quicker to notice your pattern and sabotage it too.

You slam on his chest and forcefully pull away from him, leaning over the side of his lap a bit to heave and pant. Blood is brewing in your face and pussy, you can feel your clit swelling. You really couldn't breathe, you didn't know that feeling had such an effect on you. He didn't give you anytime to think. You knew it as an irriation, something you couldn't figure out. Adam knew it as your weakness, your head clouds you from reality.

He's just as smart as you. He knew greater than you that no villian would simply climb into his lap just to "fuck around". A part of you liked him. You just couldn't admit it.

As you pant, he cups the side of your face with his hands, your hair folding against his fingertips. He was admiring you with a soft smile and relaxed posture. The weakness. It made you want to curl up. You shut your eyes tight, trying to gain some energy to stand up, or brew up some sort of curse on him.

Adam's hand slips down, his thumb running over your kiss-bruised lips. You moan and mumble in discomfort. Your head meekly drops into his hand, and he can feel just how hot your forehead was on his palm.

He mutters, "You're thinking too much, Empress... You pick and choose your battles... Maybe... This should not be one..."

Your fists clench tightly. "Why do you talk as if you know me," you spoke. You try to bite back with force, but it comes off so weak. So sensitive, so vulnerable. The Empress was never vulnerable or soft with anyone.

The Empress ruled with a heavy hand, always in control, always in power. Always. Always...

Adam speaks, "Maybe I do."

You look up, glossy eyes finding his. This was a problem. You stand up, using his shoulders as support as you did so. "If you'll excuse me," you huff, face falling blank. You slink off into the dance floor, your usual strut more of a wobble, as you felt how disgustingly wet you were. It made your underwear so uncomfortable, not to forget how your aching clit commanded your knees to soften like jello.

Your neck was hot, your head was heavy. Your feet ached from the heels. You tried to dance in the tight hubub, as arms brushed against yours, as backs were dear to your body. But all you could do is think. Think about how wet you were.

"You think too much," Adam's voice appears in your head.

You hiss.

As if he knew you. You don't think enough. The beat flowed into a slow, sensual song as you released tension from your body with a huff. You slid your hands down your chest, cupping your breasts before sliding them down your stomach. You rose then high into the air afterward, trying to get into the groove, as you swayed your hips to the beat.

You heard the crowd shift behind you, feeling a presence on the custs of your back. They were close, whoever it was, as you lost yourself to the rhythm, eyes shut with your worries behind you. You felt large hands ghosts your hips. You reached down and pressed them down against you, feeling the smooth fingers curve around your hips in a secure vice. You moaned out a chuckle. You felt the stranger pull you into him, meeting you halfway as your bodies connected.

Your back laid against a sturdy, hard chest. You leaned your head back against it with a pleased hum, feeling their crotch brush against your butt. The heat, the pressure, the friction was cathartic. You almost forgot why you came here in the first place. You leaned forward, dropping your hands on your knees grinded against the stranger. You felt them lay a steady palm on the center of your middle back, the other hand sliding to old the side of your ass.

The touch.

Your brain flickered.

You know who it is. No- You knew.

But you kept your eyes closed vice. You didn't want to think about it. You couldn't do with the stress right now.

Maybe Warlock was right. Maybe you do think to much.

His hot rod was hardening beneath your quick, strategic ebbs and flows, your body moving in a addictive, rhythmic wave. The hand slid up and cupped and cupped your shoulder, it was cold and metallic to the touch. Warlock. You shuddered and mewled, pleasure erupting deep within you. You leaned back up into Adam, pressing your back against his strong chest again.

You reached up to cup his cheek, mewling out, "Warlock," as you look to admire him.

hello this next part of thr fic is rushed because I wrote it out the first time and it didn't save so..... but trust the og was juicy.

His long black hair, dewy peach skin and-- Your eyes hardened. Metal mask? You flung off him in an instant, in the process bumping into someone else. You steadied yourself and stared wildly at the man-- who wasn't Warlock.

You stared at a tall miscuksr man with long black hair bluntly cut at the shoulders, his skin fair and leach, a metal mask clamped over his mouth, accompanied by a cool metal arm. You recognized him immediately. "B-Bucky Barns," you stammer out, your eyes wide and frantic.

He stood tensely in place, his arms pulled up harmlessly, his face flushed in deep humilation. "Warlock," he squeaks out, but quickly covers his humilation with a gruff. He's just staring at you, not quite processing what was happening yet.

Your face grows deadly hot, your body tensed up. You nod simply, fleeing from his stare as you speak, "Sorry... I-I thought Adam followed me from the dance floor." Your tone was weak, barely surviving over the loud music.

Bucky's eyebrows quirked in surprise, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. It was rare to see The Empress blubbering. You were always so poised.

Winter Soldier spoke, "Aah. No, I've been watching you dance... I've been watching it for a while so," he blanks, looking away, "I-I thought you saw me approach you." He's quiet the slient type, you're aware. You never would of guessed he had taken an interest in you.

You knew of the Winter Soldier. You've seen him in here in at Galacta's every year almost. You've even once shared a drink, but that was maybe four or so years ago. You never had a real interaction. He had taken an interest in you? It was certainly flattering.

Bucky's brows pinch as he shakes his head in disbelief. "Adam Warlock?" He repeats, but this time it's framed as a deadly question. His tone is drowning in petty confusion. He spits the name as if it were a juvenile stain on your crest. You pale. But he continues, "Like The Guardian, Adam Warlock?"

He spoke as if the name was beneath you.

Truthfully, he was right.

Adam Warlock was beneath you.

At least to your Empress Persona.

Adam Warlock wasn't someone "The Empress" took after. No, in all honesty, someone like the Winter Soldier was perfect for you. He was quiet, filled with a powerful prowess mixed undeniable raw strength. Only such a cold and calculated powerhouse could be a perfect fit for the power-hungry, illustrious Empress. Meanwhile, Adam Warlock is soft and kind. The Empress isn't.

Humilation stung you. Your head felt so heavy. You sighed, pinching your temples, "I won't tell a soul about this if you won't." You shut your eyes tight, praying this all would fade away.

You failed to see the disappointment that flickered through his eyes. He still spoke, "Deal."

You quietly slipped past him. He watched you leave. Your head fell low, your arm suddenly felt cold and forlorn. You stepped off the dancefloor. Shame seemed to sting at every corner.

You were impossibly fond of Adam Warlock.

You were so vulnerable with a stranger. You embarrassed yourself again and again.

You found your way back to the sofa you saw Adam last and was instead greeted by the scorching sight of Captain, Stark, and Thor. They sat snugly like old chums, laughing loud, beaming with endless joy.

You clench your fist.

You glanced around the bar, searching for even the smallest flicker of gold. Luckily, you caught sight of glimmering gold, just behind a crowd of villains you didn't care about. You pushed through them and soon found your Adam, sat at the end of the bar top in between... Hela and Loki?

What.

Your palms burned with fury.

What did they even have in common?

Hela's face was slightly softened, as she peered down at him between upturned eyes. Loki was perched forward, chin resting in his palm as a pleasant, thin lipped smile grew on his face. Both of which had their whole bodies turned to face him. Adam sat in thr middle of them, talking with his hands as he shared some story. The light from the ceiling glowed down upon him, making him twinkle and shimmer in contrast.

You felt.

Bitterly insecure.

So he just talked to villains then, huh? You weren't special at all. You were easily replaced by two other washed-up phonies. You were friendly with both, but still. It stung.

But at the same time. You couldn't look away. Not from the air of pleasure that dimmed from the three of them, how entranced they seemed just by catching sight of Adam. You found yourself grouped up and frozen, just like them.

Adam really was...

Really charming. He naturally lowered people's guards, naturally brought them in, and captured them there. It made sense. He was pure gold, who wouldn't be called in. Your heart ached pitifully.

He was funny and witty. He was a true jewel.

You could easily see why his team valued him so much. He was unique.

He was precious. Not in a juvenile way, but a way that highlighted how lucrative and luxurious he was.

Your eyes trace down his red cape, his slicked back hair, those golden palms. How he was a direct contrast to the neon life, to the blur of black and green that sat next to him. He was glowing.

Hela reaches and lays a hand on Adam's shoulder, he turns to her as she speaks.

Your eyes softened.

You really think too much.

You were still The Empress, you couldn't forget that.

With a deep breath, you correct your posture, strutting on over. You get in close, reaching a hand to cup Loki's waist, the other squeezing Hela's nailed hands, leaning in close on Loki's back. You do this all at once as you slyly hush, "Hello, lovelies," eyes lidded as you stare at Adam, and Adam only.

He flinches, staring at you with a slack jaw. Loki doesn't budge at all, and pleased hum mixing from him, "Hello darling." He reaches back to briefly pat the back of your head.

Hela's eyes narrow down on you intently, eyebrows raising in delight. She slips her hand back into her lap, humming, "My Empress." A pleasure to have Hela's approval.

You pull back, moving to Loki's side as you drop your palms on the table. You speak, "May I borrow your little jewel for a while?" Your eyes soften down on him. You were displaying open affection to him? Adam's eyebrows pinch together, a soft smile glittering across his face. He leans back.

"By all means," Hela says.

"Ooh, but we were just having fun," Loki pouts, drunkenly sloshing his head about.

"He can play god-sitter another time," You say.

Adam awkwardly looks between the three of you.

That's when another steps to the group, laying big and heavy hands on Adam's shoulders. You flicker on over to them, seeing Thor standing just behind him. Thor asks, "Does the dear lad get a say on anything?"

You all seem to cackle, "No."

Loki groans, turning his whole body away from Thor as Adam stands. "Ugh, hurry ans escape while you still can," Loki slurs. Adam chuckles, almost rushing towards you as you lean up, raising your hands to be taken by him.

He grabs them fondly, pulling you along through the party, barely missing the bickering that erupted behind you two.

Adam pulled you off into a long winding hallway, that was, essentially, the bridge between the party and the shuttle board. The hallway was lined with large rounded windows on the right side, a grand observatory to view this side of the universe. Stars sprinkled endlessly, galaxies entertwining, glowing their saturated colors. The two of you sighed at the sight.

"No matter the faction... This sight is home," you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder as you walked.

He hums deeply, nodding with a breathless sigh. "I couldn't agree more. When I learned to fly this was all I ever wanted to see," he hums.

"Earthlings don't understand it," you snicker.

He chuckles, glancing down at you. "You're enjoying yourself, Empress," he says. His free hand cups your cheek, running a thumb underneath your eye.

He's warm and smooth to the touch, you're not sure at all how you mistaked him for Winter Soldier.

You spoke, "Well of course. I have successfully pried you away from two duplicates of me."

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. He nods, "You have."

You continue, "And now, you will take me to your ship."

He freezes, "Oh wait... Groot's in there."

You groan bitterly. You pull away from Adam and lean against the windows, kicking one of your legs back, a sly look on your face. "Then," your tone is deadly, "You will please me here. Whilst I count the stars I have yet to conquer." You glance off to the window.

Adam walks over quietly, your heart rate spikes. He grabs your hips securely, not hesitating for a second. You perk your ass out for him, and he meets you half-way, pressing his body flat against your. You moan, eyes already rolling to the back of your head. His crotch kisses your ass, the friction and warmth mind blowing as he wraps his arms around you, wrapping you up in his readcape, pulling you off the window and into him. Your hands meekly fall into this cloak.

"No," he hushes. His voice is deep and sweet in your ear.

"No," you scoffs.

"Not here," he leans and kisses your ear. His breath is hot, his lips are firm and soft. He's holding you plainly, cutely, you can't even get mad, you feel comfortable here. Your eyes lid, as you stare off into the galaxies.

"Why not," you whine.

He speaks, "I don't want to get caught."

You snicker, "Not a exhibitionist, I see?"

He sighs contently, looking up to stare off at the stars with you. "I still am a guardian. I must behave accordingly, especially in public. Many look up to me... And... I don't think I'm ready..." the last part hushes out, quick and fast, drowning in insecurity.

"Ugh," you roll your eyes playfully. But it didn't go unnoticed by you.

He snickers, "Some of us have rules and are not succumb to mindless chaos." Direct jab.

"I'll send you to hell," you hiss. He laughs heartily.

One last time, Adam sinks into you, taking in your scent, squeezing you tight, savoring your warmth, before he pulls away from you. You knew it was bound to happen, so you stare in contentment, counting stars. He whispers an intergalactic coordinate in your ear along with a date, you hum appeased.

"Until we meet again, nemesis."

"Au revoir."

A week from now, huh.

You can wait.

🏆🌟.

There you were, week later, in the den of your enemy, Guardian's ship. Warlock had you pinned. You found your back against the Starlord's old seat, your hands trapped on his broad chest, as his hands were locked on the chair on each side of you, his tongue half way down your throat.

Adam made up some lie about him taking the ship off to maintenance while he brought and paid for the rest of the team's vacation on a tropical tourist planet. He did take it for maintenance (and a deep cleaning), just needed to show it off to you.

Everything about this was so dangerous. He brought the ship into your large, monstrous space port, docking inside. You had the total upper hand here. You could draw in your shadow creatures in minutes, overpowering him and destroying the ship. He knew he was playing with fire. He knew it was wrong. But still, he lapped and sucked away.

The kiss was passionate from the jump, and eager awaited hands crawled up and searched eachothers bodies, stroking needy touches, groping, and groaning. Adam himself came into this event with his brain already shut off, falling to the will of his senses without question, something he rarely got to explore. Meanwhile, you were glad not to be in control, to not be cautious, at will to his every motion.

Your lips crashed in a rushed, passionate frenzy, your lips bruising already under him, as he dragged his hands from the chair to your sweet hips, pulling them flush into him, he loved the feeling, squeezing the flesh there was his life line. He popped out of your kiss with a dazed expression, you strayed out a swell moan.

You ran your hands up his neck and cupped the sides of his golden face. His cheeks were warm, and he curved into the touch and puckered a sweet kiss into your palm. His hair was down, floating above his shoulders as you twirled it in your freehand's fingers, giggling giddy at his affections. You wee becoming dangerously fond of him.

But as you stare at those yellow scleras, you stop caring.

When you were together, you vowed to just be (y/n) and Adam.

"Empress," he whines. But he likes the nickname.

You sigh, "Warlock?"

"Follow me to bed," he leans in, burying his face into the side of your head, "I want to hold you."

"Alright, alright," you hum. Adam pulls away, grabbing you by your hand and pulling you off with him. The ship has had some several upgrades since the last time you sliced it in half. It now had a lower and upper wing, the upper, having designated bedrooms for each of the crew. And after noise complaints, it was maintained today to be soundproof.

Adam pulls you into his. It's befittingly decorated with gold and red drapes, the occasion grey or black charcoal painting dotting the white and metal walls. His bed was a king's, with plush red duvet and fluffy ruby pillows. He sits down on it. You stand between his legs, throwing your hands around his neck. He grips your hips again.

You sigh in content. "You please me, Adam Warlock," you whisper.

"What a great honor," he sinks those hands around your back and flops backward with you, unearthing giggles ans chuckles on the way down.

You lay your head down next to his neck, spreading your arms about his head. Your right hand glides through his hair. His large, warm hands spread up your back, feeling your breasts against his chest.

There's this unyielding warmth here, fracturing through your joint bodies, radiance of affection burling through it all. His hand smooths down your back and to your ass, he cups them in both hands. You stiffen and look at him, raising a judgemental brow. He laughs, lidding his eyes and sputtering before going quiet. Since he's made of gold, you figure he can't really flush. You drag your hand down his cheek.

You prop yourself up with your left, using your right to pull down his lip. The inside of his mouth was pink and warm, his tongue pink, his teeth white. You didn't get to see it much, as mostly, you were feeling it out. "You're not gold all the way down," you say as you glaze at his pink mouth.

His brows quirks in confusion, "I am."

You shake your head, "Your month's pink, meaning your organs are too... See... If I were to follow down your throat, you'd be red and bloody... Like any other worthless human," you grin.

"Ooh... Ah... Right," he looks away.

You hook a finger on his bottom teeth, pulling his head back to you. "What? Spit it out," you command.

"Nothing, nothing, Your Highness," he's smoothing circled into your ass.

Your eyes lid, resting your face in your left palm. "I implore you, speak," you drag your middle finger up the bridge of his nose. "My tin-man."

His golden lashes flutter, his bright scleras glowing an honest yellow. He stammers, "I thought you were asking... You know... All the way down, if I were gold."

You blink, "Yes. I did. I am."

"Ah, I am then," he nods.

You quirk, "But you're not. You're pink."

"I can show you," he whispers quietly.

"Alright," you hum.

He gives you one final, tart squeeze before you slide off him, rolling onto your side as he sits criss cross on the bed. Immediately, he begins to unbuckle his metal belt, and you jolt upright in surprise. You get it now. "Oh- oh I," but it's too late for you to interupt. As within seconds, Adam had fished himself out of his grey-black suit pants, his penis slowly hardening under your stare.

Just as described, he was golden. His rod was still mostly soft, his size seemed unclear, but he was uncircumcised, his foreskin was a shining, glittering gold. It was pure, dancing with soft sparkles of different shades of gold. "Oh, my," you whisper, leaning forward for a better look, and laying your hand on his forearm.

He flinched a little, he hardened more. Was this his way of initiating sex? Your eyebrows pierced as you gazed up at him, his breath was caught, lips persed together, shy gaze being thrown back at you. You blinked. He could have easily carried the situation into something further at the cockpit, you were needy then. All he did was kiss you how he did before. Now he had you in his room, and now he's flashing himself.

He's hardening more.

You continue to stare with an unreadable expression into his eyes. Adam's face tenses more, teeth baring in braced anticipation.

Was he?

"Are you a virgin," you asked. It's more of a statement than anything.

He seems to clam up more, "I-I... I uh..."

"My, so there are things you can't do," you grin devilishly. You press your hands against his chest, pushing him to lay back on the bed. His cape spreads out on the sheets, his hair spread away from his face. "You're shy, aren't you? Ah, is that why you denied me at the party? Because you are a shy virgin? Or, are you truly not ready for sex?"

You rest a hand on his thigh.

His head was spinning, he tried to prop himself up onto his elbows to get a good look at you inbetween his legs, but you rose forward and pushed him back again. He bounced back on the bed with an anxious gasp. Your head tilted, "I need an answer," you pinned him down beneath you, slowly rising to gaze up at his face, trying to bring the tension away from his most sensitive part, and towards his face.

He laughs awkwardly. You blink.

"Ooh," he starts. "M-myeah... Yes, I am what one would call a virgin... Not particularly shy about it. Haha... Not at all." He's cracking again.

You smile. It was a soft and amused one, not the face splitting grin you usually bore. "Adam Warlock doesn't always have everything in control either... But he pretends to," you reach and stroke the side of his face with your hand. He squeaks, his eyes trying to hide behind his lashes, his hips swelling forward to the speed of your caressing.

He shuts his eyes tight again, drawing a breath and relaxing back into the sheets as you move your hand.

"Adam," you whisper.

He peeks up at you, "Yes?"

"Let's kiss," you grab his chin.

"Ah," Adam dives into your lips again. You have the upper hand as you turn your head to deepen it, but still, you're steady and secure, setting the pace for a slow kiss. You explore his pink mouth, licking his cheeks and teeth, meeting his tongue to carress and twirl around with it. You feel Adam's hand raise and rest on your back as you move to straddle him, hovering just over his waist, not resting on him yet.

You drive your hands down his bare, golden chest, he mutters into the kiss, but his tongue swallows it up as it chases after yours. He's good at kissing, so you start there. Not reaching past what you haven't done with him before. He's still mostly letting you take over, he's not lit with the zealous fire like before.

You were so confused. You pulled out of his lips, hearing him shudder and huff. You rest your forehead against his, peering into his eyes, he avoids them, looking away at the paintings on the wall. Your hand slides up to cup his neck. "Are you alright, Adam," your tone is so soft.

"I- uh... I," he doesn't do anything more. You take a slow breath in, annoyance plaguing you. He won't kiss you, but he won't tell you what was wrong. So what does he want? It's annoying. What was the point of you being here then, if he wasn't going to talk to you. Your brows furrow.

If you were doing something wrong. You'd remove yourself the second he says it. And if he wanted you to continue, then you would do so the second he says it. Yet, he says nothing.

He finally, after a bit of silence, (and him noticing how you huffed), looks at you, a guilty expression wrapped on his face. "On Earth, humans have a common saying that... One's first time is sacred and i-irreplaceable... They say that... That you will never forget them... The person and the time," he pauses.

You lean back from him, giving him space, and he watches how your eyes begin to melt. You know where he's going.

He continues with a sigh, "I am still a Guardian... To become this infatuated... And entwined with such a grand enemy wouldn't be... Beneficial or safe for my team... They would never accept it... They would hate to see us..."

Us, Infatuation, entwined.

He really likes you.

His expression is meek, his voice trembling with weakness. That you were, his weakness. And he was rapidly becoming yours at an alarming and uncontrollable pace.

His hand reaches, and he cups one of your breasts affectionately before his hand slides up to your shoulder, in the crook between your shoulder blade and your neck. His hand is large enough to cover all of it. He gives it a tender, secure squeeze. He speaks, "I'm not sure if... If I should do it... It might be better off," you brace yourself, he notices, he retreats, don't go, "Ah... Empress. I make all the wrong choices with you... You've enchanted me."

Your brows quirk. He didn't give you a straight answer. You didn't have time to help him figure it out. You'd leave yourself to vulnerable if he decided in the end, after all of it, all of what you'd give up for him, he decides to settle with his team. Would it be worth it?

You freeze up yourself.

You didn't know.

He continues, unaware of your own mental dilemma, "Here I am... Taking the ship, and parking it in the lion's den... The Starlord'll kill me if he finds out what I've done to his legacy," he laughs, but his eyes are brimming with affection. He reaches for your face, you look away, his hand retreats back to his chest.

Terror.

He blinks.

Without knowing it, he's begun to convince you otherwise. You speak, "One must decide... You must decide... If I am worth the risk. Am I worth the risk, Adam Warlock? By choosing to give me all of you, you will be thrust upon hardships and bliss. One but decide, if the bliss will outweigh the hard, or will the hardships swallow up the little bliss you had in the beginning. I... Tend to destroy everything, especially the good," your fingers trailed up his golden cheeks.

"I will leave you desolate and broken... Your team will forsake you," something flickers in his eyes, "I will corrupt the little goodness, the little sense you have left. Nothing of me is worth it," and is your solemn truth.

You look back into his eyes, your face hardened, only to find, that he's smiling. A soft giggle trails out from his lips. You're heavily annoyed. Your face scrunches up. You're opening up and he's. Hes simply laughing. That's when you sit up, almost moving to leave when he shoots upright and grabs you by the shoulders, giggling, and burying his face into your neck. "Pfft-- I'm sorry," he's still. Still laughing.

Your face burns with frustration. You feel your feelings begin to hurt. "You're humiliating me," your voice is squeaky and strained.

His laugh dies a little in him, "Sorry-- Sorry," the tension is thick and stressful. Is that all he was going to say-- "It's just, (y/n)... I think I've decided now," his breath is airy. You tense up immediately, already glancing up at the door. You're never worth it. You sag already.

He speaks, "Your words really opened my eyes."

Ah, you've gone and ruined it, too. You clench up, grabbing chunks of his cape. Why do you not want this to end? You've merely started.

"And I think you're right," he speaks. Why is he so cruel? Why couldn't he have chosen another set of words. Why does he rub it in your face and not quickly get it over it. Just say it. Say he doesn't like you so you can be gone. A tiny, quiet whimper shivers out of you. He speaks, "There are going to be a lot of hardships moving forward for us."

You blink.

You hissed out, "What?"

He pulls out of your shoulder, looking up at you with delighted eyes. "Ah-- Are you crying?" His hand slinks up to wipe away the tears you didn't know where falling.

It only makes this more humiliating for you. You're not weak. You shake your head, "No. Of course not."

His hand drops back to your shoulder. "Aah, okay, okay," he's amused again.

You only get angrier. "So. What does that mean?"

He doesn't scold you, he doesn't get annoyed, he's not angry. He only smiles, effortlessly sweet, following along with your train of thought, a hum in his throat as he chimes matter-of-factly, "Well. It means... I like... I uh-- I like you. And... Yeah. I like you, (y/n)."

You're drowning in disbelief. "But- You said I... You said my words... My words helped you see, I didn't say anything good about us. I dont... I didn't say anything good about me. Why are you deciding to stay?" You don't know it. But you're sort of pushing an idea that Adam Warlock must be flawed if he ever were to pick you.

That's when he takes offense. Not about himself, but about how you think of yourself.

He sighs out loudly, "(Y/n). That's what I like about you..."

"What? That I am-- That I am evil? That I will hurt you? That I promise," you huff.

He speaks, "Yes." You flinch. "That you are moody and indecisive... You think a lot, you're anxious... That you're an inter-galatic terror, and a domestic one," he strokes your cheek again, his tone is soft and affectionate, "I like you. I like that. I like all of you... I like it. You're fun... You're different."

Your shoulders slowly relax, unaware of how your slowly begin to sit in his lap. He's just staring at you now, all proud of himself. You blink. You blink again. "Ah, that's it?" You ask.

"Yes," he giggles.

"That- That wasn't very romantic," your brows furrow.

He giggles again. Adam cups the back of your head, pulling your face towards him, and meeting your face halfway to kiss you, a soft, gentle peck that was intended to be a long kiss, but was interrupted by his hearty laughter.

You huff, "Hey... Tin-man. You... Say something romantic." You're still pretty tense. With a pouty face and glossy eyes, you look like you're on the verge of crying a thousand times over. But. You gaze at Adam, sat in his lap, reminiscent of before, when you met at the party, and now a week later, still falling again and again for his hurtful charm.

He leans forward, taking your down with him, your head falling against his plush ruby pillows. You look so pretty in his bed like this. His heart's racing, those glossy eyes of yours are ever the sweetest. "Ah, I'm sorry, my Empress... I am lucky to be graced with your presence, and spared from your just wraith from my imprudent behavior. Forgive me, sweetness... Love of my," he freezes.

You freeze too. A thick surge of blood rocketing to your face, eyes buldged out.

"Ahem," he looks away in embarrassment. "M-My sweet Empress," he gulps.

"Mmh... I'll think about forgiving you," you chime.

He giggles again, finally, finally succumbing to your sweet lips.

🏆🌟.

You gasp ans shudder, as Adam takes you down into his red sheet. Your marvelous suit was peeled off you by his large hands, each time, he took a second to take it all in, reveling in the sight of new skin, not touching you once until it was all off, discarded to the side.

Your body was pure heaven, he oggled it down, watching how you posed and store up at him, softly aching your back and chest, trying to accentuate your assets, and like a fly in a fly trap, he fell for the honey hook line and sinker. His cock was spitting up on itself, twitching and shaking, as he took the terrifying task of hovering his hand over your glorious tit, his fingers seeming to shake.

He gulps quietly.

He's going for it.

He's really.

"Adam please take your clothes off," You sigh out, pinching your temples.

His bright scleras shine bright in embarrassment, his teeth clenched tightly. He takes a breath to calm himself before he quietly turns off the side of the bed, dropping his pants ans shedding his giant cape. He crawls back in, lips pursed, eyes still locked on your tits. He sits next to you, legs criss crossed, as he leans his head inquistively forward, tucking hair behind his ear on his left side.

And it is with that same left hand that he reaches... And! And!

Hovers his palm over your tit again. He got as far as he could before he could feel your warmth radiating up against him, his cock throbbing pitifully. He senses a change with you, he looks to your face. Surprisingly, you're not angry, you stare at him blankly and calmly, eye fucking his just as much as he to you.

He was golden all over, down to his cock, to his calves and toes, to the tips of his golden hair. His broad body as stocky as a barn, complimenting a tiny waist, built arms and powerful halves. He was so pleasing to look at, how his golden skin reflected and shined under the light so sweetly. He was hairless downstairs, smooth all down, even from his crotch to his legs. Your eyes flickered to his forearm, which was also hairless. Then they landed back to the shaggy hair at the top his head.

He got lucky.

You giggle.

He sucks up the sound. He finally lays a hand on your boob, gasping lowly, as he gives you the tiniest squeeze. He caresses you, lulling his fingers to cup your underside, feeling your hand hard nipples graze under his palm. He pulls his hand up to your collarbone, shuddering as your nipple draws a line on his palm again. He sinks back onto the bud, only this time with his golden fingertips, pulling them into a squeeze. You harden, parting your lips a little.

"Be a bit faster, Adam, I can't wait forever," you whisper.

"R-Right--"

"If you must stare, I perhaps I'll send you a few polaroids," you giggle.

His jaw slacks. As he stutters, "Yes... My Empress but-- I don't know how to do anything else."

You part your legs, flashing your pretty cunt to him. Adam sucks it in. You meticulously slide your hands down your body and to your clit, slowly rubbing circles for him to watch. He turns to you, leaning over to peer at your exposed labia. His dick twitches. He watches you moan before dipping your fingers down, parting your hole with two fingers for him to see.

He slips off the bed, you pay him no mind, as you continue to pleasure yourself. You're magnetic in this moment, eyes shut peacefully, fingering yourself at a quick pace, loving the way your hymen stretched around the entrance and bullying that intensely. He gets to enjoy the best part from here, you dipping in a see of plush red, moaning. He slips back on to the bed, his little moment over, as a new fire overcomes him.

He slots between your legs, holding your thighs, parting them wider, as you pull out of your yo shift and angle for his take down. He rolls out his pink tongue, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, looking dead at you as he did so. His heart was beating so fast, he was so nervous. But you couldn't tell, you flushed, patting his head with a whisper, "Good boy."

He he doesn't slow down, not even as his scleras glow brighter with sensitive lust. He's laying full on his stomach, grinding into the sheets as he sticks his whole tongue inside you, squirming it up against your hymen, just how you liked it. "Aah... Adam," you moan. He twists his head, grip intense on your thighs, as he fucks his tongue into you, pawing up around the layer of muscles that tighten around him, squirming the hard tip of his tongue into your walls before thrusting out, thickening his tongue and badgering your entrance with it. All just to slam it back in, erratically swirling his tongue from side to side, thrusting it in deep, flattening out his tongue for the thickness inside of you.

You bucked into him roughly, reaching out and grabbing chunks of his hair.

He could feel your loud moans reverberate through you, as you pushed yourself down on his tongue. His balls jerked, and he gave into the intenseness by grinding down more onto the sheets.

He pulls out to pant, too enamored by the flithy act that he forgets to breathe. He goes back in fast, lapping up your clit and labia, adoring how you felt when he parted you with a flat tongue. Your pussy made all sorts of vulgar sounds, complimenting the grunts that flew out your body.

He really couldn't take this.

He slips his tongue back in, dropping one of your thighs. He rockets his freehand up, snapping sharp into the air. The click comedy with a room shaking buzz, the lights flicker, and with a rough grasp, you feel energy invading your body. It directly attacks your heart, pulling at a strange sensation just behind it- your very essence. Your soul.

You gasp, feeling a phantom heartbeat ring next to yours. It's warm and inviting, full of kindness and light- golden, tasteful-- "A-Adam," you whine out.

Your breath quickens. Your soul is tied to Adam's in this moment, all of you belonging to him. It was odd and strange, the sensation like a relaxing lullaby but burning with passionate energy. You shudder. You can somehow feel Adam, not just his heart but-- feel yourself in his perspective. You can feel his embarrassment, how its hidden by lustful eyes, feel his passion for you, how his whole body seems to burn. As you look down at him, you find he's already staring at you, leaning his head against you thigh, his hair hugging his face.

"He's watching you ride out your high. Your first time ever begin soul-tied to him.

You whine again, hearing his thoughts interrupt you.

You both reach for eachother, sensing it in your souls, as he frees a hand to intertwin with yours. You met half way, yet again, loving his warmth and his company.

You groan and buck your cunt forward, he pulls off your thigh and buries into it on command. His hand runs from thr back of your thigh to the inside, resting right by his cheek to support him in his bullying of your clit. He flicks it and rolls it erratically around, doing all of this on repeat just to pull you into his warm mouth and suck you off.

He can feel your soul cry out, feel how the sensations make you feel, but they coarse through his own body, reverberating inside his being. He can feel what it's like to have your clit bullied, and it forces him to thrust against the bed and grunt, slipping off your clit in the process.

He sighs helplessly, tucking hair behind his ears before drawing an experimental strip up your clit. He can feel the sensation against his cockhead simultaneously. You grunt and buck your pussy forward, your crotch knocks against his nose, and you both hiss upon feeling Adam's pain.

You only need to think it, "Adam, what's going on,"

Before he responds back to you, despite ever speaking a word, "In this moment, I am yours and you are me. Our souls have bonded. I feel all of you," he strokes your thigh, "you feel all of me."

You moan out, "Haa- fuck!" Your eyes rolling back in ecstacy. You can feel his-- or yours-- throb, it's so painfully tense with heavy, shaking balls. His load is going to hard and huge, you can feel the sensation ring up his reproductive systems and to his brain.

The combination of dopamine and oxytocin firing through both of your bodies was an overwhelminf sensation, your mouth grew parched. You finally rested back down onto the pillow, Adam senses your acceptance, and he goes back into you. His work is sloppier, interrupted by his own grunts and moans, but he still fucks your clit up, badgering it, slurping and flickering against it.

You can feel him, feel what it's like to devour you, feel what it's like to sense your pleasure on his cockhead, how these bullying sensations feel like teasing on his cock. You can feel Adam begin to lose it, as he tries to suck up your whole vulva, just to feel the sensation on his cock too.

You grab chunks of his hair, roughly pulling up out of your body with a huff, "Adam- A-Adam hurry up and fuck me," you think.

He's so pitiful in your hold, not even hissing in pain, just thrusting up into the sheets. He nods simply and quietly, sloppily pinning you down. And even sloppier, his head pokes everywhere put your entrance. You can feel his thick head thrust into your folds and part them, twitching before bumping into them again, and again, each in a different area.

You hiss, tightening your death grip on his hair, he whimpers. You use your voice for the first time, "Put it inside, dammit!"

You release him and he drops his head into your neck, biting down hard as he forcefully, and finally, slams all the wall inside. He bottoms out inside you, all glorious seven inches, as he's skinner with a fat head. You both moan out in unison, yours are mostly filled with bright eyed gasps. You can feel your walls tremble around him, what its like to have a hot and heavy cock inside a warm womb, and simultaneously, the thrill of being filled up.

Adam's whimpering, panting, thrusting into you as if you were a pillow. His thrusts are shallow, he's barely leaving you, drowning in your warmth and fucking your cervix at this point. He likes the way it hurts, having your cervix bullied, he likes the sensation that you feel when your pussy's full. He can't leave, he never wants to.

But his man-ly senses override the glory of his new-found feminine desires.

He releases your shoulder, his forehead against yours, tightening his grip on your entwined hands as he fucks you, pulling out and then slamming in harshly, just to do it again. Focused on roughness than speed. "Aah- My! E-Empress," he mewls. He loves the way he feels on your-- more so our- hymen, finally understanding in full why you bullied it so much.

Such a normally restrictive muscle being forced to loosen, the pleasure and pain were comingling into one new, glorious thing. He loved how his head bludgeoned it to stretch, before his skinny cock made it shrink, just for it cry out when it had to deliver his fat head out.

You, on the otherhand, you used your freehand to claw his shoulders, already fucked out of your mind. Your bodies were combining into one sensations, you couldn't separate them the way Adam could. You felt your cock get a tight and hot hole, and your pussy get fed. Like some simple ape, you hollered and moaned in an endless stream, feeling your cock twitch in a pretty orgasm.

"Im- gonna cum," you moaned out, shooting your load into yourself. Only for your pussy to drown in a pretty wave, cumming instantly at the thick, appreciative sprays. You moaned ans arched off the bed, spitting out, "'M cumming a-again!"

Adam shakes, his virgin body forced him to cum again, right after you, his second time today. You moan out again, thwarting your head all the way back, not caring for the pain that rushed up your spine. "C-Came! Th-Thrice," you mewled, your toes flying up clenched.

Adam released your hands as his head fell heavy. His forehead and thr top of his head rested on the bed, his hands scooped up your hips, pressing you against him as if he were lost in a bowing prayer. He fucks into you, still maintaining that sloppy, but incredibly deep pace. He just wants to squeeze around his fat cockhead, and you do so, making him cum once again in your hot walls.

Your claws rip out skin, blood oozing out of your golden back, as you scream. To your magically inexperienced, you've been cumming non-stop, no separation between the two of you. Your mind was in ruins, tearing flooding out your body as you sobbed. Adam felt them swell up in his eyes, as he bits down on the sheets.

His brain rings, "A bit more. Please a bit more i need to remember this forever," Adam thinks. You nod pitifully.

He manages strength to raise his head up, and shoot up fully upright on his knees. He tightens his grip on your hips and fucks speedily, into you, slamming his burly head in your gummy walls, the sickness of a sea of cum aids him to go fast. There's this milky ring that builds on his shaft for every thrust, forcing the sea of cum to dribbling down and spray out when it can. The color was a light golden. Pure strays of gold mixed with your human slick, it's a glittering sight that none of you can behold, too lost in the balance of chemical fires.

Your orgasm is building, he can sends your ovaries forcing out a painful quake. His orgasm is building, you can your-- his-- balls surge.

"Cumming! Big-- Big c-cumming," you try to warn him, but trust me he already knows. You brace yourself, reaching out and grabbing chunks of the red sheets.

"Fuu- Fuck-- (Y/n)-(Y/n)-(Y/n)," he chants, speeding up as his high reached.

He slammed down into your cervix, your highs combined into one explosion, as you exploded out a hot load within yourself, and his ovaries squeezed out every last drop down your womb to meet you. The mess filled your womb up with cum, your breath dulling in your throat, your voice hoarse from the screams you didn't know were falling out.

Adam could barely stand upright, as he trembled from head to toe, jerking and pulsating. The pleasure came with an endless pain that followed, forcing him to snap his fingers, feeling his soul return to his body.

You both gasped at the ready-ness. It felt as if someone forced the lights on in a comfortable, dreary sleep. He pulls out of you and collapses next to you, panting and heaving as it his life depended on it.

His balls had completely tagged, as with his cock, it shrunk behind his foreskin almost instantly. You were still moaning in confusion, forced into another, painful orgasm just as your body returned from being one.

You grunted out, almost instantly flying into his body as he laid down, head resting in his chest, hand grasping at his body. And as you turn on your side, a flurry of cum rockets out of your wall, the sensation is nothing but endless relief. You moan again, unaware of how sweaty and sticky you were, seemingly everywhere.

Adam quickly jumps into action, snuggly pulling you into him as he helps the two of you into the ruined covers, barely resting his head on the pillows before it was lights out for him.

And you, you got to revel in after-glow glory before you too, were knocked out.

🏆🌟

Your eyes burned behind your eyelids, disoriented as you shot up. Your eyes opened shortly after you found yourself upright, instantly noticing how your uterus cramped up tightly before mellowing. You were in a warmlight red room, your hair wild, the strench of sweat and sex pure and thick in the air. You were deathly hungry, deathly parched, and desperately in need of a shower.

What the fuck?

The memories of before hit you like a brick.

You gasp, it's a picture of bewilderment, amazement, and anxious excitement as you turn to Adam in bed. He's grunting awake, laying a hand on his forehead as his eyes pop open.

You nudge him, "Adam." He grunts, his eyes closing blissfully. You nudge him again, "Adam. Adam... Wake up, honey." Your voice is drowning in tender affection.

"Oh fuck," he hisses, as he finally sits up, just like you. "Ah-- Shit... 'Ve got a migraine," he speaks as he keeps his hand against his forehead.

But he smiles oh so gratefully, and oh so tenderly when he sees you. He leans in and pecks a loving kiss on your lips, and you moan awesomely into it. There's this air of awe that suffocates you both as you pull away.

"Fuck," you hiss. "That was," you trail off blissfully.

"Exhilarating," he finishes. Adam slips off the bed, his knees buckling before he catches himself. He looks back at you, and finally gets to see the mess you two have made. His sheets are drowning in crusty sweat, and even worse, smeared with thick white crust in one concentrated area. He cringes bashfully, looking away in disgust and pride.

You walk up to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"We need a shower, my sweet," you smile. Your hair's a mess.

He giggles.

The shower, turned bath, was lovely. The two of you engaged in meaningless talk about everything and anything. Like what letter of the alphabet the galaxy would be, and if rocket where a cat would he be less angry? Things that floated from your mind to his, and he simply went along with as he helped you wash and comb out your dirty hair. As he scrubbed himself while you rinsed. And finally, as he snuggled your warm body onto his while you yapped in the hot water.

You've never been so vulnerable, as you laid your bare body against him, your hair up as it sat in his conditioner, his lips and face already familiarizing itself with your neck.

"But out of all the races, I never would've expected a Xyler. Maybe a Luma, but never a Xyler. They're naturally more... Well," you paused in thought, "Reproduction-minded."

"Mmh, I've never been to Wahloni. I wouldn't know," Adam hummed, as his hands worshipped up and down your body, mostly your sweet breasts were played with.

You sighed in content.

"Hey... You ought to pick up your team too... You still have seats to wash, my golden boy," you grin.

He huffs, "Don't remind me." He picks his head up, turning to the large mirror in the bathroom. "Computer," he shouts, it responds with a ding, "what time is it?"

The mirror warps, a holographic "2:30 pm", flashing on the screen.

Your eyebrows furrow. "Huh? You arrived at four?"

"Ah, the clock's messed up... It's probably only eight, I've got until eleven," he speaks. Adam begins to kiss suck your neck, you moan sweetly. "Let's... Play again," he whispers.

You laugh, "No Adam! I still haven't recovered from that."

He kisses your ear, "I won't use my Soul-Bonding."

"No. Not a chance! Trust me, my sweetness, there will be more where that came from. Simply, another time," you turn to him, kissing his lips sweetly.

He wraps arms around your hips.

"Let's clean, my dear," you command him.

The two of you slip out the bathtub after you finish your route. He helps dry you off as he fetches your suits from the hang wrack. They're fully dry, curtesy of their quality, but the two of you decide white robes would be better. Adam loads his sheets in next, while you fetch a while glasses and some wine. He follows you out to the common area, where a nice flat screen descends.

"What time is it, computer," Adam barks again.

"Hello, Adam Warlock. It is 2:57 pm, Eastern Standard."

His eyebrows quirk. "That can't be right?"

"You have 250, new messages. Shall I read them?"

"Fuck-- Yes," Adam tensely folds his arms. You grin at the chaos, pouring your glass.

"From Rocket Raccoon. Where are you dipshit. Do not leave us stranded. From Mantis. Are you okay? We don't mind if you're a little late. From Drax. Hurry the fuck up. From Rocket Raccoon. I will shred you into gold flake--"

Adam gasps, "Wait, computer give me the full date and time."

It spurs, "It is 2:57 pm, January 8th. Drax's birthday is approaching. Should I set a reminder?"

You shoot off the couch.

Adam grabs his locks viciously in his hands as he yells panickedly. "Wait, what? The eighth? That's tom... Holy shit," Adam frantically looks at you.

Your eyes bulged out. "That's! We slept in, Adam!"

In a hurry, the two of you speed in two different directions. You rush to throw on your suit, Adam runs down to the control board. He starts a call, and you can hear Mantis's strained voice as she yells. You don't care to make out the words, quickly collecting every reminder of you ever being here in your pals, as you rush back to Adam.

He turns back from the conversation to you, "Yes! Yes. I was attacked by," his eyes lock onto you, "The! The Empress!"

"Oh god, but it's not even February? Does she not care about the party," Mantis huffs in disbelief.

"She's an animal. Can't expect an animal to follow rules," Rocket gruffs.

You bite your lip. Adam shoots you a soft look.

"I think it was all bark no bite, as I defeated her pretty fast. She chased the ship through the galaxy-- But there's not a scratch on it," he speaks, not looking back at the computer.

"It's villian menopause. She's falling behind. That's what it is," Drax hums.

You clench your fists with angry. Huffing as their conversation drones on.

"I don't know, but Adam. I've got my own adventures to return to, okay," Mantis drones on.

You jester to the door, waving at him. He nods sharply, waving as you rush out. He cant help the warm, affectionate smile thats on his face. They make his next words oddly happy, "I've got it. Don't worry I'm returning."

He'll, see you again.

As you step out into your ship, you rush into the airlocks before opening your hatch, allowing Adam to fly out of your ship's park. And just as you return to your cockpit, your system dings.

"One New Message from Golden Boy, My Empress. Should I read it?"

Your heart flutters, "Yes."

Your system speaks,

"Same time next week? :)"

[snovyda]

[...] A major international media outlet asked me recently to join its educational platform. I had to record a video message in English and talk about my experience of serving in the armed forces of Ukraine, so children around the world could learn English from these videos and accompanying materials. I recorded it and did everything according to their instructions.

I got a cheerful message the other day from the editorial office, saying: “We’ve launched!” I opened the presentation and had a panic attack. The lesson was structured around eight speakers, each talking about their war experience: four Ukrainians (including me) and four Russians. A Russian journalist and armed forces “deserter”. A Russian teacher. A Russian medical director. Another Russian journalist. The lesson ended with a slide. The Russian flag was at the top. The Ukrainian flag at the bottom. The question proposed for discussion: “What similarities and differences did you notice when listening to the experiences of people from Russia and Ukraine?”

The emotional negligence of this makes me want to scream. [...] I am sickened by how my story has become an ideological tool to equalise the experience of the defender and the attacker. [...]

I’ve been living with the acute feeling that the world is tired of restraining its unquenchable love of Russia. The west wants to believe in the Cinderella story, that one day the dictatorship will fall and a wonderful democratic world will emerge.

Instead of imposing further sanctions and restrictions on Russia, the west is ready to crown the film Anora with all the awards, despite the fact that the Russian actor Yura Borisov, who appears in the film, also starred in a biopic of Mikhail Kalashnikov, the inventor of the AK-47, which was partly filmed in Crimea after its annexation.

The world is ready to listen to Russia again: a UK television channel last year released the film Ukraine’s War: The Other Side by Sean Langan. The film doesn’t just give the other side a voice; it gives a human dimension to the stories of the occupiers and repeats the narratives of Russian propaganda. This is as consistent with journalistic standards as asking an executioner, how are you feeling as you do this, and do you miss your family who are waiting for you at home?[...]

[...] If during the first term of Trump’s presidency we talked of the post-truth era, now we find ourselves in a world in which the truth is taken out, tortured and shot. This means that there will be no justice. This means that anything goes.[...]

[...] The world is looking at the body of truth that is dying and bleeding before our eyes. I beg you, if you can’t stop the bleeding, at least don’t turn away from the sight of blood.[...]

[tanadrin]

The state of gay rights in the early aughts was not good; criminal penalties for homosexuality were rarely enforced but were on the books in many places, there was no right to marriage, and the morality of homosexuality was hotly contested in public. Big culture war issue. In that environment, where substantive protections were lacking, Democrats could be tepid on gay rights without actively giving anything up—if, like Obama in 2008, you didn’t support gay marriage, you could still be seen (correctly) as advocating for an overall better situation for gay people, or at least one that was no worse, in contrast to your right wing opponents.

Trans rights are not in the same position. Before the big trans rights backlash started, access to gender affirming care was pretty widespread, was everywhere legal, and was a matter for private concern only. Trans people could play in school sports subject to whatever their league’s rules were, and the idea of trying to make it illegal to cross dress in public was absurd. The conservative position since has become one of an explicit rollback of rights: revoke access to gender affirming care, create new criminal sanctions to punish trans people, make it illegal for them to participate in school sports, etc.

In that environment, tacking to the right on trans issues means deciding which elements of trans rights you are willing to concede to this project of actually rolling back trans rights. The only thing comparable from the gay rights fight is maybe state constitutional amendments to ban gay marriage, or DOMA—all of which were, IIRC, passed despite gay marriage not being legal in affected jurisdictions. Their enactment, while deplorable, had no material negative affect; gay people already couldn’t get married.

And that this project of rolling back trans rights is not a particular fetish of the religious right is more worrying. Plenty of liberals and liberal institutions are pretty transphobic. Britain has been working to export its flavor of (Moderate, Sensible, Secular) transphobia to other countries in Europe and the Anglosphere. Transphobes winning these fights isn’t a status quo situation—it’s a sharp increase in repression of trans people.

In light of that, I regard calls to “moderate” on trans issues with at best scorn. I think the party of civil rights condoning the rollback of citizens’ civil rights is really bad for its brand, won’t win it more votes, and may sufficiently alienate members of the base—who are invested in the party specifically because of its historic support for civil rights—that they simply don’t bother to show up in elections.

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

By Alejandra Garcia

In September, and for the fourth consecutive year, U.S. President Joe Biden renewed U.S. sanctions on Cuba under the Trading with the Enemy Act (TWEA), an archaic 1917 law designed to cut off trade with Germany during World War I and a significant pillar of the blockade. The announcement means that the economic blockade, a policy upheld by both Republican and Democratic administrations for over six decades, will remain imposed on the island through 2025, despite Cuba’s urgent calls for it to end. Let’s not forget that it was Biden, the democrat who while campaigning for president, said he would improve relations with us.