#astheworldburns

[the-eternal-quest-for-balance]

26. Kamala Harris is a communist and her word choices give it away. “Equitable distribution” “equity”

It’s a repackaged version of Karl Marx’ popularized slogan “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs” meaning a redistribution of wealth. pic.twitter.com/WlETamsJUy

— (•_•) (@AsTheWorldBurnz) August 2, 2024

[garythingsworld]

Elon Musk Goes There... Makes Stunning Admission on X: "Kamala Harris is Quite Literally a Communist" | The Gateway Pundit | by Jim Hoft

[outerrimhours]

As The World Burns

A Darth Maul x F/AFAB!Reader Fanfiction

Chapter One: A Princess's Peril

{Previous Chapter} / {Next Chapter} / {Fic Masterlist}

FIC SUMMARY: Queen to be, after the slaughter of your mother and father by the Separatists, you were cast aside in an attempt at dictatorship by your uncle who claims he is the rightful ruler. Kept in the dark, you secretly seek knowledge to overthrow the crown, yet find yourself entangled in a lustful affair with the enemy, a certain Sith Lord who aids you in the ploy to take back your kingdom. 

Multi-chapter, fem/AFAB!Reader x Darth Maul. No use of y/n. Let’s pretend Maul was cut from the knee down. No canon timeline tbh.  Includes smut.

RATING: Explicit. This work is strictly for those 18+ due to sexual content. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1k

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: Loss of parent/family, anxiety, unwanted touch (nothing serious),nightmares,  

A/N: Sorry this took forever to get out. I’ve had no motivation, except @eloquentmoon, who I adore their work and their fic made me want to write this.

“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom”

As if conjured from the storybook of a child, a soft evening mist ghosted over the garden, soaking into petals of lavender. In the cloud softened light, the ivy brings a sweet wave of evergreen with veins of the lightest green. The ghost of vines traced their pathway like fading scars against the Utarian statue. What once was new and vibrant, crumbled at the will of the planet. Pieces of tufa and limestone fragmented. Grass breaching through exposed cracks. At the edge of the clouds rested a brilliant white patch, like a turning page catching the suns. The rest was dove gray and peach nestled into a hint of beryl, just enough to announce the sunset. And tucked furtively inside of a stone wall was an aged and water logged copy of “The History of Utara”. 

 What once was tradition within the Altair family, soon perished with the death of the King and Queen. Before the coronation of a young princess, Druan Altair, brother of the king, emerged from the shadows to take the crown instead. The princess was not to know the history of her people and the politics within. Most saw this change as a form of protection after what happened to her mother and father at the hands of the separatists, but was merely a ploy to dictatorship. 

 You settled onto the bounty of clover and sun strengthened grass, the torso of a tree lending a resting spot. Despite the yellowed pages curling up within themselves, black ink still flowed in perfect Auerbech. 

 Your kingdom was once peaceful and prospering, barely a parsec away from Naboo, who happily traded with no conflict, until the war began. A war that starved the Naboolians and killed the reigning monarchs on Utara. A beloved King and Queen, struck down by the hands of a red suffused blade. A young princess's peril. Although you had been trained from birth to take rule, Druan Altair assumed control under the pretense that a princess whose parents were targeted by the Sith would merely be in danger. 

You absorbed the information thoughtfully. 

“M’lady”, a voice approached, the mildewed book hiding underneath the skirt of your dress. Approaching through the brush was a young Knight named Torent Mozh, who met your gaze, not with a shyness like most guards, but with a blunt refusal to avert his gaze first.

 “The king requests your presence in your quarters.”

 Your jaw clenched at the word king. There were no requests. Only demands. 

  “May I inquire why exactly I am being shunned from my own gardens at such an hour”, you requested, observing the way the setting sun beamed off the shiny armor. You knew Torent long enough to know when he did provide all of the information you requested. Although some of his face was obscured by a dark scraggly beard  that clung to his skin, you could still read minuet facial expressions. 

“We have visitors. He prefers you not be out during this time”, the Knight stated, “You know, for your safety, Princess.” 

Bile rose in your throat as a large, sleek, ship slowly landed a few miles north. Nothing like you had ever seen. 

“Who”, you demanded.

Torent scoffed at the assertiveness. 

“Separatists?” 

“Nothing you should concern yourself with. Now let’s go”. 

The way he placed his hand against your back was soft, yet aggressive, in a swift motion to move you towards the palace. It infuriated you. Yet suddenly panic settled in as you realized your book was still tucked between your dress. Every explicit comment you felt like shouting was silenced by the dread of knowing your secret could be exposed so easily. You were silent, tunnel vision setting in as you walked up the stairs and into the foyer, Torent’s hand no longer pushing you, but eyes still watching as you climbed the stairs to your quarters. 

You had to find a way to return the book to the garden.

 “M’lady, may I retire for the night”, your servant, Thalia, asked quietly as she combed through the waves of your hair. You were usually more talkative, basking in Thalia’s company and friendship, yet tonight you were curled within yourself. Gazing into the mirror, thoughts far away. All you could think of was getting that book back into its creavis. 

“Of course, get some rest.”

Thalia sat the gold plated brush against the vanity, its detailed artwork worn and withering with age. You couldn’t help but regret not taking every generational hair that swept through that brush and knitting it into a blanket. Possibly the last piece of your mother residing in it. The grief drained through you, rather than skating over your skin. It traveled through every cell to reach the ground. Your feet lifting to touch the chill marbled floor, ghosting over to the chest that resided like a dusty coffin underneath your bed. It was painted in swirls of pastel with flecks of gold, as if Michelangelo sculpted it himself. The lock clicking beneath your fingertips, opening to reveal what was left of your mother. A silk nightgown, moon shaped hair clips, letters from your father proclaiming his love when he wasn’t planetside, her favorite books, and lastly, a journal. The journal was several hundred yellowing pages, each gentle to the fingertip, but cracking with age and tear stains. Upon them was the wisdom of her soul; those feelings of love channeled through  great knowledge and a lifetime of meditative contemplation. In that humble ink was the liveliness of her brain, how her synapse danced as if they were young all her days. The journal was forever as pure as a child. A mother who loved her daughter more than imaginable. 

You curled underneath the satin cream colored sheets of your bed, flipping through the pages of the journal by candlelight. Your favorite entry a reminder of the morning you picked berries with her by the garden wall. Laughter and smiles. The way she smelled of roses when she embraced you. You were not very ladylike then and she blamed your father. 

“She has a warrior’s heart”, he would always say. 

Your heart ached with a mixture of mournfulness and vexation, but your train of thoughts interpreted by echoing voices downstairs. Your curiosity plagued you. You were desperate to know who your uncle had brought forth. Unlike your people, who he had easily manipulated during a time of war and mourning; you were less naïve. You had seen the Separatists ships before, the guards loading spice into what once held your finest wine.  

You were eager to spy on your Uncle’s new acquaintances.  

Tucking your Mother’s journal away and finding a robe to cover yourself from the chill, you swiftly gathered a small candlelight and cracked the door. A guard was perched in the center hallway, not for your protection as one might think, but to keep you from leaving. Luckily, shift change was beginning to happen, and you managed to sneak past to the staircase. 

“I assure you Lord Maul”, you heard your Uncle in an overwrought whisper. You edged close to the marbled wall, creeping silently down the staircase until you were able to peer over the corner. Your Uncle walked alongside a slightly shorter man draped eerily in a black cloak. 

“Our soldiers are the best in the system”, he continued.  

Your interest peaked as the man clasped his hands behind his back, humming lowly as if  considering his words. 

“Utara will be a valuable asset to Crimson Dawn.”

You gasped at your Uncle’s words, causing the visitor to turn slightly in your direction. It was such a subtle noise, even your Uncle didn’t notice. Yet, your heart pounded violently. 

“We will see”, Maul spoke, turning his attention to the staircase. Predatorial eyes locking with yours. You had never seen eyes so saffron, so piercing. It frightened you. He was surely looking right at you and you were so frozen in place, you dared not move. His blood stained skin was tattooed with black tribal inks, something you had never seen before on your planet. 

The devil had you trapped in his gaze until he looked away, addressing your Uncle one last time before disappearing through the doors. 

“Do not disappoint,'' he spoke. 

You finally exhaled, blood and air rushing through your body as you huffed against the wall. You were so tense and panicked, quietly racing back to your quarters before you were caught once more. 

[teresayandco]

This brings to mind the song by Billy Joel titled “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” which reminds us that even though nobody most certainly did not cause Taal Volcano to spew steam, we all have to make it our responsibility to care for the common man as the world burns.

[nessequals7]

you can put the Jordan crying mean over the whole planet but yeah... meme of the day via @love.watts via @telli_ninjasonik #AsTheWorldBurns (at Land of the Lost) https://www.instagram.com/p/CFv-wgbDn1r/?igshid=18zv19azbitfa

[t0tal-xx-creep0o0]

Easy to fall Part of your skull Starts to break away A cheater's walk Down the block Behind this evil street She's a white girl #x #whitegirl #witch #goth #punk #horror #gore #blackmetal #deathmetal #heavymetal #grunge #redhair #fit #vegan #psychoqueen #screamqueen #livingdeadgirl #zombiegirl #girlswithtattoos #inkedbabes #girlswithpiercings #fishnets #666 #pentagram #mistressofallevil #vans #forever21 #astheworldburns

[adoworks]

'Technical Difficulties. Go Back to Sleep.' Acrylic on canvas 12x12" Painted as part of the VMF Year 5 Art Exhibit. Check out the @vanmuralfest website (link in bio) for this and many other artworks created by mural participants this year. All original works are available for purchase along prints and framing options. Swipe for process pics ---> #adoworks #vancouvermuralfestival #painting #acrylic #canvas #astheworldburns #capitalism #canadian #american #talldarkandhandsome #alllivesmatter #stereotypes #fallingempire #lastdaysofrome #babylon #firstnations #african #asian #lgbtq🌈 #nature #environment #blueblood (at Vancouver, British Columbia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEIOqtshXaH/?igshid=11wfv0t1tvav3

[the-in-news]

2020 started with a bang, but not the good kind. 

[withasmileandagrinn]

#AStheWORLDburnS! (at 100hundred3FOE) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5v2gw1D8BM/?igshid=1xm0raivals0c

[kineticcvr]

20 years ago today our debut album was released on @matadorrecords and the rest is history. Shoutout to all my Arsonists brothers, @stretchandbobbito @fatbeats and all the loving fans that made this possible. Oh and special shoutout to Bushwick Brooklyn. We will always love you. _ _ _ #Repost @mr_q_unique • • • • • 🔥20 years today (8/24)🔥 #thearsonists #astheworldburns #chingrock #qunique #dstroy #swel #jiseone #freestyle #kineticnrg #kriminalkrash #spinone #gr8skot #matadorrecords #brooklyn #steelohim #hiphopclassic #barsmatter #Indiehiphop #BoomBap #Hiphop #NYHiphop #undergroundhiphop #Stretchandbobbito #FatBeats25 #bushwick #ItAllStartedInBushwick Reposted from @jise_one (at Bushwick, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/B1jdMlgAnAF/?igshid=tt87gfc9bwm4

[randgugotur-6]

This Day in Metal

Sept 22nd 1987 #Kreator released the album "Terrible Certainty" #BlindFaith #AsTheWorldBurns #BehindTheMirror #NoEscape #ThrashMetal

Did you know...

The band has achieved worldwide sales of over two million units for combined sales of all their albums. https://t.co/n9UGIMIsAT

Papa Emeritus Aproved 👻🤘😈

[cesarsantosjr]

Regrann from @thisdayinmetal - ‪Sept 22nd 1987 #Kreator released the album "Terrible Certainty" #BlindFaith #AsTheWorldBurns #BehindTheMirror #NoEscape #ThrashMetal ‬ ‪Did you know...‬ ‪The band has achieved worldwide sales of over two million units for combined sales of all their albums, making them one of the best-selling German thrash metal bands of all time.‬ - #regrann (en Chiriquí, Chiriqui, Panama) https://www.instagram.com/p/BoBj1zKnRoF/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=3jab0shikikx

[outerrimhours]

As The World Burns

A Darth Maul x F/AFAB!Reader Fanfiction

Chapter Two: Devil in the Woods

{Previous Chapter} / {Next Chapter} / {Fic Masterlist}

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Plagued by nightmares, you sneak away to the ruins of the old church for clarity, only to face the devil in the woods. . 

RATING: Explicit. This work is strictly for those 18+ due to sexual content. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,095

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: Loss of parents, death, grief, fear, trauma, nightmares, night terrors, war,  non canon timeline

A/N: I’m thriving off of the comments and support. Love you guys! Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up o-er wrought heart and bids it break."

“My love, go to the old church”, your father begged, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. “You’ll be safer there”. 

He clutched your arm tightly, the horror of knowing he may never see his daughter again glazing over his worrisome eyes. You had never seen your father so distressed. Despite the guards running towards the commotion, blaster fire crumbling the foundation around you, you stood firm.

“I can’t leave you”, you shouted.

“I can’t lose you”, he cried.

He pulled you tightly into an embrace, sweat and tears mingling onto each other's skin as he placed his lips against your forehead. 

“I love you my little warrior, but please run.”

Your father’s last words before an explosion separated you, it rented the air as if it were intent on shattering the universe, ripping apart every atom. 

Silence.

Except for the piercing ringing in your ears, the edges of your eyes were blurred with dust. You crawled amongst the rubble, the fabric of your dress tearing with each graze of gravel. A shard of stained glass protruded from your arm, the trail of blood glutinous and cold. You had yet to feel its sting. Fear moved your body along, legs wobbling like a newly born deer, and with each step you cried out. Bodies were scattered beneath your feet, crushed from falling rubble, blaster rounds through their skin. The air tasted metallic. You kept moving in the opposite direction of the guards until reaching the garden doors, the further you got the quieter the world became. Sweat beaded across your skin, the electric pumping of your heart pushing blood quicker through your veins and out of your wound. You were breathless, gasping for air as you ran. The soft pillowy grass a stark contrast to the battle behind you.  

You ran until it was almost silent. Until you saw the stoic architecture stretching above the hill, sheltered by ivy vines and mossy stone. A once holy and sacred place succumbing to the planet. The moment your knees hit the stream of water across the floor, you wailed. Your harrowing scream echoing into the vast emptiness. 

When you reached out, your fingertips met silk sheets. 

Your hair was matted against your skin, the scar against your arm throbbing as if fresh. You were soaked in sweat, heart pounding so quickly in your chest you were unable to catch enough air into your lungs. 

Thalia rushed into the room, worry painted on her face, but not fear; no she was used to the night terrors. 

Too many times had she been awakened by your screaming. 

You couldn’t look at her, because this time you cried. Sobbed, really. You could tell she wanted to comfort you, but you felt pitiful. 

“I’m fine”, you choked out. “Please, leave me be”.

“Are you sure M’lady?”

“Yes”, you gritted out. 

“As you wish”, Thalia obeyed, shutting the door behind her. 

You felt claustrophobic. Was your castle a home or prison, for the answer existed in your feelings. Were these bonds of love or duty? You didn’t even need guards, for you had forgotten a world beyond the walls. You rubbed the scar against your skin absentmindedly. It wasn’t the wound to your flesh that was your highest concern, yet injury to your brain, the way you saw the world and perceived others. 

You wrapped your cloak around your body and stood against the french doors of your balcony. 

You felt you may break every bit of furniture if you didn’t get some fresh air. Desperate to feel the grass beneath you. To step foot in that church for the first time since the battle. 

Meditate. 

You weren’t afraid of the dark. You navigated the path to the ruins, not by sight, but faith and memory. The mist of earlier rain kissed the bottom of your bare feet against the grass, a looming fog ghosting through the trees. There was a steady glow of moonlight, the aphotic forest released a plethora of sounds of nocturnal creatures that moved safely within the hug of the shadows. 

The narrow path at your feet fades and you follow the strip of naked earth to the towering structure. You feel almost breathless at the sight of it. Stone pillars with pointed archways untouched since the last time. Your pain absorbed within the walls.  Your eyes flutter closed and you reach out to touch the vines, as if they would whisper to you what you needed to hear.

“So peculiar”, it said. 

No, not the vines. Someone is there.

You whip around in disorientation at the unfamiliar voice; you’re faced with the devil. 

“Who are you”, you demand with a sense of authority. 

The stranger squints his eyes in annoyance, as if you were the one trespassing. 

“I should ask you the same.”

He stalks you with his amber eyes as you come to fully face him, and although you try to appear unfrightened, your feet take a step back. 

“I’ve seen you before”, you say. 

He hums in contemplation before responding, his voice rich and deep, almost sultry.

“Ah yes, the little spy. You are quite…loud”. 

“You’re not welcome here”, you seethe. The frustration of the situation mingling with tired delirium made you almost brave. 

Until he removed his hood. A crown of horns adorned his head, making his frightening complexion that more chilling. Yet he stayed in his position, an almost curious expression on his face. 

“Says who?” 

How dare a stranger in your home speak to you in such a way. You were growing impatient with the interaction. 

“The princess of Utara”, you stated. 

The stranger chuckled, arms extending behind his back as he approached. He appeared almost regal. Your heart raced with his closeness, your overconfident mouth surely to get you killed.

“Princess?”, he questioned, “you look rather..disheveled. Alone in the woods, barefoot, defenseless.” He said the last part almost as a taunt, a warning, yet his face looked rather amused.  

The fear made your brain feel scattered and unfocused and you took another step back. The man loomed over you even from a few feet away and if it weren't for the moonlight, he would have been a shadow in the darkness. And when you felt he may strike, the stranger turned his back to you.

“Goodnight..Princess”, he spoke before disappearing into the night, so silent, as if he vanished within thin air. Your title on his tongue in almost disbelief, amusement. 

[kalimvp]

I know that there’s a whole ‘nother month to go but this year has been a crazyyy year so far ! (And i forgot to post for #Thanksgiving 😪 i was so focused on gettin’ this #pilot right 🤷🏾‍♂️) but of all that has happened in my life these last 330 days, this year i’m most #grateful for the #family & loved ones i’ve gained ! From being apart of my @damatrixstudios family, makin’ my 1st K from solely #engineering (all that bread is GONE btw 🤦🏾‍♂️#InvestInYourself) to making my 1st bread$ off of performing, opening @houseofmau & endeavoring to keep building this MASSIVE @youngbossmediatv movement ! S/O my 1st two guests EVER for #AsTheWorldBurns @noig_ari | @yakiraliz & S/O to everyone & anyone who has blessed me with anything positively, even a damned “Like” 😆🙏🏾🙏🏾 Get ready for some LiVE studio audience seats coming 🔜 #January2018 ! 🙌🏾©️ P.S. if you’re interested in #hosting your own show, hmu ! #Network #placement #opportunities available ! 🔛©️ (at Manhattan Neighborhood Network - MNN)