#anyway. democracy: DECIDE!

[borrelia]

comets unwanted kintobor tube baby sibling lichen pronouns poll

[autisticlenaluthor]

besties how are you guys fighting off the pre-election day anxiety attacks… bc i fear i am not

[i-will-always-love-the-jedi]

Elzar Mann shortest firebrand confirmed

(I passed the first half of the final two years of school, so this is my celebration I guess)

whole panel:

Anyways we stan tall lady Avar Kriss, who btw is way too tired to put up with her best friends bullshit

...

[doomdoomofdoom]

Listen, the stock market is a fictional concept we all agreed to play along with. So are pronouns.

If someone stops adhering to the latter, why would i trust them to stick with the former

[jinkiejynx]

Happy Inauguration Day! It’s a little chilly out so maybe we will have a repeat of William Henry Harrison! 💜

[batshit-auspol]

As is tradition we held our annual "Batshit Aussie Moment of The Year" poll on twitter this month, and as is also tradition it was a complete dumpster fire and we ended up having to delete our account again. Such is life, as the French don't say.

Nevertheless we had a lot of great nominations from what was truly a year full of the utmost topshelf batshittery which we shan't be letting go to waste. So we preset:

Batshit Aussie Moments of The Year, The Now Undemocratic Countdown

Leading the nominations there was of course Raygun, the little Aussie PHD breakdancer that couldn't. Recently she has trademarked her name and there was a whole lawsuit around using it so no further comment on that.

Dr Ray was followed close in second place by Australia's former Deputy Prime Minister being filmed drunkenly making phonecalls while sprawled across a sidewalk.

This glorious video saw the good people of Australia rise to the occasion with all the pisstaking the moment deserved, complete with chalk crime scene markings, a plaque being installed, and a candlelight vigil held by locals.

Also making a strong showing in the polls was Australia's richest woman Gina Rinehart pulling a Barb Streisand by demanding her unflattering portrait be removed from Australia's National Art Gallery, which of course made it immediately go viral.

Lol. Also noteworthy in the nominations was the horse that escaped its enclosure and tried to flee by catching a train, making national news headlines in the process.

But for all those big names/horses who we're sure would love the limelight, the crown title of this year's Batshit Aussie Moment of The Year is being awarded to a regular everyday Aussie (and tumblr user) who fought the system and (almost) won:

After 23 year old Aussie racecar driver Oscar Piastri won the Hungarian Grand Prix, our very own @the-prophesied-mouse "jokingly submitted an e‒petition" to Australia's parliament asking that the day become a public holiday, "assuming it would get thrown out".

Instead their request for a yearly national "Oscar Piastri Day" crossed the threshold of signatures required for a response, being then escalated all the way to the Prime Minister's desk after the responding minister decided it was of utmost importance.

After being sternly considered by no less than three government ministers, sadly in November it was declared that the petition would not be ratified, due to the small issue of the federal government not having the power to create holidays (it's apparently a state thing).

The government did however point out that many national days are celebrated without official proclamation from the Australian government, and so it is, with the powers vested in us by all you loveable weirdos, that we do solemnly declare from this day forth that the 21st July shall be forever known as Oscar Piastri Day, and may all non-believers fear our wrath.

Anyway, happy new year to you all from us here in Aus. Farewell to a truly Batshit year, and here's to no doubt more of the same in 2025. We will leave you with this heartfelt reminder of a true national treasure we lost this year, the progenor of perhaps the most iconic Aussie batshit moment of all time, The Right Hon. Mr Democracy Manifest:

Happy new years to youze all!

[drdemonprince]

It’s true that America has one of the lowest voter turnout rates in the industrialized world, with only 62% of eligible adults turning up to the polls on a good year, and about 50% on a typical one. But if we really dive into the social science data, we can see that non-voters aren’t a bunch of nihilistic commie layabouts who’d prefer to die in a bridge collapse or of an untreated listeria infection than vote for someone who isn’t Vladimir Lenin. No, if we really study it carefully, we can see that the American electoral system has a series of unique features that easily account for why we find voting more cumbersome, confusing, and unrewarding than almost any other voters in the world.

Let’s take a look at the many reasons why Americans don’t vote:

1. We Have the Most Frequent Elections of Any Country

Most other democratic countries only hold major elections once every four or five years, with the occasional local election in between. This is in sharp contrast with the U.S., where we have some smattering of primaries, regional elections, state elections, ballot measures, midterm elections, and national elections basically every single year, often multiple times per year. We have elections more frequently than any other nation in the world — but just as swallowing mountains of vitamin C tablets doesn’t guarantee better health, voting more and harder hasn’t given us more democracy.

2. We Don’t Make Election Day a Holiday

The United States also does far less than most other democracies to facilitate its voters getting to the polls. In 22 countries, voting is legally mandated, and turnout is consequently very high; most countries instead make election day a national holiday, or hold elections on weekends. The United States, in contrast, typically holds elections on weekdays, during work hours, with minimal legal protections for employees whose only option to vote is on the clock.

3. We Make Registration as Hard as Possible

From Denmark, to Sweden, to Iceland, Belgium, and Iraq, all eligible voters in most democracies are automatically registered to vote upon reaching legal adulthood. Voting is typically regarded as a rite of passage one takes part in alongside their classmates and neighbors, made part of the natural flow of the country’s bureaucratic processes.

In the United States, in contrast, voter registration is a process that the individual must seek out — or more recently, be goaded into by their doctor. Here voting is not a communal event, it’s a personal choice, and failing to make the correct choice at the correct time can be penalized. In most other countries, there are no restrictions on when a voter can register, but in much of the United States, registering too early can mean you get stricken from the voter rolls by the time the election rolls around, and registering too late means you’re barred from voting at all.

4. We Make Voters Re-Register Far Too Often

In countries like Canada, Germany, and the Netherlands, voter registration updates automatically when a person moves. In the United State, any time a person changes addresses they must go out of their way to register to vote all over again. This policy disadvantages poorer and younger voters, who move frequently because of job and schooling changes, or landlords who have decided to farm black mold colonies in their kitchens.

Even if a voter does not change their address, in the United States it’s quite common for their registrations to be removed anyway— due to name changes, marriages, data breaches, or simply because the voter rolls from the previous election year have been purged to “prevent fraud” (read: eliminate Black, brown, poor, and left-leaning members from the electorate).

5. We Limit Access to Polling Places & Mail-in Ballots

In many countries, voters can show up to any number of polling places on election day, and showing identification is not always necessary. Here in the United States, the ability to vote is typically restricted to a single polling place. Voter ID laws have been used since before the Jim Crow era to make political participation more difficult for Black, brown, and impoverished voters, as well as for those for whom English is not their first language. Early and absentee voting options are also pretty firmly restricted. About a quarter of democracies worldwide rely on mail-in ballots to make voting more accessible for everyone; here, a mail-in ballot must be requested in advance.

All of these structural barriers help explain why just over 50% of non-voters in the United States are people of color, and a majority of non-voters have been repeatedly found to be impoverished and otherwise marginalized. But these populations don’t only feel excluded from the political process on a practical level: they also report feeling completely unrepresented by the available political options.

6. We Have the Longest, Most Expensive Campaign Seasons

Americans have some of the longest campaign seasons in the world, with Presidential elections lasting about 565 days on average. For reference, the UK’s campaign season is 139 days, Mexico’s is 147, and Canada’s is just 50. We also do not have publicly funded campaigns: our politicians rely upon donors almost entirely.

Because our elections are so frequent and our campaigns are so long and expensive, many American elected officials are in a nearly constant state of fundraising and campaigning. When you take into account the time devoted to organizing rallies, meeting with donors, courting lobbyists, knocking on doors, recording advertisements, and traveling the campaign trail, most federally elected politicians spend more time trying to win their seat than actually doing their jobs.

Imagine how much work you’d get done if you had to interview for your job every day. And now imagine that the person actually paying your wage didn’t want you to do that job at all:

7. Our Elected Officials Do Very Little

Elected officials who spend the majority of their hours campaigning and courting donors don’t have much time to get work done. Nor do they have much incentive to — in practice, their role is to represent the large corporations, weapons manufacturers, Silicon Valley start-ups, and investors who pay their bills, and serve as a stopgap when the public’s demands run afoul of those groups’ interests.

Perhaps that is why, as campaign seasons have gotten longer and more expensive and income inequality has grown more stark, our elected officials have become lean-out quiet quitters of historic proportions. The 118th Congress has so far been the least productive session on record, with only 82 laws having been passed in last two years out of the over 11,000 brought to the floor.

The Biden Administration has moved at a similarly glacial pace; aside from leaping for the phone when Israel calls requesting checking account transfers every two or three weeks, the executive-in-chief has done little but fumble at student loan relief and abortion protections, and bandied about banning TikTok.

The average age of American elected officials has been on a steady rise for some time now, with the obvious senility of figures like Biden, Mitch McConnell, and the late Diane Feinstein serving as the most obvious markers of the government’s stagnancy. Carting around a confused, ailing elderly person’s body around the halls of power like a decommissioned animatronic requires a depth of indifference to human suffering that few of us outside Washington can fathom. But more than that, it reflects a desperation for both parties to cling to what sources of influence and wealth they have. These aged figures are/were reliable simps for Blackstone, General Dynamics, Disney, and AIPAC, and their loyalty is worth far more than their cognitive capacity, or legislative productivity. Their job, in a very real sense, is to not do their job, and a beating-heart cadaver can do that just fine.

You can read the rest of the list for free (or have it narrated to you on the Substack app) at drdevonprice.substack.com!

[hussyknee]

This ruling is non-binding (not sure how it would be enforced even if it was considering Israel's chief protector is the U.S., which doesn't recognise the International Criminal Court and keeps trying to punish it for this kind of thing), but there's support for it across the board except from the US and its new vassal state, the UK. The Tory government has backed the US in ignoring every ICJ ruling on Palestine thus far and Starmer has been avoiding the issue but reinstated funding for UNRWA a few hours after the latest one. Starmer is a spineless Zionist maggot and as much of a US shill has the Tories however, so which way his government tips will probably depends on the strength of the US's reaction.

If you still want to vote for that death-worshipping lurching corpse in November and maybe claim back some of the voters who've decided they can't endorse this bloodthirsty maniac, now is the time to take to the streets and threaten to withhold your vote unless he fucking complies. Don't worry, the same amount of you will vote for him anyway since genocide is not a red line for you, but the DNC is jumpy enough now that they might want to err on the side of caution. Please try and stop your precious democracy from massacring any more children, even if only to save your own skins.

[qqueenofhades]

I don’t have any words right now for what’s happened. Where in the fuck do we go from here?

I don't know. I really, truly don't know. We can't sugarcoat how bad things are going to get, and we can't pre-emptively give into it anyway. This is going to be an unprecedented time in American history (if, sadly, not world history) and the forces conspiring to make you obey will gain much of their power from you doing so in advance, without a struggle. It seems fair to say that America as it has always been historically constituted is over, and may not return in our lifetimes, but we also do not know that for a fact. If nothing else, the fascists will find it very hard to cancel competitive elections, and we cannot sit back, throw up our hands, conclude that voting is clearly meaningless, and let them do that. There are a lot of other things that we need to do, but that's one.

There are various postmortems to be written and nits to pick, but Harris was thrown into an impossible situation and did the best she could in 100 days. Even her critics agree she ran a pretty much flawless campaign. But this country simply decided that a well-qualified black woman could not be preferred over the most manifestly and flagrantly unfit degenerate to ever occupy the office. They decided this for many reasons, not least because large swathes of the country now live in curated misinformation bubbles that, under Government Czar Musk, will only get much, much worse. They were helped by the cowardice and complicity of the "mainstream media" that could have ended Trump's career exactly like they did to Biden after the first debate, but chose to preserve the profits of their billionaire oligarch owners and did not do so, giving Trump the benefit of the doubt and normalization at every turn. They also hounded Biden relentlessly over the four years of his presidency, never reported on the good things he did, and drove him to the historically bad approval ratings lows for a president who was by any metric, quite successful (and will quite possibly be our last ordinary American president for a very long time). Along with the searingly ingrained racism and misogyny and misinformation, Harris could not overcome that.

Democrats clearly had a messaging problem, but it's also true that the country, quite simply, does not care about "democracy" when the economy is perceived to be at stake. Not to over-egg the Hitler parallels, but yeah. This is how Hitler returned to power in 1933 -- on the backs of widespread economic collapse of the Weimar Republic; voters decided they just didn't care about the overtly fascist stuff, which he then proceeded to you know, do with genocidal vigor. Except the American economy in this case was actually doing well, which makes it even more baffling and indefensible. Enough people simply memory-holed Trump's crimes (aided at every turn by SCOTUS, Mitch McConnell not convicting him after January 6, Merrick Garland being far too slow and timid, the corporate media), liked the racist fascist behavior or felt that it wasn't a dealbreaker, and decided that in this election, he was the "change" candidate. It's insane by any metric, but that's what happened.

The country is deeply sick. We do not know what will happen. It's going to get bad. Barring a miracle, we will not have federalized abortion rights again in my lifetime, and there will be widespread attacks on public health, women's rights, immigrants, transgender people, and other vulnerable people. Even and especially the ones who voted for Trump. Never Thought Leopard Would Eat My Face, etc. Alito and Thomas will swiftly step down and allow their seats to be replaced by 40-year old wingnuts hand-selected from the worst the Federalist Society has to offer. SCOTUS is gone for the next generation at least. There is very little prospect of it being ever fixed in the foreseeable future.

Trump will never face a scintilla of consequences for his previous crimes; all the open federal cases will be closed as soon as he takes office and fires Jack Smith. The best we can hope for is that he dies in office, but then we get Vance and the cadre of alt-right techno billionaires ruled directly from the Kremlin. Putin is celebrating this morning and with good reason; he's gotten everything he wants. Trump will egg on Netanyahu in Gaza and abandon Ukraine. Democracy across the world will remain even more fragile and badly under threat. Authoritarians will be empowered and American withdrawal from international systems will percolate in very dangerous ways that cannot and will not be fixed in the short run. I really hope all the leftists who celebrate this as the "defeat of the genocide candidate" will enjoy all the genocide and suffering that's about to come. And yes, I do think the Israel-Palestine war fucked us in a large way. Jewish voters perceived the Democrats as insufficiently pro-Israel due to the presence of far-left antisemitism, even as the far left attacked the Democrats relentlessly and never targeted the Republicans. Arab voters abandoned them, possibly deservedly. What would have happened without the war? We don't know. You get the historical period that you get. Netanyahu and Trump can now do anything they want. Hope it was worth it.

As I said, I can't sugarcoat it. We are going to be paying for this in some form for the next decade, and probably longer. I'm not as absolutely shattered as I was in 2016, but I am much, much angrier. We all thought, we all hoped, America was better than this. It isn't. That, however, is something that has also happened before. What we decide to do next will shape how the next chapter unfolds.

This would be a great time to stock up on needed medicines, renew your passport online, and anything else you need to do in preparation for next year. Many of us simply do not have the wherewithal, whether financial or otherwise, to leave the country. I don't know what will happen with me. I don't know what will happen to any of us. This was utterly avoidable and yet, America didn't want to avoid it. At some point, there's nothing else you can do. You can point to media cronyism, Russian influence, etc etc., but the fact that two of the most qualified presidential candidates who happened to be women have now lost to Trump twice makes it unavoidable. The virulent rightward shift of young men (of all races) in particular paints a grim picture as to how the reactionary misogyny of the 21st century is going to essentially undo most of the progress for social and gender equality in the 20th. The patriarchy has been a problem for most of human history. Doesn't really seem like it's going to change.

The end result of this, however grim: we're still here. We are still living within our communities. If (and this is a big if) Democrats can retake the House, they can put some checks on the process for the next two years. At this point, we are in full-out buying-time, trying-to-prevent-the worst mode. We could have continued fixing things, but we won't be doing that. We will only be trying to preserve ourselves and our friends and our smaller spheres of influence. It sounds very trite to say that we have to have courage, but we do. There's not much else.

It's going to be an awful winter. We have two and a half months to see this coming and know how bad it's going to be, and... yeah. I don't know how soon the buyer's remorse will inevitably set in, but it will. Tough luck, people. You voted for him. You get the country that you decide to have. But the rest of us are also here, and what Gandalf says is still true. We wish the Ring had never come to us, we wish none of this had happened, but we still have to decide what to do with the time that is given to us.

I don't have a lot more. I'll probably be logging off for a while. I don't need to look at the internet for.... yeah, a long time. (Will I do it anyway? Probably.) I don't know what else to leave you with, aside from again:

Do not obey in advance. Do not act as if everything is foreordained and set in stone. Fascist regimes end. They always do. We are going to have to figure out how, and it will suck shit, but the alternative is worse.

Take care of yourselves. I love you.

[txttletale]

So as a fellow communist I assume that you believe in communism because you believe in liberating human beings from suffering.

Don't you think it's a contradiction, then, that you don't believe people should be able to choose what to do with their own lives? That you believe in forced labour?

Isn't doing away with that shit exactly why we want to get rid of capitalism?

"Oh but communism will be so much less exploitative we'll have 4 hour days and better conditions and worker democracy ---" okay but if somebody just refuses anyway? What if they just don't want to? You really think pointing a gun at them and telling them it's the factory or the cage is true to the spirit communism? Are you able to criminalize laziness without becoming a Pig to enforce that? (You can't.)

What about disabled people? And don't hit me with "In our system the disabled will get doctors note for exceptions :) " because countless disabled ppl could tell you what an unreliable and cruel system that would be. There will never be a system perfect enough that can prevent everybody from falling through the cracks. You WILL ruin the lives of people who can never convince anybody around them that what they're going through is real, or that they're suffering enough to justify the transgression of not wanting to do whatever job the Red Bosses decided for them.

You can only guarantee people's freedom if they actually have the freedom to choose.

its amazing how you can say "production of life-saving medicine should be ensured under socialism" and hundreds of people will say "slave camps?? you want slave camps??? you're going to send me specifically to the insulin gulag????"

[kvetchlandia]

I Don't Know...

if anyone pays enough attention to the the junk I post to have recognized that for the past several days, my focus has changed to fewer posts and the posts I do make are posts of more serious things. This is because of the horrors currently happening in the United States, the degeneration of this country from a poorly structured and very erratic and inconsistent bourgeois democracy into some weird, frightening and dangerous combination of autocracy, plutocracy, kakistocracy and plain, old fashioned rule by dictatorial fiat. Needless to say, this then is made all the worse by its explicit racism, misogyny, xenophobia, religious fanaticism (of the ugliest born-again sort) and its open hostility to education and to science. Just to top it off, the government is headed by the most crude, vulgar, ignorant, ego-damaged, corrupt, vile blowhard one can imagine; a man who fancies himself a feudal monarch and who leads a movement that is more a cult than a political party and that worships him as a demigod; a multiply convicted criminal and a man found civilly liable for sexually assaulting a woman; a specimen so grotesque and repulsive that if a novelist or script writer were to have dreamed him up, no one would have bought him, thinking he was too absurd to be believable. Many consider this monster a fascist. I don't, for reasons having to do with history and the conditions under which fascism arises, but he's close enough to make the distinction moot. Anyway, confronting this ugly reality on a daily basis and knowing the social and political conditions in the United States, in which there is no organized left and most of those who fancy themselves left have no connection to the labor movement, no real concept of what socialism is, are obsessed with identity issues because they have no understanding of class politics and many of whom are tainted by antisemitism, a sad state made worse by the disgusting politics of the Israeli government which they feel justifies their racism, all of this leaves me feeling rather hopeless. Of course, there will be demonstrations against some of the excesses of this repugnant regime, some of them no doubt quite large, and I'll be at most of them that happen near me and will even take part in organizing some of them. But I've been doing that for ages, and nothing has changed, because of the political reality I just described. As a consequence of all of this, I just don't feel like posting my usual stuff. If you are unhappy with the way my Stumblr has changed and decide to bail, I understand completely, and thanks for hanging around while you did. If you decide to keep hanging with me, thanks so much, I appreciate your support. Maybe Ill get back to my more typical posts shortly, maybe I won't at all. I guess only time will tell.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Okay but imagine in the Princess au that a town just up and decides that Princess Stanel is honorary royalty anyways and hold a cornanation from a safe distance, declaring him a possible ruler if he ever manages to convince that dragon of his to let him come down to the town to over look the rules.

Also that town does not care that Stanel turns out to be a man and an forcefully retired convict.

Looks like a Princess, sounds like a Princess, most likely is a princess.

The reason why this town is so accepting is that they want a dragon for a ruler or a Royal who has a dragon on their side to rule and since Stan fits the bill….

Which town is it? Well let’s just say it’s a mystery town. (Get it? Like mystery shack but mystery town? Ay ay? I’ll see myself out.)

—————

In the future:

Mabel: GRUNKLE STAN?!? YOU WERE A PRINCESS?!? TELL ME EVERYTHING!

Stan: *is tired at this point in denying it and has decided to embrace his role as the first convict to become a Princess* That…is a long story pumpkin, you might want to sit down.

Some more bold villagers and outcasts come and establish a village near Fords castle, because they hate the current king and figure no one's gonna bother them right next to the dragon. Plus, all these disgraced knights, princess and princesses who've failed to slay the dragon have a lot of spending money before they head up and get it all stolen, so the economy is booming.

Then one of the princes or princesses start questioning what kingdom they've sworn fealty to, and the whole reason they live here is to not have done that.

So of course princess Stanel is their ruler! But, ah dang. She got kidnapped before she could be cornanated as the ruler of their tiny kingdom. Tragic really, ignore the democracy happening behind them, it was definitely princess Stanel of the uh..... mystery kingdom. Yup. Why that name? Well, we can't actually tell you it's real name, for cultural purposes.

They don't care about Stan's circumstances, he's their princess now, so they can avoid the other kingdoms that suck. Whenever a one of the failed rescuers come back and accuse them of trickery they get offended. A man! If course princess stanel is a man! Everyone knows that! Princess is just a title! A job description!

The relationship really starts taking off when they start raising livestock for Ford to hunt. They get a whole system set up and now Ford has a whole village that belongs to him. That's his village now, no one else is allowed to take it.

Stan has no actual power to start, until the dragon stuff gets settled some way or another and he becomes like, a figure head or something. Everyone in the village has gone too deep with the lies and now Stan's the ruler of a tiny kingdom. The first criminal to become a king without marrying into it by kidnapping. The actual ruling is done by a council but he has to talk to ambassadors and stuff. It's boring. He can't even go mad with power, because he barely has any.

Since neither Stan twin has kids Mabel and Dipper become their heirs through shenanigans. Both are now princesses. It's tradition. Unless one of them becomes a dragon, but that's not Stan's problem.

[alicentflorent]

Thinking about how Nat was already struggling with addiction as a teen before the wilderness, how she was seen as an outsider and trouble maker who was even shaded by her own teammates sometimes but in the wilderness? Nat had a purpose, her team needed her and she could handle the situation better than some of her more sheltered and privileged teammates. Then she became the Hunter, she had the responsibility of providing them with food and she kept them fed until winter and then during winter she still tried, every single day to find something to hunt, she helped coach map out the areas and even stayed out longer to help Travis find (presumed dead) Javi. When she failed to find anything to hunt and she was blamed for it by the group who spent their days in a warm cabin when she was out in the cold but she never stopped trying. She took Jackie and Ben’s remains back to the plane alone and humanised them, talked to them as if they were still people. She tried to give them some dignity in death even after they’d been eaten. After the trauma of being hunted and the guilt of letting a child die in her place, it would have been so easy to fall back into old patterns, drink and drugs were easily available come spring but she had been named leader, a role she never wanted but took on anyway. Her group needed her so she couldn’t fall apart, she got everyone working together to keep the fire going and build a literal village. She taught Gen how to hunt, helped akilah keep a little animal farm. She had everyone using their skills in different areas to thrive. She tried to keep the peace, because that’s probably all she’s ever wanted isn’t it? To live peacefully and she wants that for her community too. Then Ben is found and she has to face the groups anger and need for violent justice head on. Despite her efforts he’s found guilty, almost executed and kept prisoner until she has to kill him out of mercy. Once again she was put in another situation of having to choose what’s best for herself and the democracy of the group at someone else expense. This time I think she was ready to give up, she knew when she killed Ben she’d be either exiled or dead and maybe part of her wanted that, over facing another harsh winter and living with more blood on her hands. Then just as her purpose is taken away she’s given another purpose before she can self destruct. Now they have a chance at rescue, she can lead the group home and even when Shauna disarms her and forces everyone to stay Nat still tries to form a plan to get out, then the person who could get them out is killed and it breaks her she fully loses hope of going home. Then she finds out that there is another way, Van has a phone and Misty has the parts to fix it. So Nat tries to fix the phone secret with the help of Van and Misty. Meanwhile, Shauna is throwing her out of bed in the middle of the so Nat can’t risk escape to get to higher ground but shes not going to give up. Then there’s going to be a hunt, more violence is the last thing Nat wants but she has no choice but to comply but then she realises the hunt can provide a distraction she plans to escape with phone and she makes it. She gets to higher ground and she does it! She makes contact with the outside world! Nat tried so hard to get everyone home and she saved them but she doesn’t feel like a hero, more people were killed after Nat left and before rescue finally came. She tried so hard but she probably felt like it was never enough. When she got home she was just a fucked up kid again, now that no one needs her and she lacks a purpose. She can’t just compartmentalise and move on so she goes back to drinking and doing drugs just to get through the day. She’s stuck in this cycle until the last few weeks of her life when she finally starts to heal and had decided to start living she wouldn’t want her survival to be at the expense of another innocent life. So she makes that final sacrifice, her life for Lisa’s. Natalie’s story is a tragedy. It always was long before the crash.

[ficretus]

COUNCIL OF CIN-DERES

*Inside of Cinder's head, some time in the future*

Cinder: I called for this meeting because I require an advice regarding something.

Kuudere Cinder: Meeting after all this time.

Tsundere Cinder: Pfff, as if I care. Didn't you replace us with that girl, what was her name?

Himedere Cinder: Emma I believe. Although I have a trouble remembering commoner's names, not that I care.

Cinder: It's Emerald you stuck up brat. Why do I have a Schnee inside of my head? Either way, Emerald won't give me an advice, so I called for you. Happy?

Dandere Cinder: Y-yes.

Himedere Cinder: So you called for us because Emily was busy? How insulting.

Tsundere Cinder: Well she sucked at her job anyway. Never cared about her.

Nyandere Cinder: I do nyat believe you.

Tsundere Cinder: Oh shut up.

Kuudere Cinder: I can see your reasoning. Emerald would just nod her head at everything and call it brilliant.

Kamidere Cinder: Flaw of lesser beings. Admiration is emotion furthest from understanding. Now regarding the plan to take every single power in the universe, I've made a simplified graph that even some of you could understand.

Nyandere Cinder: Nyat cool.

Cinder: We are no longer doing that.

Kamidere Cinder: What do you mean we are no longer doing that?

Kuudere Cinder: She changed her mind, she is now pining over a boy.

Kamidere Cinder: How does that factor in our plans?

Tsundere Cinder: It doesn't, she fell in love with that Arc loser.

Himedere Cinder: Could be worse, at least his family is famous.

Kamidere Cinder: *ascends to the sky* In that case I'm leaving this meeting. Farewell Cinder council... you were interesting for a while.

Kuudere Cinder: Well, that's Kamidere gone and Deredere didn't show up.

Cinder: Either way, I have a question regarding Jaune Arc. He helped me overcome my traumas and for whatever reason, forgave me for everything I've done.

Tsundere Cinder: What a dumbass.

Cinder: But now I'm confused about what are we. Are we acquaintances, friends, or perhaps something more. I'm afraid to ask him that so I want your advice.

Yandere Cinder: Have you tried stabbing people around him?

Dandere Cinder: T-that's bad.

Kuudere Cinder: Last time I checked he hated us for doing that.

Yandere Cinder: On the contrary. We got everything we ever wanted by doing that. Freedom, Maiden power and now *licks her lips* Darling Jaune.

Nyandere Cinder: She is kind of right. It got us out of Glass Unyacorn.

Himedere Cinder: Ask one of your servants to do it, don't dirty your hands. Mark or Emerson should be able to do it.

Cinder: I veto that. We are not stabbing anyone. Question is should I ask him out or not?

Dandere Cinder: Ask him.

Nyandere Cinder: Ask Nyarc out.

Yandere Cinder: Asking? When did that ever work?

Himedere Cinder: Don't ask him. Arc boy should ask you. In fact, he should beg.

Tsundere Cinder: Don't bother, he is beneath us.

Kuudere Cinder: I'm neutral.

Cinder: It seems majority is against. Well in that case...

Nyandere Cinder: Wait, I wanyant Kuudere and Tsundere to vote againya.

Tsundere Cinder: I don't remember asking your opinion you stupid cat.

Kuudere Cinder: Sigh... fine. *raises her hand in favor*

Tsundere Cinder: Grrrrr, fine. *raises her hand in favor*

Cinder: Oh, it seems majority is in favor now.

Kuudere Cinder: *giggles*

Tsundere Cinder: *blushing* What's so funny you frigid bitch?

Himedere Cinder: Ah, it appears democracy proves itself to be inferior system yet again. Do what you want commoners.

Cinder: Now that's decided, I'm returning to my body.

Kuudere Cinder: Returning? Who did you leave in charge?

Cinder: Oh no...

*in real world*

Jaune: I'm telling you Ren, Cinder has been acting weird this afternoon.

Ren: What do you mean?

Deredere Cinder: Uwu! I vuw you Jaune!

[atlaculture]

2024 Tumblr Top 10 Posts

Decided to do a Year in Review using JetBlackCode. This has been an absolutely roller coaster of a year for me! New apartment, new job, and new state. My mental health really improved after the big move and I have you guys to thank for it. Having an outlet for all my weird hyperfixations really helped me get through all the rough patches in my life.

Special thanks to KMA, Glitterrainstorm, LynZine, Monroe, skollipsism, Quillma, Carey, and thebluewhitelotus for your generous donations! It really means a lot to me. Anyways, on to the Top 10 list!

1. 964 notes - Feb 26 2024 - An Alternative to a Roast

2. 859 notes - Jan 15 2024 - Cultural Practices: Pai Sho

3. 783 notes - Dec 31 2024 - Japanese Avatar!

4. 651 notes - Jan 28 2024

Animating Race : The Production and Ascription of Asian-ness in the Animation of Avatar: The Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra (PhD Thesis Paper by Francis Agnoli)

5. 553 notes - Dec 7 2024 - Water Tribe Democracy

6. 487 notes - Aug 3 2024 - Favorite Foods: Aang

7. 464 notes - Aug 18 2024 - Favorite Foods: Sokka

8. 440 notes - Nov 15 2024 - ATLA Calendar

9. 414 notes - Dec 13 2024 - Water Tribe Calendar

10. 394 notes - Aug 7 2024 - Favorite Foods: Katara

Created by TumblrTop10

[sebstanaddict]

Red, White & You

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Enemies to lovers one shot)

Summary : Inspired by Bucky in the MCU becoming a congressman, I present to you this story which explained why he ended up becoming a politician. Sprinkled with some intense enemies to lovers moments, I hope you guys will like it ;)

By the way, I was already finished writing this when I realized he is a congressman and not a senator XD But I had no time to change it and I thought he was a senator in What If, so I decided to keep him as a senator here. Besides, running as a senator is more high stakes and high profile, which makes more sense for the story. Hope you guys will enjoy it ;)

Warning : some cursing, some non vulgar smut. If you're under 18, proceed with caution.

Word count : 7k

Read more Bucky Barnes and Sebastian Stan fanfics here

-----

The world had been broken before, but this time, it felt different.

After the Blip, after the battle against Thanos, after years of loss and chaos, people had tried to rebuild. But what did that even mean? The old systems didn't work anymore - if they ever had. The world wasn't just healing; it was searching, desperate for something new, something better. People needed hope. And not just the kind that came in the form of superheroes soaring through the sky. They needed real leaders, people they could trust, people who had seen the worst and still fought for something good.

The United States was no exception. The government was a mess, tangled in corruption and power struggles. The Senate was just another battlefield, full of the same egos and self-interest Bucky Barnes had spent a lifetime fighting against. He had no interest in joining that fight.

For the first time in decades, Bucky had found peace. He had spent years making amends, crossing names off his list, learning how to live with himself. The nightmares had faded, the weight of the Winter Soldier was no longer crushing him. And yet - what now? What did a man like him do when there was nothing left to run from? When his war was finally over?

He had thought about leaving the city, finding somewhere quiet where no one knew his name. But that wasn't who he was. Not really. He had fought too long to disappear now. He just didn't know where he was supposed to go next.

That answer came in the form of Sam Wilson and a woman who looked like she could topple empires with a single glance.

—--

Bucky had been a lot of things in his life - a soldier, a survivor, a man out of time - but a politician? Not a damn chance.

So when Sam knocked on his Brooklyn apartment door with a team of eager political strategists, all grinning like they had just won the lottery, Bucky was already bracing himself for whatever ridiculous pitch was about to come.

"No," he said flatly, arms crossed before Sam even had the chance to step inside.

Sam sighed, shoving the door open anyway. "Just hear me out..."

"No."

"Bucky... "

"Nope."

"At least let us sit down before you reject democracy entirely," a new voice cut in.

Bucky turned, and that was when he saw her.

Y/n L/n.

She was something out of a different world - polished, poised, and utterly unimpressed by him. Dressed in a perfectly tailored blazer, her sharp eyes scanned the room like she was already ten steps ahead. She carried herself with an air of certainty, like she had never lost an argument in her life. And maybe she hadn't.

She wasn't smiling. She didn't try to charm him. Instead, she strode inside, tossed a thick folder onto his coffee table, and said, "That's your polling data. You're already more popular than half the candidates in this race, and you haven't even announced. So, congratulations. You're running."

Bucky blinked at her. Then at Sam. Then back at her. "The hell I am."

"You are." She perched on the arm of his couch, all sharp edges and authority. She clicked her pen once. Twice. Like a metronome of impatience. "The American people like you. They trust you. You have a better shot than anyone else."

Bucky scoffed. "I don't even like politicians. Now I'm supposed to be one?"

"You don't have to like it," she said smoothly. "You just have to be better than the alternative."

Bucky exhaled sharply. He knew what she meant. There were too many corrupt, power-hungry bastards in Washington looking out for themselves, and Sam had spent months railing about the mess they were in. But that didn't mean Bucky had to be the one to fix it.

He turned to his best friend. "Sam. Seriously?"

Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Look, man. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you could do this. People need someone like you. Someone real."

Bucky stared at him for a long moment. His gut told him to walk away, tell them all to shove it. But something about the way Y/n was looking at him - calm, expectant, like she already knew the answer - made him pause.

"Give me two weeks," she said suddenly.

He frowned. "What?"

"Two weeks," she repeated. "If I can't convince you by then, I'll walk away."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. He didn't trust her. Too polished. Too confident. Too damn sure of herself. But he also knew Sam wouldn't have brought her here if she wasn't good. And if this was what it took to get her off his back...

"Fine. Two weeks."

Y/n smirked, shaking his hand. "You won't regret it."

Bucky already did.

—--

The next morning, his regret solidified when she showed up at his apartment at seven a.m.

She knocked once before letting herself in like she owned the place. "Rise and shine, Senator Barnes."

Bucky groaned, rolling over on his couch. "You can't just barge in here."

"You gave me your address."

"For meetings. Not home invasions."

"Tomato, tomahto." She dropped a suit bag onto his chair. "Wear this."

Bucky cracked one eye open to glare at it. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Y/n gave him a once-over, unimpressed. "Unless you're planning to campaign as the poster boy for 'Brooklyn Man in Crisis,' you need a better look."

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. "You're insufferable."

She grinned. "And you're going to be a senator."

God help him.

—--

Bucky should've known two weeks with Y/n would feel like two years.

From the moment she barged into his life, she was relentless. She had a plan, a schedule, and a level of energy he didn't know how to handle. She dragged him across the city, introducing him to people he supposedly needed to meet, and he hated every second of it - until he didn't.

The first stop was a veteran's shelter.

Bucky had no idea what she expected him to do here, but the moment he stepped inside, everything felt familiar. The smell of instant coffee and cheap floor cleaner, the low hum of a broken television in the corner, the weight of men and women carrying too much on their shoulders.

Y/n introduced him to Robert, a Vietnam vet in a tattered army jacket with a wheelchair that barely rolled.

"Barnes, huh?" Robert eyed him, unimpressed. "You got that soldier look."

"Yeah," Bucky admitted. "Got the baggage to match."

Robert huffed a laugh. "Join the club."

Bucky listened as Robert told him about the shelter's struggles - how the government aid barely covered meals, how the VA left calls unanswered, how the system forgot about the people who fought for it.

He was still listening when Robert shifted in his wheelchair, wincing as the wheel snagged against the floor.

Bucky crouched down. "What's wrong with it?"

"Damn thing's falling apart," Robert muttered. "VA won't replace it for another year."

Without thinking, Bucky rolled up his sleeves, inspecting the rusted bolts and worn-out bearings. "You got any tools?"

Robert looked surprised. So did Y/n. But ten minutes later, Bucky was on the floor, sleeves dirty, fingers working with muscle memory as he patched up the chair. When he tested the wheels and felt them glide smoother, he exhaled, satisfied.

Robert grinned. "Maybe you ain't just another pretty face after all."

Y/n's voice was quiet when she said, "I told you."

—--

The next stop was a family-owned diner on the verge of shutting down.

Linda, the owner, was in her late fifties, with tired eyes and a forced smile. She poured them coffee and explained how a chain restaurant opened two blocks away, stealing her customers and threatening to erase thirty years of her life's work.

Bucky saw the exhaustion in her hands as she gripped the coffee pot. The weight of running a business, trying to compete with corporations that had lawyers and loopholes.

"I don't wanna shut down," she admitted. "But I can't survive another year like this."

Y/n leaned forward. "If a senator fought for policies that actually protected small businesses instead of bending to corporations, would it make a difference?"

Linda scoffed. "It'd change everything."

Bucky watched the way Y/n studied Linda - how she genuinely cared. He was starting to understand that this wasn't just politics to her. It was about people.

And for the first time, he wondered if it could be for him, too.

—--

The last visit was to a single mother named Marissa.

She lived in a cramped apartment with peeling paint and a broken heater, raising two kids while working two jobs. She told them how childcare was so expensive that working barely made sense, how health insurance barely covered her son's asthma medication, how politicians always promised to help but never did.

When Bucky met her daughter, a five-year-old with bright eyes and tangled curls, she tugged on his sleeve.

"Are you a superhero?"

The question hit harder than he expected.

Bucky knelt to her height. "Not really."

"But you help people?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Trying to."

She beamed. "Then you're a superhero."

And that? That stuck with him.

—--

That night, Y/n drove him back to his apartment.

She was quiet for the first time since he met her. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. "So?"

Bucky exhaled. He still didn't trust the system. He still didn't want the spotlight. But tonight, he realized something - if he didn't do it, someone else would. And they might not give a damn.

He glanced at her, then out the window.

"I'll think about it."

Y/n smirked. "That's politician talk, Barnes."

He shot her a look. "Shut up."

She laughed. "You're already getting good at this."

—--

The next morning, Bucky woke up with the weight of yesterday still pressing on him. The stories he'd heard - the veteran struggling to get by, the small business owner drowning in red tape, the single mom working two jobs just to stay afloat - echoed in his mind.

He wasn't a politician. He wasn't a leader. Hell, he barely had his own life figured out. But something about yesterday wouldn't let go of him.

Y/n had been right about one thing - if he didn't step up, someone else would. And that someone might not care about the people who actually needed help.

By the time he made his way to the campaign office, she was already there, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, barking orders at an assistant who looked terrified.

Her eyes flicked to him the second he walked in. "Oh good, you're here. We have a lot to - "

"I'm in," Bucky said, cutting her off.

Y/n froze mid-sip. Blinked. Then, very slowly, a smirk spread across her face. "You're gonna have to say that again. For legal reasons."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I said I'm in. I'll run."

She grinned like she'd just won the lottery. "God, I love being right."

Bucky sighed, already regretting this. "Don't make me change my mind."

"Oh, no chance, Barnes," she said, already reaching for a stack of folders. "Now sit down. We've got work to do."

And just like that, the fight began.

—--

Y/n had worked with stubborn candidates before, but Bucky took it to another level. He refused to follow a script, hated media training, and had an allergic reaction to the word fundraiser. He was a walking PR disaster waiting to happen.

"I'm not saying you have to lie," she argued, pacing the room as he leaned against a desk, arms crossed. "I'm saying you need structure. A message."

Bucky scoffed. "People don't want scripted bullshit."

"No, but they want confidence." She threw up her hands. "Do you think Captain America winged his speeches?"

His jaw clenched. "I'm not Steve."

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. "No. But you're running for Senate. And senators speak to people."

"Yeah? Well, I'd rather speak like a human than a goddamn teleprompter."

She groaned in frustration. "You are impossible."

And he was. The same way he refused to wear a damn tie to the fundraiser she'd been planning for weeks.

"It's a tie, Barnes," she said, arms folded as she blocked his path.

"I hate ties."

"Oh, I'm sorry - are they strangling your delicate little neck?" she shot back.

He smirked. "You wishing you could strangle me, sweetheart?"

She made a strangled noise. "Yes!"

The tension between them simmered like a slow-burning fire, always waiting to explode.

And one night, it did.

—--

The office was dimly lit, the city skyline glowing through the windows. It was past midnight, and they were alone, trapped in yet another heated argument.

"This is not how you win a debate," Y/n snapped, throwing a folder onto the desk. "You need to stop acting like you can just wing it!"

Bucky's hands curled into fists. "I don't need a script to tell me how to care about people."

"No, but you need one so you don't screw yourself over." She stepped closer. "I don't understand how someone who actually gives a damn can be this stubborn."

"I don't understand how someone so smart can be this damn controlling."

Her breath hitched. He was too close.

The tension in the air shifted, something sharp and electric. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. Her pulse thrummed wildly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, with a growl, Bucky slammed his hands on the desk behind her, caging her in.

Y/n sucked in a breath. He was right there, inches away, heat radiating off him in waves. His blue eyes burned into hers, his jaw tight, his breathing ragged.

Her back pressed against the desk.

His fingers twitched like he wanted to grab her.

And then, just as suddenly, he stepped back.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

Without another word, he turned and stormed out.

Leaving her standing there, breathless, heart pounding, wondering what the hell just happened.

—--

Something changed after that night.

The fights didn't stop - but they became different. Less about proving each other wrong, and more about understanding.

Y/n started to see it - the way Bucky avoided scripted speeches, not because he didn't care, but because he felt too much. The way he hated fundraisers, not because he was lazy, but because he despised the idea of rich donors controlling politics.

And Bucky? He started to see it, too.

The way Y/n fought for his campaign like it was her own life on the line. The way she anticipated every obstacle before it happened. She wasn't just good at this. She was brilliant.

And for the first time, he realized - maybe she wasn't his enemy.

Maybe she was the reason he had a shot at winning at all.

—--

Bucky never imagined himself in politics. He wasn't cut out for speeches, handshakes, or the endless parade of fundraisers. But once he made a decision, he committed. And if he was going to run, he was damn well going to win.

Bucky officially entered the race, and the world took notice.

The media loved it. The New York Times called him The War Hero Washington Needs. Talk shows and political analysts couldn't stop talking about the ex-soldier-turned-senatorial candidate. Social media flooded with clips of him speaking - raw, unscripted, genuine. He had that rare quality that made people listen.

Y/n watched the madness unfold with a mixture of awe and annoyance.

Because as much as she hated to admit it, Bucky Barnes was a natural.

He was charismatic, self-assured, and - when he actually listened to her - practically unstoppable.

"Admit it," he teased after a particularly successful rally, leaning against her desk. "You thought I'd suck at this."

She gave him a flat look. "I still think you suck at this."

His smirk deepened. "The polls say otherwise, sweetheart."

She hated how much she enjoyed this.

But the honeymoon phase didn't last long.

—--

It started with a headline: "Can We Trust the Winter Soldier in Washington?"

Then came the stories. The grainy footage. The whispers of blood on his hands.

His opponents had been waiting for this moment.

They called him a terrorist. A murderer. They dredged up every dark piece of his past and plastered it across news stations and debate stages.

Bucky took it all in silence.

And then, one night, he walked into Y/n's office and dropped a newspaper on her desk.

"I'm done."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He exhaled slowly, jaw tight. "They're never gonna let me move on. Doesn't matter how many people believe in me - this campaign is over."

Y/n clenched her fists. "So that's it? You're just quitting?"

His glare was sharp. "You think I don't want to fight? You think I don't want to - " He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I'm tired, Y/n."

She stood, slamming her hands on the desk. "You don't get to be tired."

Bucky blinked.

"You think I don't know what they're saying about you?" she continued, voice heated. "You think I don't see how much it gets to you? But you do not get to let them win."

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

"You are not the Winter Soldier," she said fiercely. "Not anymore. And if you quit, you let them define you forever."

Bucky swallowed hard. "Y/n..."

"No." She shook her head. "You listen to me, Barnes. You want this. You deserve this. And I didn't waste my time dragging your stubborn ass into this race just for you to back out when it gets hard."

Silence filled the space between them.

Then, slowly, Bucky exhaled.

"...You really don't like losing, do you?"

She crossed her arms. "No. And neither do you."

A slow, tired smirk tugged at his lips.

"Fine," he murmured. "Guess we keep fighting."

—--

That night, after a brutal press conference where reporters refused to let up on his past, Bucky showed up at her office with a bottle of whiskey.

"I swear, if one more reporter calls you a brainwashed assassin... " she muttered, rubbing her temples as she watched the coverage.

"They're not wrong," Bucky muttered, pouring them both a glass.

She shot him a look. "They're not right, either."

He didn't respond. Just handed her a glass and sank onto the couch beside her.

For a while, they drank in silence. The city lights flickered outside the window.

"I never wanted to be a hero," Bucky admitted suddenly. His voice was low, tired. "Didn't ask for it. Didn't want it."

Y/n watched him carefully. "Then why are you doing this?"

His fingers tightened around the glass. "Because... you were right."

Her breath hitched.

He turned his head slightly, blue eyes locking onto hers. "I want this. Even if it's messy. Even if it's hard. I want to fight."

Y/n's chest tightened.

Slowly, she turned back to her drink. "I never wanted to fall for a candidate," she murmured.

Bucky froze.

Neither of them made a move.

A thick, charged silence settled between them, the weight of unspoken words pressing into the space where they sat. The dim glow of the office lamp flickered against the amber liquid in their glasses, but neither of them took another sip.

Bucky watched her carefully, the words settling between them like a live wire, humming with something unspoken.

His fingers tightened around his glass, knuckles pale. Then, in a voice rougher than before, he murmured, "I never wanted to fall for my campaign manager."

Y/n's breath hitched.

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before letting out a dry, humorless chuckle. "But here we are."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them thickened, heavy with everything they weren't saying.

Finally, he exhaled, his fingers tapping against his glass. "I never wanted this either," he admitted, voice low. "But somehow... it feels like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

Y/n swallowed, gripping her glass a little tighter. "Good," she said quietly. "Because I don't work with quitters."

Bucky let out a breath that was almost a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, I figured that out."

For a moment, everything felt suspended in time - just the two of them, the campaign, the weight of their choices pressing down like an inevitability neither of them could escape.

Then, without another word, Bucky stood, downed the rest of his drink, and left.

The moment he was gone, Y/n exhaled sharply, setting her drink down with a clink.

Damn him.

Damn the way he looked at her. Damn the way he made her care.

She closed her eyes for a brief second, willing away the storm inside her chest. Because this was temporary. It had to be. The stakes were too high and they couldn't afford any mistakes. And being with him would be the biggest mistake she could ever make.

—--

The weeks leading up to the election blurred into a whirlwind of rallies, interviews, and endless strategy meetings. Every day felt like a battle, not just against the opposition, but against the weight of expectations, the relentless media cycle, and the ghosts of Bucky's past that refused to stay buried.

For Y/n, it was all-consuming. She barely had time to breathe, let alone sleep, her mind constantly spinning with talking points, damage control, and making sure Bucky didn't self-sabotage. He was brilliant, infuriatingly so, but he also had a habit of ignoring every carefully crafted plan she laid out for him.

And Bucky? He was exhausted, but he wouldn't admit it. The pressure of it all sat heavy on his shoulders, his name dissected in headlines, his past dragged through the mud. He knew this fight was bigger than him, but that didn't make it any easier.

And Y/n - Y/n was right there in the thick of it with him.

Which was why, when another long, brutal day finally broke them both, the tension snapped like a live wire.

"You have to stop going off-script!" Y/n snapped, shoving a stack of notes against his chest.

Bucky barely caught them before they scattered to the floor. His grip tightened, knuckles flexing as he let out a sharp exhale. "Maybe if your scripts didn't sound like a damn robot, I'd actually use them."

Her eyes flashed. "Oh, I'm sorry that actual, thought-out speeches aren't good enough for the great Bucky Barnes."

He stepped closer, his voice low, rough. "And I'm sorry you think I need a damn leash just to talk to people."

Y/n tilted her chin up, refusing to back down. "Someone has to keep you in line."

Bucky's jaw ticked, his fingers curling around the edge of the papers still pressed between them. Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. The tension was thick, electric, sparking between them like a live wire.

The stack of notes crinkled as his grip shifted, the paper caught between their hands the only thing keeping them apart. The way she was looking at him - heated, daring, like she wanted to push him further - made his pulse pound.

He wasn't sure who moved first. Maybe it was her, maybe it was him, but suddenly they were too close, the air between them charged.

Her breath hitched when his fingers brushed against hers, just barely, just enough to send a shiver up her spine.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again, but there was an edge to it, a slow, deliberate weight. "You think you can handle that?"

Y/n swallowed, her throat bobbing. She should've stepped back. She should've put distance between them. Instead, she held her ground, her breath quickening as his gaze flickered down, tracing the curve of her lips before dragging back up to meet her eyes.

Her pulse hammered.

His fingers flexed.

The moment stretched, thick with something neither of them were willing to name.

Then - just as suddenly as it had come - Bucky stepped back. The papers slipped from his grip, falling to the floor between them.

Y/n exhaled sharply, blinking away whatever that had just been.

Bucky smirked. "See you at the fundraiser, sweetheart."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, heart pounding, hands trembling, and mind racing with a thousand thoughts she had no business thinking.

Damn him.

Damn the way he looked at her, the way his voice got all low and rough when he was trying to push her buttons. Damn the way he smelled - clean and sharp, something like cedarwood and stubbornness. And damn the way her body reacted every time he got too close.

She shook herself, gathering the fallen papers with sharp, jerky movements. She didn't have time for this.

But ignoring it was easier said than done.

—--

The tension between them didn't fade after that night. If anything, it got worse.

The next morning, they had a meeting at headquarters. Y/n arrived early, coffee in hand, already scanning through the latest poll numbers. She didn't even notice when Bucky walked in - at least, not until he leaned over her chair, close enough that she felt the heat of him against her back.

"Black coffee, no sugar?" His voice was amused as he plucked the cup from her hands.

She turned, scowling. "Excuse me?"

He smirked, taking a slow sip - too slow, too deliberate. "Just making sure you're not poisoning me."

She huffed, yanking the coffee back. "Please. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't waste a perfectly good coffee to do it."

Bucky chuckled, that low rasp of his sending a flicker of heat down her spine. But she refused to let him see how much he got under her skin.

Unfortunately, that was becoming harder by the hour.

At the next campaign stop, it was even worse.

They had a rally in the city, and Y/n was supposed to be watching from backstage, making sure everything ran smoothly. But then Bucky, in all his reckless glory, decided to go off-script again, throwing in some charming, impromptu remarks that had the crowd eating out of his hand.

She stood there, arms crossed, biting the inside of her cheek. Damn him for being good at this.

When he finally walked offstage, flushed from the adrenaline, grinning, she grabbed his arm, dragging him into a quiet hallway.

"You cannot keep doing that," she hissed.

Bucky arched a brow. "Doing what?"

She groaned. "Going off-script! Improvising! Making my job impossible!"

He smirked, stepping closer. "Oh, sweetheart. If you think this is me making your job impossible, you should see me when I'm actually trying."

Her breath caught.

He was close. Too close. His eyes dark, locked onto hers, his lips curled in that cocky little grin that made her want to slap him - or maybe kiss him.

The worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.

Y/n squared her shoulders, refusing to back down. "Just - stick to the damn speech next time."

Bucky tilted his head, studying her, then smirked. "No promises."

—--

By the time the night of the fundraiser arrived, the tension between them was unbearable.

Y/n had spent the whole evening pretending not to notice the way Bucky looked in that perfectly tailored suit - how the fabric hugged his broad shoulders, how his tie was just slightly loosened like he couldn't be bothered to be fully put together. He looked unfairly good, and worse, he knew it.

She was doing a great job avoiding him, too. Right up until they ended up in the elevator together.

Alone.

The doors slid shut with a quiet chime.

The air immediately felt too thick, the space too small.

Bucky leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching her with that slow, assessing look that always made her insides twist.

"You've been avoiding me," he said.

Y/n huffed, crossing her arms. "I've been busy."

He smirked. "Uh-huh."

Silence stretched between them. The hum of the elevator filled the space, the soft, distant chatter of the fundraiser slowly reached them as they ascended.

Then - Bucky shifted.

Not much, just a slight push off the wall, a subtle step closer. But it was enough.

Y/n's breath hitched.

His gaze dropped - to her lips, then back up, slow, unhurried. The air between them was thick, humming, electric.

He reached out, just barely brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was barely there, the tips of his fingers ghosting against her skin.

Y/n swallowed hard.

"Careful, Barnes," she murmured, forcing a smirk. "People might start thinking you actually like me."

His lips quirked, but his voice was lower when he replied. "What if I do?"

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

The elevator chimed.

The doors slid open.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Bucky stepped back, smirking as he gestured for her to exit first.

"After you, sweetheart."

Y/n exhaled sharply, forcing herself to walk forward like her knees weren't about to give out.

Damn him.

Damn herself.

And damn whatever the hell this was between them.

Because it wasn't going away.

If anything, it was getting worse.

Then came the moment of his speech at the fundraiser.

A disaster.

Bucky went completely off-script again, saying something reckless about corporate donors that had Y/n seething.

"Are you insane?" she hissed the moment they stepped off stage, grabbing his arm. "You just alienated half the people funding this campaign!"

He yanked his arm away. "I told the truth! You should try it sometime."

Y/n's nails dug into her palm. "You think this is some noble fight? This is politics, Barnes!"

"Yeah?" He turned on her, stepping way too close. "And?"

The air thickened.

They were too close.

His chest brushed hers. Her breath hitched.

His jaw was tight, his breathing uneven, and his eyes - god, his eyes burned, locked onto her with a mix of frustration and something darker, something that made her stomach flip.

Her pulse pounded.

Then, his gaze dropped.

She saw it.

The flicker of hesitation. The war happening in his head.

And then, in the next breath, he snapped.

Bucky grabbed her wrist, yanked her into the nearest dark room, and slammed the door shut.

"Hey - "

But she never finished the sentence.

Because Bucky was on her.

His hands gripped her waist, her back hitting the wall with a quiet thud. His body pressed against hers - heat, tension, the sharp inhale she barely had time to take before his mouth crashed into hers.

Messy.

Desperate.

Like weeks, months of biting back every unspoken thought had finally exploded.

His hands were everywhere - skimming her ribs, gripping her hips, fingers digging in like he needed to anchor himself. Y/n gasped against his lips, her own hands yanking at his tie, pulling him closer, closer, closer...

His teeth scraped against her bottom lip, pulling a soft sound from her throat that made him groan, low and rough.

"Fuck," he muttered against her mouth, his forehead dropping against hers for a fraction of a second. His breathing was ragged, his grip on her tight.

Y/n swallowed, chest rising and falling against his.

This was bad.

This was reckless.

But then Bucky's lips traced along her jaw, hot, open-mouthed kisses dragging down the side of her neck, and suddenly she didn't give a damn.

Her head tilted back, hands gripping his shirt, her own breath shuddering when his tongue flicked against her pulse point.

"Bucky," she whispered.

His body tensed.

And then - just as quickly as it started - he pulled back.

Like he was waking up from a dream.

Like the weight of it all had just come crashing down.

Silence.

Harsh, panting breaths.

The air between them was still charged, thick, suffocating. But something had shifted.

Bucky's hands lingered on her waist. His thumb brushed her blouse - once, twice - before he stepped back.

His jaw was tight. His expression unreadable.

And then... he kissed her again.

This time slower, deeper.

Not just frustration. Not just tension.

This was giving in.

Y/n whimpered as his hands found her thighs, lifting her against the wall. Her skirt rode up, his fingers digging into bare skin as her legs locked around his waist.

Her mind screamed at her to stop.

But then his mouth was back on her throat, his hips rolling against hers, and any thought of stopping vanished.

It was fast.

Clothes pushed aside, hands desperate, mouths bruising.

A slip.

A mistake.

A perfect, shattering mistake.

And when it was over, when their breathing slowed and the reality of what they had done settled between them, Y/n found herself staring at the ceiling, trying to steady her pulse.

Bucky was silent.

Then, with a deep breath, he pulled away.

Fixed his shirt. Straightened his tie.

Y/n swallowed, smoothing down her skirt with trembling fingers.

They didn't speak.

Didn't look at each other.

And when Bucky finally reached for the door, he paused - just for a second.

Then he left.

Y/n exhaled sharply, staring at the empty space where he'd just been.

She didn't move for a long time.

And just like that, they went back to the way they used to be.

As if nothing had changed.

Even though everything had.

—--

The next morning, Y/n sat stiffly at her desk, her fingers gripping a pen she hadn't used in minutes.

Bucky stood across from her, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

They didn't talk about it.

Didn't dare.

But the air was different now - charged, restless, crackling with something unsaid.

Every glance stretched too long. Every breath felt too shallow.

And every touch - accidental, fleeting - was a live wire.

Y/n felt it when his fingers skimmed her wrist in a meeting, the warmth lingering far too long.

Bucky noticed the way her breath hitched whenever he leaned in close, the way her pupils dilated when he said her name.

They should stop.

They really should.

But neither of them did.

—--

Sam noticed.

Of course he did.

One night, after a particularly tense briefing, he pulled Bucky aside, arms folded, expression heavy with suspicion.

"You and Y/n."

Bucky blinked. "What about us?"

Sam scoffed. "Don't play dumb. I see it."

Bucky clenched his jaw.

"You wanna throw your whole campaign away for this?" Sam pressed, voice low. "Because if this gets out..."

"It won't."

Sam exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Man, I know you. And I know her. And whatever this thing is, it's dangerous."

Bucky said nothing.

Because he knew.

The warning sat heavy in his chest long after Sam walked away.

He knew the risks. Knew what was at stake. But none of that changed the way his pulse jumped every time Y/n was near. It didn't erase the memory of her lips, the way she had fit against him, the way her breath had trembled when he dragged his mouth down her throat.

It didn't erase the way she had looked at him after - like she knew it was a mistake but still wanted more.

They hadn't spoken about that night.

Hadn't touched again.

Hadn't let themselves want again.

At least, that was the lie they told themselves.

Because it was there.

In every stolen glance. In the way their fingers brushed too long when she handed him a file. In the way her voice softened, just a fraction, when she called him Barnes.

In the unbearable, suffocating tension that neither of them dared to break.

Bucky wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.

But with the final debate looming and the weight of the entire campaign pressing down on them, there wasn't time for mistakes.

—--

Bucky had faced war. He had taken down enemies, survived impossible missions, and fought battles no man should have walked away from. And yet, standing in Y/n's office, just hours away from the final debate, he felt something he hadn't in a long time.

Fear.

Not the kind that crept up on you in the dead of night, whispering reminders of past sins. No, this was different. This was the fear of failure. The fear of losing.

He wanted to win now - not just for the people, not just to prove to himself that he was more than his past, but for her.

For the woman who had dragged him into this campaign, who had fought for him even when he gave her every reason not to. The woman who had challenged him, frustrated him, made him feel alive in a way he hadn't in years.

And now, she sat behind her desk, arms crossed, watching him with that sharp gaze that always saw right through him.

"You're nervous," she said.

Bucky scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "No, I'm not."

"You're pacing."

"So?"

"You never pace."

He stopped, exhaling sharply before turning to her. "I don't want to let you down."

That caught her off guard. Her brows lifted slightly, and she hesitated before speaking. "Me?"

Bucky clenched his jaw, his voice rougher than he intended. "Yeah, you. You're the reason I made it this far. You fought for me when I didn't deserve it. You believed in me. So yeah, I need to win this."

Y/n stood slowly, stepping around the desk until she was right in front of him. Close enough for him to smell the faint scent of her perfume, the one that had tormented him for months.

"Then get it together, Barnes."

His eyes darkened. "Barnes?"

Her lips curved slightly, a challenge gleaming in her eyes. "Until you prove you can actually stay controlled."

Something inside him snapped.

One second, they were standing inches apart. The next, Bucky had her backed against the desk, his hands gripping the wood on either side of her, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths.

Y/n's breath hitched, but she didn't back down. If anything, she leaned in, eyes locked onto his.

His nose brushed against hers, his lips hovering dangerously close, teasing.

"Control, huh?" His voice was rough, low, sending a shiver down her spine. "That what you want?"

Y/n swallowed, her resolve wavering for the first time. "Show me."

Bucky's grip tightened on the desk, his knuckles white. His whole body ached for her, months of tension reaching a breaking point. But instead of giving in, he pulled back at the last second, his breath ragged.

"Tomorrow," he murmured, his voice full of promise. "After I win."

And with that, he stepped away, leaving Y/n breathless and gripping the edge of the desk for support.

—--

The auditorium was packed. Cameras lined the back of the room, reporters perched on the edge of their seats, the audience buzzing with anticipation.

Bucky sat backstage, rolling his shoulders, exhaling slow, measured breaths. He could still feel Y/n's presence beside him, could feel the tension crackling between them like a live wire.

"Ready?" she asked, voice steady.

He looked at her then, really looked at her.

She was the reason he was here. The reason he wanted to win.

Instead of answering, he reached out, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest moment. A silent promise.

Then he stepped onto the stage.

The debate was a bloodbath.

His opponent came swinging, throwing every dark piece of his past at him - the assassinations, the destruction, the years of being the Winter Soldier.

But Bucky didn't flinch.

He looked straight into the cameras, into the eyes of every person watching, and he owned it.

"Yes, I have a past. A dark one. A violent one. And I've spent every day since fighting to make up for it. But I am not that man anymore. I am a soldier. A survivor. And I will fight for you the way I fought for my own redemption."

The crowd erupted.

His opponent was left speechless.

And Y/n - standing just offstage - watched him with something she had never seen before.

Pride.

—--

The announcement came hours later.

James Buchanan Barnes had won.

The victory party was chaotic. Reporters swarmed, cameras flashed, and people cheered his name. Music blared, champagne flowed, but Bucky barely heard any of it.

His focus was on her.

Across the room, Y/n was talking to a group of campaign staffers, but she felt his stare, turning to meet his eyes.

And that was all it took.

Bucky pushed through the crowd, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into a dimly lit hallway, away from the noise.

She barely had time to react before his lips was on hers.

It was desperate. Months of tension, of late nights, of stolen glances and almosts - all of it exploded in that kiss.

Y/n gasped against his lips, her hands fisting in his suit jacket, pulling him closer.

He groaned, hands gripping her waist like he'd never let go.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, he smirked down at her. "Told you I'd win."

Y/n rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her heart raced.

"Shut up, Senator Barnes."

Bucky chuckled, his grip tightening on her waist. "Say it again, sweetheart."

She huffed, but there was no real bite behind it. Instead, she grabbed his tie - and yanked him down to her level, their noses brushing.

"You're insufferable," she muttered, but the way her fingers lingered against his jaw told a different story.

Bucky grinned, tilting his head like he was considering something. "You love it."

Y/n didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, she kissed him again, slow and deep, like a promise.

The victory, the campaign, the chaos of the night - it all faded.

Here, in this quiet hallway, it was just them.

Just the two of them, pressed close, breathing the same air, caught in something neither of them could deny anymore.

Bucky traced his fingers down her arm, his touch deliberate, reverent. "You realize," he murmured, "this means you're stuck with me."

Y/n arched a brow, lips curving. "Oh, I've been stuck with you for months, Barnes. The real question is - " she dragged a hand over his chest, toying with the lapels of his jacket - "what are you going to do now?"

His smirk softened into something deeper, something real. "Keep fighting," he said simply. "For this. For you."

Y/n's breath caught, but before she could respond, his lips found hers again, slower this time, savoring.

The world outside could wait.

Tonight, they had already won.