#this is them before millions of years of war

[lastoneout]

Putting this here because I don't wanna bother the OP of that post, but like come the fuck on TLJ does Luke SO BAD.

I get that OG trilogy Luke is very young and people change as they age, and on top of that trauma can affect a person long after the trauma is over, but I'm sorry if losing his fucking hand didn't stop him from trying and succeeding to get through to the good that was very much still inside Anakin then there is nothing that would ever stop him from trying to get through to Ben Solo. Like you're telling me Luke Skywalker offers forgiveness to DARTH FUCKING VADER, who up until very recently he only knew as a vile, evil monster who had murdered millions of people and subjugated millions more AND attacked him and cut his hand off, and still have the sheer willpower to look at that fucking war criminal and say "I'm gonna save him" and BE RIGHT, that Luke, would see his nephew, who hasn't done anything wrong yet, and think "I should kill him so he doesn't maybe become evil" like?? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE, IT DOESN'T.

Vader was a whole entire fucking adult who had up until the last like 15 minutes of his life has spent the majority of it committing countless horrific atrocities with no remorse and Luke knew he wasn't so far gone he couldn't be reached and would not fucking give up until he was saved. Luke faced down goddamn Emperor Palpatine, he risked himself becoming corrupted and joining them, risked DYING despite being the only person left who could actually pose a threat to either Vader or Palpatine, to save the galaxy and his father, and you expect me to believe that fucking Luke Skywalker wouldn't have destroyed himself before laying a hand on a TROUBLED CHILD HIS SISTER TRUSTED HIM TO TAKE CARE OF.

It's just disrespectful. I 100% agree with Mark Hamill about that not being Luke because it wasn't. Luke has always had optimism and kindness as his core driving forces(pun not intended) making him into an asshole cynic to what? Shock people?? Luke would never end up like that in that way. If Luke would go to those lengths to try to save Darth Vader then he would never try to kill Kylo Ren/Ben. If Luke understood that DARTH FUCKING VADER was also a victim and not beyond saving then there's no world in which he would give up on a teenager who hadn't done anything wrong.

And tbh I don't think Ben turning evil would have been the reason Luke gave up on rebuilding the Jedi order because I don't think he would try to rebuild it in the first place, at least not the way it was before it fell. He looked up to the Jedi for sure but he understood their flaws better than anyone else alive. There's no world in which Luke ends up trying to recreate the Jedi and then giving up on helping the galaxy after trying to kill his nephew so he doesn't become evil, and there's no world in which a guy who knew how much dealing with Yoda was would treat Rey the way Yoda treated him. That's just not how Luke Skywalker wouldn't act. Never in a million years. Luke also never let his own flaws or the flaws of others stop him from helping people, especially his family. He lost his and and his friend got sold to a warlord and he still kept showing the fuck up for them. Did dwell on his failures he just got up and said "What's next?" That's who Luke is, for fucks sake. Luke is not a complicated character it's genuinely impressive that anyone was able to fuck him up this bad.

Every actor in that film deserved a better movie. I loved Rose and Poe and Finn and that movie did not(literally so disrespectful to make all the character of color be the unserious b-plot especially after how important Finn was in the first film, they all deserved better). I love Luke Skywalker and that film did not. I love the optimism and fantastical joy of Star Wars and that movie shat all over it for the sake of edgy, disappointing, grimdark twists. I'd rather watch the entire prequel trilogy than ever have to sit through even a minute of The Last Jedi. What a fucking disaster of a film.

[sathereal]

WITH OR WITHOUT YOU — S. GOJO

❝ sleight of hand and twist of fate ; on a bed of nails she makes me wait ❞

PAIRING — kingdom au ; peasant!gojo and princess!reader

SERIES SUMMARY — sneaking out was something y/n would never do, not in a million years. she followed the rules without question, always striving to embody the grace and dignity expected of her. raised to serve her kingdom with honor, she never imagined straying from the path laid out for her. that was before she met a charming peasant named satoru. now, y/n finds herself torn between duty and desire, between the life she was born into and the one her heart quietly longs for. to follow the rules would mean security and legacy. to follow satoru would mean freedom and love. for the first time in her life, y/n must choose.

SERIES CW — 18+ mdni, fem!reader, smut (eventual), forbidden romance, emotional repression, hurt/comfort, angst, trauma response, blood/injury, violence, class divide, protective gojo, slightly manipulative behavior, power imbalance, reader has a vagina, longing, identity concealment, arranged marriage themes, war references, emotional vulnerability, corruption, heavy tension. (may update)

chapter one

SUMMARY — the softness of an inexperienced princess and the ruggedness of a runaway warrior collide after y/n is rescued from the chaos of a starving, angry kingdom. in the quiet aftermath, something unfamiliar begins to stir—something that shakes the foundation of who she’s always been. as tension and connection grow between them, y/n finds herself questioning not only the expectations placed upon her, but the very nature of her devotion to them.

WC — 7.5k

authors note — thank you so much for considering reading!!! i haven't written fanfic, or been on tumblr, since 2021 so i apologize if the writing isn't enjoyable/is bad. i have no idea if it's a good idea for my first piece back on here to belong to a series but whatever. i truly hope you enjoy. the smut isn't going to be in this chapter, but it will eventually come up in the series!

masterlist (wip) ; series masterlist (wip)

y/n’s silk slippers, emerald green to match the adornments in her hair, brushed softly against the cool brick of the pathway leading into a garden of blooming morning glories and vibrant spring flowers. the rising sun cast a golden warmth over the garden, coaxing a small but deeply needed smile to her face. spring had finally arrived.

the long-awaited season broke through the cold grip of a bitter winter, a winter that had cloaked her kingdom in despair. the village beyond the castle walls had suffered greatly. death and disease had swept through the land, leaving behind sorrow that clung to every home, every heart. though warmth had always been at y/n’s fingertips, tucked safely away in the castle, her heart ached relentlessly for her people.

"your highness, the queen has requested a change of clothes for you." the faint yet familiar voice called out. y/n turned to see her lady-in-waiting approaching with careful steps. "she said what was picked out for you was too extravagant."

after offering a gentle smile, y/n looked down at her dress. a gown of cream silk, soft to the touch, that shimmered like morning light. layers of sheer fabric floated with the wind, and golden floral embroidery bloomed across the bodice and sleeves as if it had been kissed by the sun. tiny pearls adorned the neckline, and at her waist, a delicate belt of gold thread was fastened with polished emeralds, each one glinting like dewdrops in the early light.

"i dare say mother is right, kasumi," she said softly, fingers grazing the intricate stitching, "yet i am saddened. a bright dress for a bright day... spring is finally blossoming."

y/n stepped closer to her beloved companion, the scent of the garden curling gently between them.

kasumi’s expression shifted. "i wouldn’t quite say a bright day, considering the reasons for the village having an audience with the king."

y/n dropped her head slightly, knowing that kasumi was right. the troubles of last season had stirred deep unrest in the villagers, but she held faith that the king would make a just decision. he had always done right by his people, so why would he stop now?

but more than that, the queen wanted her daughter to be seen. to walk among the people, to smile through sorrow, to remind them that even after such a harsh winter, there was still gentleness, still light. the princess was to be that light, a promise that spring’s grace had returned to them.

the pressure of what y/n was about to endure—the thought of seeing the village’s suffering with her own eyes—wrapped tightly around her chest. the anticipation made her steps slower, heavier. she had seen sorrow from the castle windows, but to walk beside it... to meet the eyes of those who had endured such loss... that was something else entirely.

starting her way back into the castle, y/n gestured for kasumi to take her arm.

“thank you for all you do for me, kasumi,” she said softly, the corners of her mouth lifting with effort. “you’re truly my greatest friend.”

kasumi’s hand slipped into the crook of her arm with ease, her presence steady and grounding.

“and you are stronger than you know,” she replied. “whatever you face today, you won’t be alone.”

they continued their quiet walk, the morning light casting golden patterns across the stone floor, as if the sun itself wished to lend its warmth to the princess’s burden. the distant hum of the awakening castle just beginning to stir. petals danced in the breeze behind them, and for that brief walk, the weight of duty felt just a little lighter.

gojo had started his morning the way he always did. miserable. he hadn’t been in the kingdom long, having made his move there just last summer. the bitter, sorrowful winter that followed didn’t give him much hope for a future in the place, but it was all he had. running from the past didn’t leave many choices. so he kept his head down, swallowed whatever trouble came his way, and did his best to blend in, to survive. maybe one day, eventually, make something of himself here.

but every morning still felt like a weight. cold, uncertain, and heavy with the feeling that he didn’t quite belong. he pulled on his clothes for the day, his bland, poorly stitched linen that hung awkwardly on his frame. the fabric itched slightly at the collar, and the seams threatened to unravel at his elbows, but it did the job. no one in the village cared about appearance. not in times like these.

his job at the most popular tavern in town, kaisen, was modest but honest. he scrubbed dishes, swept floors, and occasionally helped serve customers. it wasn’t much, but it was quiet. safe. and for someone like gojo, quiet and safe was all he could ask for. at least, for now. 

on his way to work, gojo noticed something was off.

the town was louder than usual, buzzing with uneasy energy. it wasn’t the usual morning chatter or vendors setting up stalls. no, this was something different. even the weak and ill, who usually stayed tucked away in shadows or doorways, were out in the streets, their voices rising with urgency. it piqued his curiosity.

he slowed his pace, then veered off his path to work, deciding a detour wouldn’t hurt. weaving through the growing crowd, he tried to catch fragments of conversation, eyes scanning the restless faces around him. with every step, the tension thickened.

something wasn’t right.

people jostled for a better view of the road that led to the kingdom gates, and gojo’s gut twisted with unease. he didn’t like crowds, it had too many eyes, too much risk. whatever this was, it was big and maybe, just maybe, worth knowing.

gojo’s shoulders tensed as he pushed past a group of villagers, murmurs slipping through the rising noise like threads waiting to be pulled.

“they said the princess is coming” someone blurted from the crowd.

gojo narrowed his eyes. a princess? out here? it didn’t make sense. royals didn’t walk among commoners, especially not during times like these, when the kingdom was still hurt from winter’s chokehold.

he moved a little closer, staying quiet, blending into the worn faces and layered clothes around him. another voice spoke up, bitter and low.

“hope, they say. like hope is gonna feed our children or fix our homes.”

gojo’s gaze shifted toward the road. he didn’t believe in royals. not their smiles, not their charity. but if one really was coming out here, he wanted to see for himself.

that’s when he saw her.

she moved through the crowd with quiet grace, but what caught gojo off guard wasn’t her face, it was how plain she looked.

too plain for a royal.

she wore a fitted lilac gown, simple in design, nothing crafted to draw the eye or demand attention. a single silver belt cinched her waist, the only ornament on the entire ensemble. her hair was styled simply, too. no elaborate braids or jewels, just a thin silver band that matched the belt and the delicate silver threading of her slippers.

gojo blinked, trying to reconcile the image in front of him.

no guards announcing her presence, just following her every move. no fanfare. no lavish silk or golden embroidery. just a girl who looked more like a ghost of nobility than a princess, and yet, despite the simplicity, there was something about her. something still…untouchable. it brought confusion to gojo. a royal dressed like that, walking among them? he couldn’t make sense of it.

some of the villagers scoffed at the sight of her.

“who are they fooling?” a man muttered, arms crossed, eyes sharp with resentment. “they lived well while we starved and died.”

others nodded in agreement, their faces worn and hollow, unmoved by the softness in y/n’s eyes or the simplicity of her gown. to them, it wasn’t humility. it wasn’t hope. it was a mockery. a silk-wrapped gesture meant to feel human, but it stung instead, like rubbing salt into wounds that hadn’t healed. gojo stood silently among them, the voices rising around him like a tide of quiet anger. he didn’t speak, but he listened. they didn’t see a princess bringing spring. they saw a girl playing dress-up in sorrow she’d never tasted. and yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

gojo didn’t move, he just watched her, standing in the thick of the crowd, heart drumming a little faster for reasons he didn’t understand. his jaw tensed as the villagers’ words swirled around him. they were sharp, bitter, deserved. he couldn’t blame them. not after what they’d been through. not after what he had seen.

winter had torn through the village like a curse, ripping families apart, leaving more graves than full bellies. and while the people suffered, the castle remained warm. untouched. distant. he should’ve felt the same anger they did, in a way. so why now—looking at her in that plain lilac gown, with nothing but silence—did something twist in his chest?

maybe it was the way she looked at the crowd. not above them. not through them. she looked at them. not like a royal, but like someone who felt something, but feelings didn’t fix hunger and kindness didn’t bury the dead. gojo let out a slow breath, gaze narrowing.

she doesn’t know this life, he reminded himself. she doesn’t know what it costs to survive. and yet…something about her still made him hesitate.

before gojo could make sense of the feeling pulling at him, the sharp sound of trumpets cut through the air. the crowd stirred, voices dropped and heads turned. the announcement was unmistakable. it was the return of the army.

y/n’s brother, the crown prince, was coming home. and with him, the soldiers who had survived the war against ryomen sukuna, the ruthless leader of the opposing kingdom. the war that had drained the kingdom dry. gojo’s stomach twisted.

it all made sense now. the famine. the shortages. the silence from the palace while villagers buried their loved ones and rationed crusts of bread. everything had been fed to the war effort. every coin, every prayer, every promise, and now the victors were marching home.

the crowd began to shift, pressing toward the road. some craned their necks in search of familiar faces, others stood still, arms crossed, eyes filled with quiet rage. joy wasn’t the emotion that settled in the air, it was weariness, bitterness. gojo didn’t move, not yet. he glanced back at y/n. her posture was graceful, but her eyes, they weren’t celebrating either.

the rumble of hooves followed the trumpets, growing louder with each passing second. armored riders crested the hill in formation, the gleaming silver against the morning light. banners bearing the royal crest fluttered high above them, proud and pristine. but pride was not what filled the street.

gojo could feel it, like a low hum beneath his feet. the crowd wasn’t cheering. there were no songs, no applause. just shuffling feet, tightened jaws, and eyes that had seen too much to forget. he watched a mother clutch her child closer. an old man turned his back entirely. soldiers returned with medals and polished boots, but the people greeted them with silence. this wasn’t a homecoming. this was a reminder, a reminder of the price paid. of the sons and daughters who didn’t come back. of the money funneled into battle while the villagers burned their furniture to stay warm.

he saw y/n again, standing at the edge of the road, her expression unreadable. calm, maybe. or just practiced. she didn’t wave. she didn’t smile. and for a moment, gojo wondered if she felt it too, that tension that sat like a storm cloud between the people and their protectors. he wasn’t sure if it made her foolish or brave, standing out here like this, but she didn’t look away and neither did he.

as the army drew nearer, y/n stepped forward from the crowd, alone, save for a few soldiers who kept a respectful distance. her back straight, hands folded gracefully before her, she looked every bit the image of royal composure. gojo noticed the slight lift of her chin. the way her fingers tensed around the fabric of her gown. a trumpet blared again, louder this time.

“presenting crown prince megumi fushiguro, heir to the throne, commander of the king’s guard, and defender of the realm.”

the name rang through the crowd. megumi. 

gojo committed it to memory without thinking. he barely had time to consider it before the first screams pierced the air. not from joy, but grief.

a woman fell to her knees, her hands clutched over her mouth. beside her, a man stood frozen, eyes searching the procession for someone who never returned. gojo saw the realization spread across the crowd like frost: some would not be coming home. it was a quiet devastation, the kind gojo knew too well. the soldiers passed solemnly. faces were unreadable, eyes straight ahead, and then the prince appeared.

megumi rode at the front, sharp, poised, distant. he barely spared his sister a glance. gojo’s brows lowered slightly as he watched the prince ride past y/n, offering her no more than a flick of his gaze. no words. no warmth, just a silent dismissal, but she smiled anyway, just a small one. a respectful dip of her head, an offering of grace where none had been given. gojo couldn’t tell if it was for the people, for herself, or because she cared for her brother. then megumi addressed the crowd.

“to those who have lost family, i offer my deepest condolences,” he said, voice firm, carefully measured. “your loved ones fought bravely. they will be remembered.”

then he moved on. gojo stood still, arms crossed over his chest, something sharp curling in it. he said all the right words, gojo thought bitterly, but not one of them felt real. his eyes flicked back to y/n. she was still standing, still silent, the silver belt catching the light as the wind stirred her gown, and for the first time, he wondered what it cost to be her.

“that’s all you offer us?” the voice rang out, sharp and unafraid.

“after everything we sacrificed for this war?” the crowd rippled. heads turned. the man stepped forward, eyes burning. “your lack of empathy is appalling.”

a murmur grew into something louder, the frustration taking shape, grief turning to rage. more voices joined his, fueled by loss and hopelessness.

megumi didn’t flinch. he remained composed, expression unreadable, gaze fixed ahead as if the cries of the people weren’t meant for him, but the crowd didn’t fall silent. they turned to her.

“you’re well clothed, well fed, while we lay here in this state?”

“you’re all monsters.”

“you don’t deserve the crown. you deserve death, to be with the innocent people who were killed under your hand.”

gojo’s body stiffened. he could feel it, the way the energy shifted, sharp and dangerous, all of it aimed at her and she just stood there.

y/n didn’t cry. she didn’t shrink away. but her eyes, he saw it. the way they glossed, how her chest rose with a quiet, steadying breath. she wasn’t heartless, she wasn’t cold. she was enduring it. feeling it. the people couldn’t see it, blinded by the ache in their own hearts. all they could see was gold-stitched guilt and silver-threaded betrayal, but gojo saw her and for the first time in a long time, he felt something he thought he’d buried. the need to protect someone.

the crowd was moving now, not just yelling—inching closer and y/n, for all her composure, for all her quiet grace, now wore fear across her face like a veil. it was subtle, but unmistakable, her eyes wide, lips parted, body frozen in place. the guards reacted quickly, forming a barrier around her. swords drawn, stances firm but gojo could see the panic behind their discipline. there were too many people, too much grief turned into fire. 

megumi was gone. he had slipped into the castle, untouched, unmoved, whether out of ignorance or apathy, gojo didn’t know. maybe he hadn’t expected this. maybe he just didn’t care, but y/n was still here and suddenly, gojo couldn’t stay still anymore. the crowd surged, voices rising, hands reaching. and before he fully realized what he was doing, he was moving with them. not in anger, not in protest, but with purpose. a purpose to protect her.

he pushed past shoulders and outstretched arms. after ducking beneath someone, he reached her. y/n’s eyes locked on his for the briefest second, confused and terrified, but before she could speak, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“don’t scream,” he muttered.

then he ran. the guards didn’t even have time to stop him. they were locked in with the crowd, trying to hold back the storm. gojo ducked down an alley, moving fast, y/n’s weight light against him as her slippers skidded across stone.

what had he just gotten himself into? his heart thundered in his chest. a runaway, a peasant, now probably facing a jail sentence. but he didn’t stop, not when she was shaking. not when he could still hear the cries of the mob behind them.

they were miles from the kingdom now, hidden deep within the forest, where the air smelled of damp moss and the only sound was the rustling of leaves and their breath still catching up to them. y/n’s body trembled. not from the run, not entirely. the fear still clung to her skin like cold water.

she had known the people were uneasy. she expected grief, sorrow, maybe even coldness. but this? the hatred in their eyes, the accusations spat like venom, she hadn’t been prepared for that and now, she was alone. no guards. no brother. no familiar walls to shield her, just him. the stranger who had pulled her from the crowd like a storm dragging her off course. she sat a few feet away from him now, still catching her breath, gaze flicking to his face—and his eyes.

blue.

not the soft kind, but sharp, almost unnatural. they watched her with an ease that made her wary and yet they drew her in. he grinned suddenly, catching her stare.

“beautiful, aren’t i?” he said with a smirk, not the least bit shy about her lingering gaze.

her cheeks flushed with heat. she turned her face away, biting back a response. not from offense but from something else. something dangerous. she wasn’t used to feeling this.

he was handsome, undeniably so. toned in a way that didn’t make sense for someone who supposedly spent winter starving. his white hair stood out against the forest green, wild but not aged. he looked young, maybe only a few years older than her but something was off. there was a looseness in his posture, a confidence that didn’t match the villagers she’d met. he wasn’t afraid, that made her nervous.

deciding she needed to breathe, y/n lowered herself into the forest floor, the moss cool beneath her palms. her chest rose and fell in heavy, trembling waves, her body still recovering from the sprint and the sheer panic of it all. she could feel his gaze linger, but not unkindly, it was curious and sharp, and she wasn’t sure if that unsettled her more than the crowd had.

“who are you?” she asked finally, not looking at him, but not afraid of the answer either. her voice was quiet but firm. the princess was still in there, somewhere beneath the fear. there was a pause, deliberate. then, from beside her, came a voice far too relaxed for the situation.

“wouldn’t it be more exciting if i kept that to myself?” he said. “names have weight. and i get the sense you don’t give yours freely.”

y/n turned her head just enough to look at him directly. he reclined in the grass like a man without consequence, his arms behind his head, legs crossed loosely at the ankles. everything about him suggested detachment, but his eyes were alert. assessing.

“you brought me into unfamiliar territory without escort or permission,” she said coolly. “i believe i’ve earned at least a name.”

he grinned. “fair enough. it’s satoru.”

she studied him. “is that your given name?”

“it is,” he said, gaze still on the trees above them. “and before you ask, i have no titles, no house. just satoru.”

y/n gave a small, reserved nod. “very well, satoru.”

he turned his head toward her at the way she said his name carefully, almost musically. then, with a smirk, he added, “but if you’d rather call me something sweeter, i won’t complain.”

“i’ll manage,” she replied, lips pressing into a line.

“if you intend to use this situation for leverage,” she added, her voice even, “i warn you that i will not be easily manipulated.”

satoru sat up slightly, leaning forward just enough to catch her gaze.

“what would i even do with a princess?” he asked, his tone quieter now, a little less teasing. “i’m not here to ransom you or threaten you.”

“then why are you here?” she asked, genuine curiosity seeping through her formality.

he shrugged.

“rescuing royalty,” he said, voice low, eyes narrowing with amusement. “it’s a new hobby of mine.”

y/n studied him for a long, quiet moment. he was charming but not careless, not entirely. there was something practiced in the way he deflected, how he kept just enough of himself hidden beneath easy smiles and sharp eyes.

“where are you really from, satoru?”

her tone was polite but expectant. not a demand, not yet. his grin didn’t falter, but his eyes flicked away, just briefly.

“somewhere that doesn’t matter anymore,” he said.

she didn’t believe that but before she could press further, he shifted, resting on one elbow and tilting his head toward her with a casual curiosity that barely masked his deflection.

“then let me ask you something, princess,” he said, voice low. “why were you at war?”

the question hung in the air. it was not a challenge, not quite, but loaded all the same.

she inhaled slowly, trying to quiet the ache in her chest. “to protect the kingdom,” she said carefully. “to stop sukuna from advancing further. we couldn’t afford to lose more than we already had.”

he nodded slightly. not agreeing, nor was he disagreeing.

“and still,” he said, glancing up through the trees, “the streets were lined with hunger. the faces in the crowd, they didn’t look like people who’d been defended.”

y/n’s gaze lowered. “after all the starvation, there weren’t many people left to defend.”

the silence that followed was heavier than before.

“war always takes more than it gives,” satoru murmured. “even when it’s necessary.”

his tone was softer now. not mocking, not cold, almost understanding. y/n turned toward him slightly, studying his profile, how his eyes didn’t quite meet hers now, how something behind his calm seemed distant.

“you’ve seen it, haven’t you?” she asked. “war.”

he didn’t answer and that, somehow, was answer enough.

y/n found herself far more intrigued by the stranger who called himself satoru than she cared to admit. there was something about him. his evasiveness, the casual charm laced with shadow, the way he said everything and nothing at once. she wanted to know more. needed to. there were so many unasked questions, so many possibilities lingering beneath that sly grin.

who was he, really? a mercenary? a runaway soldier? could he have even been a spy for sukuna? the thought sent a chill down her spine. before she could follow it any further, a sharp throb in her ankle pulled her back to the present. her breath hitched. the adrenaline had masked it until now, but the pain was rising steadily. she shifted her weight slightly and winced.

looking down, she noticed a tear near the hem of her gown, the delicate fabric stained with small streaks of crimson. she must have cut herself, perhaps on a branch or a jagged stone during the escape. the gash wasn’t deep, but it was raw and bleeding. her jaw tightened, more from frustration than pain. she hated showing weakness, especially in front of someone she barely knew but satoru was already glancing over, brows lifting with a flicker of concern.

“is everything alright?” satoru’s voice broke the silence, low but laced with concern, maybe. he inched closer, head tilting just slightly as he looked at her more carefully.

y/n immediately shifted, pulling her dress around her and covering the wound with her hand.

“yes,” she said quickly, too quickly. he didn’t believe her for a second.

with an exaggerated sigh, he rolled his eyes and closed the remaining distance between them, his movements unbothered, almost careless, especially for someone addressing royalty.

“you really think i haven’t seen worse?” he muttered, brushing her hand aside.

“excuse me—” she began, eyes narrowing.

“relax, i’m not trying to offend your royal pride,” he said, already kneeling to inspect the cut. “just making sure you’re not dying or anything.”

he scanned the wound with practiced ease. it wasn’t deep, just messy and scraped raw. he let out a silent breath of relief. the last thing he needed was for the princess of shibuya to bleed out in some forgotten part of the forest because of him. he was already in enough trouble for dragging her here without permission. if anyone saw this, it’d look bad. really bad.

"you’ll live,” he said, glancing up at her with a crooked smirk. “but don’t worry, i won’t take credit for the dramatic rescue and your injury. that would be greedy.”

“you left her in that chaos?” the king’s voice thundered through the private chamber, fury rising like a storm behind his eyes as he turned to megumi.

megumi stood rigid, jaw tight. he’d faced war. blood. death. but this—his father’s wrath—was something else entirely.

“i didn’t know it would turn that violent,” megumi said, voice even. “she had guards—”

“guards?” the king snapped, stepping forward. “you think a few swords would be enough to shield her from the rage of a starving kingdom?”

he laughed bitterly, but there was no humor in it—only disbelief. “you knew the state of the people. everyone in this part of the world does. and still, you walked away.”

megumi didn’t respond. he couldn’t.

“she’s never known violence,” the king continued, tone darkening. “never questioned her place, never defied an order. she’s lived her entire life tucked behind these walls, doing what was expected—what we asked of her.”

the king’s gaze bore into his son now, disappointment layered beneath the anger. “and you left her.”

he slammed his fist against the lacquered table, the crack of it echoing off the stone walls.

“this kingdom is barely holding on—once thriving, now on its knees before ryomen sukuna. and now? now we’re fielding marriage offers from lesser bloodlines just to salvage our standing.”

megumi’s fists clenched at his sides. he cursed himself, silently. for being careless. for underestimating the unrest. for leaving her alone, for being so unlike the king he was expected to become.

megumi had always been calculated and precise. it was what earned him command of the army, what made others trust him with strategy and lives. but now, standing under the heat of his father’s fury, he couldn’t help but wonder how hadn’t he seen this coming? or worse, maybe he had seen it and he just didn’t want to.

the truth clawed at the edges of his mind. over a year of bloodshed, march after march, watching comrades fall beside him, torn to pieces in battle. the screams, the silence that followed, the stench of death. it was all carved into him now. a permanent fixture, a sickness he’d stopped trying to cure. he didn’t want to read crowds anymore. didn’t want to anticipate the next riot or feel responsible for every life around him.

he just wanted to be home. in silence, in stillness, but even here, in the place he was raised, there was no comfort waiting for him.

only consequences.

as the tension in the chamber mounted, the doors burst open with a clang of steel. a guard rushed in, his face pale, chest heaving beneath his armor.

“your majesties,” he said, dropping to one knee. “i bring grave news.”

the king turned sharply. the queen, who had only just arrived at the threshold, froze mid-step.

the guard swallowed. “the princess…she’s missing.”

a silence fell so heavy it felt like the room had stopped breathing.

the queen’s expression crumbled, horror overtaking her features. “what?” she gasped, staggering forward. “no—no, that can’t be—how?” her voice broke as her hand flew to her mouth. “were you not with her? how could this have happened under your watch?”

the guard kept his eyes low. “there was unrest among the people. the crowd grew violent. we tried to hold them back, but in the chaos, she vanished. we’ve sent search parties beyond the gates.”

the queen turned to megumi then, her voice rising, desperate. “you were supposed to look after her. you left her out there.”

megumi’s fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked, eyes dark with something unspoken—but he said nothing.

the king didn’t speak either. he stood still, unnervingly so, but panic thundered behind his eyes. his daughter, his symbol of peace was gone. taken or lost, he didn’t know, but his heart sank with paralyzing thoughts of what could be happening to his only daughter.

“we’re making all possible efforts to locate her—” the guard began, voice tense.

“all of your efforts,” the king snarled, cutting him off, “had better bring her back.”

he turned sharply to megumi, his voice dropping into something colder. more final.

“as for you megumi, i want you out there with them. now. i don’t want to see your face in this palace again until your sister is found and returned alive.”

megumi opened his mouth, but the king didn’t wait for a response.

“we’ll be meeting with ryomen sukuna soon after,” he added, spitting the words out like venom before storming from the room, the doors slamming behind him.

the queen stood trembling, her hand pressed to her lips. her eyes shimmered with fear but she said nothing, only stared at the empty space where her husband had been.

megumi stood frozen, his thoughts racing.

why would father mention sukuna now? he wondered. why does y/n need to be here for that meeting?

then the realization hit him—sharp and sickening. a marriage proposal.

one of the offers the king had mentioned earlier. a political move to stabilize their faltering kingdom. a last resort, perhaps. or worse—something already in motion. megumi’s stomach twisted. he had seen what sukuna was capable of. he was more beast than man, a king built on cruelty, conquest, and power. and the thought of his sister standing beside that creature as a bride caused disgust to fill his body.

he clenched his jaw, the rage settling in his chest like fire. he would find her, and he would never let her be bound to a monster.

it had been hours since satoru had pulled her from the chaos. the forest around them had grown quieter, shadows stretching long between the trees, and with every passing moment, y/n’s anxiety deepened. the night would be approaching soon.

they were far from the castle, far from any path she recognized and no one had come for her. part of her was terrified to go back, to face the people, to feel their fury again. but she couldn’t stay out here forever, not in the woods, not as a fugitive from her own kingdom.

a soft rustle caught her attention. satoru had returned to the mossy clearing, his sleeves damp, hands slightly chilled from the spring water he’d used to clean the cut on her leg. he looked oddly thoughtful, gaze distant, as if turning something over in his mind.

maybe rescuing her hadn’t been a mistake. maybe this was the break he’d been waiting for. not a problem, but a chance. something good. maybe, just maybe, the king would reward him for his noble act. stranger things had happened.

her voice broke through his thoughts, soft and sincere.

“thank you, satoru.” she stretched her hand across the moss, fingers brushing the green, plush surface. “you’ve shown me nothing but kindness, even though we were strangers until today. i am truly grateful.”

he turned toward her slowly, catching her eyes. then his lips curled into that familiar, shameless grin.

“is this where i’m granted a soft kiss from the beautiful princess?” he teased, leaning back on his hands with exaggerated ease.

y/n let out a small breath of a laugh, shaking her head as she looked away, half amused, half flustered.

“i said grateful,” she said, voice cool, but her smile betrayed her.

“gratitude comes in many forms,” he said with a wink. “i’m just listing my preferred one.”

y/n’s gaze lingered on his a moment too long.

there was something in his eyes. mischief, yes, but also something gentler beneath it. sincerity, maybe. or simply the ease of someone untouched by court expectations.

her eyes drifted, almost unconsciously, to his lips. they did look soft.

she caught herself and turned away sharply, shaking her head, embarrassed by her own thoughts. what am i doing? she scolded herself. this is not the time.

she was a princess who was hidden away in the woods, having narrowly escaped the fury of her own people. a nation on edge. a brother who’d abandoned her. a father likely enraged. he was a commoner. a stranger. a man who spoke in riddles and smiles, and yet somehow made her feel safer than the guards who’d sworn to protect her.

absurd, she thought. still, her heartbeat refused to steady.

gojo bit back a laugh.

he’d been a womanizer once, without apology. before shibuya, before the war, before he started running. charm was easy. flings even easier. women came and went like passing seasons. beautiful, forgettable.

but none of them had been like her.

no one had ever looked at him the way she just had. not with judgment or fear, but with curiosity. like she was trying to piece him together, even as she tried to convince herself to stay away.

and now she sat here, barefoot and bruised, more royal in rags than any crown had right to be. trembling yet dignified.

dangerous, he thought. because she could be the one thing i don’t walk away from.

“your brother, the prince,” gojo said, shifting his weight as he leaned back against a tree trunk. “what’s his deal?”

his tone was casual, but the question was deliberate. he needed to change the subject, to get his mind off the fact that he was sitting too close to a girl he had no business feeling anything for. especially not this girl.

y/n’s brow twitched ever so slightly. the phrasing alone, what’s his deal, felt irreverent. careless.

she turned her eyes toward him, cool and unimpressed. “how would you feel if you’d just returned from bloodshed?” she asked, her tone sharper than before. “months in the field. death in every direction. carrying home less than half of the men you left with.”

her expression soured as she spoke, but only for a moment. then, as her eyes met his again, she remembered.

he had seen war too. maybe not in royal armor, but she’d seen it in the hollowness behind his grin. in the way he didn’t flinch when danger rose. in the quiet that followed his charm.

gojo didn’t respond right away. he only watched her, the teasing in his face dimming slightly.

“yeah,” he murmured after a beat. “i’d probably shut the world out too.”

and that was exactly what gojo had done. he shut the world out because letting it in only made it harder to survive.

he wasn’t just some drifting villager, not really. he was a warrior, though few would guess it from his lazy grin and half-hearted jokes. he’d lived under another name, one spoken in whispers across bloodied fields.

the honored one.

his skills were unmatched. fast, ruthless, precise. a ghost in battle, a weapon disguised as a man. he didn’t belong to any one kingdom, he just moved from war to war, hired by crowns and councils that didn’t care who he was, only what he could do. he fought for coin, not cause. for survival, not loyalty.

none of those wars had ever been his. but that was what he signed up for, wasn’t it? to be needed, not known. to win, not belong.

now here he was, watching a princess run her fingers through moss and speak with a fire in her chest he hadn’t felt in years. and for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking about the next job.

he was thinking about her and that scared him more than any battlefield ever had.

“i apologize,” the princess said gently, her voice quiet against the rustling trees. “i shouldn’t have said that. i have no idea what you might’ve gone through.”

her eyes held something vast. not just beauty, but depth. grace that hadn’t been trained into her, but born with her. it caught him off guard. how effortlessly kind she was. not just polite, not out of duty. why would a royal, the daughter of a king, apologize to someone like him? to a man she thought was a commoner, a nobody?

she didn’t know the truth. didn’t know the blood on his hands, the names he’d left buried in forgotten battlefields. didn’t know that the people who had once called him the honored one had also feared him and yet, here she was. offering him softness no one had ever spared him.

nothing about y/n was selfish. nothing about her matched the other royals he’d worked for. those who wore crowns but ruled with coldness. no, she was different and that, more than anything, made her dangerous. kindness like hers could make someone like him believe he was worth saving.

“i guess i can forgive you,” gojo said with a smirk, his voice curling into something playful. “even though i never got that kiss.”

his grin was easy, teasing, meant to lighten the mood, to sweep away the weight of everything they weren’t saying. he hated intensity, especially with women. it made things complicated. made him feel too much.

his smile showed a joke, nothing more than a light flight, but his eyes, his mind, wanted more. he felt drawn in. he wanted to feel her soft lips on his. his eyes betrayed him, part of him wasn’t joking. there was something about her that pulled him in. soft, steady, and dangerously quiet. the kind of draw he couldn’t joke his way out of.

he imagined what it might feel like. her lips against his. slow, uncertain, but real. not because of status or gratitude or timing, but because she wanted to be there in that moment.

he let the thought pass, barely, and leaned back again like it hadn’t crossed his mind at all.

y/n wasn’t experienced in romance, not truly.

she had yearned for it once, quietly, in the tender days of her youth—those fleeting moments between duty and obedience, where dreams whispered what it might be like to be seen beyond her title. she remembered a curious prince from years ago, her seventeenth birthday gala, his hand at her waist during a dance, his smile warm, his words flirtatious.

for a moment, she’d believed love might feel like that, but it had passed. and nothing had come of it. still, she remembered how her chest had fluttered. how her heart had ached when he left. and yet, even then, she hadn’t understood it. not the way she felt now.

gojo was nothing like that prince. his gaze didn’t feel practiced or polished—it felt sharp. real. there was a weight in the way he looked at her, like he saw more than a princess in fine slippers and political worth. like he saw a girl with bruised ankles and trembling hands and still thought she was something worth staring at.

y/n didn’t know what to do with that.

she had always done what she was told. silence came naturally. obedience even more so. her place in the world had always been defined for her. here now, sitting beside gojo, tangled in moss and uncertainty, she didn’t feel like a princess. she felt like herself, something she didn't even know existed and she didn’t know if that was terrifying or intoxicating.

the darkness began to settle around them, the sun barely threading its last golden rays through the trees. long shadows stretched across the mossy ground, and the once warm forest now felt a touch colder—more uncertain.

“i think we need to take the risk and go back,” y/n said softly, a hint of unease in her voice. her fingers curled slightly into her skirts.

she’d never been beyond the kingdom walls at night, the dark outside the castle was unknown. it wild, full of sounds she didn’t recognize and dangers she’d only heard in whispers.

gojo glanced at her, then stood, stretching casually before turning to scan the trees with a deliberate ease.

“oh don’t worry, gorgeous,” he said, flashing a grin. “you’ve got me.”

he meant it as a tease, but his eyes were serious as they swept the surrounding woods, alert for anything that moved. despite everything, he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

when he sat back down beside her, the air between them shifted again.

a soft floral scent rose from her skin. it was delicate, sweet, and entirely her. it slipped into his lungs and lingered there like a whisper.

a pretty scent and a prettier girl.

he drew in a slow, quiet breath, grounding himself.

he could control himself—he would, but it was getting harder. every moment spent beside her, every glance, every breathe had pulled at something raw inside him.

don’t be reckless, he told himself. not with her.

y/n felt warmth rising in her chest. it was not from fear, but from the man sitting beside her. the creaking of the trees, the rustle of leaves, even the cold night air. they all faded in comparison to the intensity of gojo’s presence. his arm brushed hers slightly, and it was as if the forest disappeared.

“you’re gorgeous yourself, you know,” she said quietly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

immediately, her eyes widened.

what are you doing? heat rushed to her cheeks, and she turned her face away in quiet horror.

get it together, she scolded herself, you don’t say things like that. not to him, but next to her, gojo smirked with his gaze still fixed forward.

oh, he’d heard it and he definitely knew he still had it in him. even in simple rags, women adored him.

“oh, am i?” gojo teased, his voice low, the amusement curling at the edges. “then why can’t you look at me right now? it’s as if you’re scared of my face.”

y/n’s breath caught, her chest rising just a little too fast. slowly, almost hesitantly, she turned to face him. moonlight streamed through the trees, casting silver across his features—softening the sharp angles, lighting up the ocean of his eyes.

and god, they were beautiful.

“i don’t think anyone could be scared of your face,” she murmured, the words quiet but steady. “least of all me.”

their eyes locked in the stillness. her fear, his pride, the cold night, the warmth between them, it all hung in the air like something waiting to fall.

without much of a second thought, y/n leaned toward him, drawn in by the quiet intensity behind his eyes, they were hypnotic. glacial and burning all at once. the kind of gaze that made her forget titles, rules, the world entirely.

she wanted to feel his lips on hers. she wanted to lose herself in this handsome stranger who had risked everything for her and in that moment, it didn’t feel reckless, it felt necessary.

gojo knew it was coming, he knew it probably shouldn’t happen. something in him also knew he wasn’t going to stop it.

he moved in too, slow and steady, as if he could meet her halfway without shattering the delicate thread between impulse and restraint. their faces were just inches apart, breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat.

“y/n.”

the voice broke through the stillness, dull and distant, but unmistakable. flat, trying too hard to sound calm. as if someone had buried their panic beneath stone. her name hung between the trees, and everything stopped.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

I studied STEM, even though I had no intention of going into Defense or Medicine. I was building my Homebrew Theology, you see. A hubristic task, perhaps, but I was ambitious as a lad.

Would you like to know what I learned?

I learned that the world is very old, and has Ended many times. I learned that we are Gardener Gods, and that we have the ability to create and destroy the world according to our designs, but that we are full of folly. I learned that Energy is a story we tell to make the Numbers make sense: that the universe cares mostly about Position and Mass and Velocity, and the relationship between those things according to Time. I learned that atoms want things. That our Will is deterministic, according to the Will of our parts. I learned that we are as much a part of the Earth as your liver and lungs are a part of you; and that my father’s dreams of wandering the stars were akin to my hand dreaming of wandering off on its own. I learned that the world was never Untouched, and that nature has not been Despoiled; but rather, that Humans are natural Stewards, and the destruction of the Earth in the modern day is an aberration, born of bad philosophy and unholy tools of force multiplication, not a natural expression of the Human Nature. I learned that your red blood cells are built from chlorophyll rings and that simplified life-forms from the Old World squat in your DNA strands. I learned that the Soil and the Sea and the Sky are Alive, in ways that are measurable and quantifiable. I learned that Identity and Personality are Performances; acts of theater, which require peace and tranquility of surroundings and spirit to maintain. I learned that Human infants are born helpless so that we have time to fill their heads with stories before they come into their Power; and that this process is the DNA of Civilization: the instructions for assembling the mightiest Packs of Animals that have ever existed on Earth. I learned that the Meaning of Life was getting lunch and making friends. I learned that we are Riparian, bound to rivers and coastlines; that we are Symbiotes to Trees and Grasses and Vines, to Fowl and Fish, to Cow and Pig and Dog and Cat. I learned that we are insane; half God, half Beast; Dreamers and Visionaries; Lovers and Fighters. Survivors of Wars and Plagues and Rocks Which Fell From The Sky. I learned that we come in myriad forms, and live in myriad ways. I learned of Animals so small they can barely be said to exist and Fungus so grand they reach over the horizon. I learned of blood-red seas and trees covered in scales and a time long ago when Wood never decayed, and sat piling up for millions of years. I learned that Time is a story that we tell, with clocks and calendars, but the Past and the Future do not exist, they are not real, and to dwell too long in them is to lose yourself in fantasy. I learned that the Moon is made of Earth and the People are made of Stardust, just like the dirt; and that none of us are ever truly, completely alone. That we are made of each other; of the flesh and ideas we borrow and share, willingly and not.

All of these answers, and more, are written in the Stones, to those with the eyes to See.

[newlifeflight]

Elita and her short king

[edgymegatronus]

“As you command, Megatron.”

Old habits die hard.

[hopecomesbacktolife]

STAR WARS CELEBRATION 2027 IS IN L. A. OMG SLFJFJFKDLSKS

NO BECAUSE LIKE. ITS AOTC 25TH ANNIVERSARY AND ITS IN THE STATES

✨🌌 April 1-4 2027!! 🌌✨

I really really reallyyyy wanna go omg 😭🥹❣️✨ if any moots are also planning on going as it gets closer please lmk it would be amazinggg to meet up irl!!

anyways this is legit one of my bucket list places/ dream things to attend and. with joanns going out of business I got some cosplay fabrics on sale over the past few months and could like… in theory… have full homemade cosplays… to attend in… save up and go… maybe… (if life does not fall apart and money/living allows me to ofc) and like imagine… what a dream 🥹 anyways I’m sososo excited that this is announced and really really want to do everything I can to go. imagine 🥹❣️

[error-523scintilla]

I can easily measure how shit some parents are by listening their excuse for not vaccinating their kids

[monstersholygrail]

Easter in Free Use City is, like most things, completely different than what Easter is like for the rest of the world. When you have an entire city with no children you can afford to change up the holiday games and make them a lot more adult friendly.

Bunny Secretary walks up to you at your desk, a smirk on his lips that hold a million secrets. You’re working like it’s a normal day, only kind of wondering why the entire floor is cleared of your colleagues.

“Hey, sweets, you need to get downstairs for the annual egg hunt.”

At your confused glance, Bunny Secretary’s smirk only grows darker, his cock twitching with uncontainable excitement. Pre leaks in his briefs at your pure naivety. That’ll be gone before long and it’ll all be because of him.

“Confused? Well, darling, every year I get to pick one person to plant this lovely egg vibrator inside of. When I do, the office is alerted and the hunt begins.”

He holds up a brightly covered egg shaped toy, decorated as if it were an actual Easter egg. Realization dawns on you and your legs subtly try and rub together, your body throbbing at the idea of all these big sexy monsters pawing at you, plunging their giant fingers inside of you in attempts to find the egg. Bunny Secretary’s eyes gleam as if reading your mind.

“First one to find the egg gets the prize. And this year that prize… is you,” he purrs, his bunny nose twitching as he inhales deep gulps of your arousal.

With a swift push of your chair, Bunny Secretary has you ass up, leaning against the desk and ready for him. Your core leaking with arousal and making him drool.

His hands run over your body, caressing you with a dark and twisted reverence like he just can’t get enough of you. But it’s not just enough to taste and the urge has him leaning in to get a taste.

The moment your essence drips onto his tongue, Bunny Secretary swears he blacks out. All he can sense is your taste, everything else going dark as he eats you out like a man starved. His tongue reaching far into your depths, swirling the thick muscle inside of you. Fucking you relentlessly with his mouth and getting you ready to take the toy.

He works you with his tongue, higher and higher till your pretty hole flutters around him, desperate to cum. You whine in protest when he pulls back but a moment later and the thick egg is stretching your slick walls as he pops the toy inside of you.

At first nothing happens. You stand on shaky legs and your lips part, about to ask what gives, when Bunny Secretary clicks something on a miniature remote and your body is buzzing to life. Sparks of pleasure shoot from your core and instead of words, you moan like the slut you are as your knees buckle. The shock of it instantly turning you into a gushing mess.

It only takes that last bit of vibration to have you coming at your desk, barely able to stand. Bunny Secretary is right there to keep you upright, bringing you firmly against his chest. Even that has you coming harder till finally the vibrations stop and you slump against him.

“Hmm. I wonder how long it’ll take them to find you when you already look so fucking wrecked,” he rasps, voice hoarse with his own need, and his lips curled in a smug grin.

You briefly wonder what he means as he helps practically carry you downstairs where the office is holding the hunt. It all makes sense as Bunny Secretary opens the door and you’re immediately greeted with what looks to be a war zone.

But no, it’s not a war zone. It’s the biggest damn orgy you’ve ever seen in your life. Everyone from the office railing each other in search of the egg. The egg currently inside you. The reminder has you clenching around it and trying to hold in the lewd moans that beg to spill from your lips.

“Happy Easter,” he sings in your ear, “Now get in there.”

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #26

July 5-12 2024

The IRS announced it had managed to collect $1 billion in back taxes from high-wealth tax cheats. The program focused on persons with more than $1 million in yearly income who owned more than $250,000 in unpaid taxes. Thanks to money in Biden's 2022 Inflation Reduction Act the IRS is able to undertake more enforcement against rich tax cheats after years of Republicans cutting the agency's budget, which they hope to do again if they win power again.

The Biden administration announced a $244 million dollar investment in the federal government’s registered apprenticeship program. This marks the largest investment in the program's history with grants going out to 52 programs in 32 states. The President is focused on getting well paying blue collar opportunities to people and more people are taking part in the apprenticeship program than ever before. Republican pledge to cut it, even as employers struggle to find qualified workers.

The Department of Transportation announced the largest single project in the department's history, $11 billion dollars in grants for the The Hudson River Tunnel. Part of the $66 billion the Biden Administration has invested in our rail system the tunnel, the most complex Infrastructure project in the nation would link New York and New Jersey by rail under the Hudson. Once finished it's believed it'll impact 20% of the American economy by improving and speeding connection throughout the Northeast.

The Department of Energy announced $1.7 billion to save auto worker's jobs and convert factories to electronic vehicles. The Biden administration will used the money to save or reopen factories in Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Maryland, and Virginia and retool them to make electric cars. The project will save 15,000 skilled union worker jobs, and created 2,900 new high-quality jobs.

The Department of Housing and Urban Development reached a settlement with The Appraisal Foundation over racial discrimination. TAF is the organization responsible for setting standards and qualifications for real estate appraisers. The Bureau of Labor Statistics last year found that TAF was 94.7% White and 0.6% Black, making it the least racially diverse of the 800 occupations surveyed. Black and Latino home owners are far more likely to have their houses under valued than whites. Under the settlement with HUD TAF will have to take serious steps to increase diversity and remove structural barriers to diversity.

The Department of Justice disrupted an effort by the Russian government to influence public opinion through AI bots. The DoJ shut down nearly 1,000 twitter accounts that were linked to a Russian Bot farm. The bots used AI technology to not only generate tweets but also AI image faces for profile pictures. The effort seemed focused on boosting support for Russia's war against Ukraine and spread negative stories/impressions about Ukraine.

The Department of Transportation announces $1.5 billion to help local authorities buy made in America buses. 80% of the funding will go toward zero or low-emission technology, a part of the President's goal of reaching zero emissions by 2050. This is part of the $5 billion the DOT has spent over the last 3 years replacing aging buses with new cleaner technology.

President Biden with Canadian Prime Minster Justin Trudeau and Finnish President Alexander Stubb signed a new agreement on the arctic. The new trilateral agreement between the 3 NATO partners, known as the ICE Pact, will boost production of ice breaking ships, the 3 plan to build as many as 90 between them in the coming years. The alliance hopes to be a counter weight to China's current dominance in the ice breaker market and help western allies respond to Russia's aggressive push into the arctic waters.

The Department of Transportation announced $1.1 billion for greater rail safety. The program seeks to, where ever possible, eliminate rail crossings, thus removing the dangers and inconvenience to communities divided by rail lines. It will also help update and improve safety measures at rail crossings.

The Department of the Interior announced $120 million to help tribal communities prepare for climate disasters. This funding is part of half a billion dollars the Biden administration has spent to help tribes build climate resilience, which itself is part of a $50 billion dollar effort to build climate resilience across the nation. This funding will help support drought measures, wildland fire mitigation, community-driven relocation, managed retreat, protect-in-place efforts, and ocean and coastal management.

The USDA announced $100 million in additional funds to help feed low income kids over the summer. Known as "SUN Bucks" or "Summer EBT" the new Biden program grants the families of kids who qualify for free meals at school $120 dollars pre-child for groceries. This comes on top of the traditional SUN Meals program which offers school meals to qualifying children over the summer, as well as the new under President Biden SUN Meals To-Go program which is now offering delivery of meals to low-income children in rural areas. This grant is meant to help local governments build up the Infrastructure to support and distribute SUN Bucks. If fully implemented SUN Bucks could help 30 million kids, but many Republican governors have refused the funding.

USAID announced its giving $100 million to the UN World Food Program to deliver urgently needed food assistance in Gaza. This will bring the total humanitarian aid given by the US to the Palestinian people since the war started in October 2023 to $774 million, the single largest donor nation. President Biden at his press conference last night said that Israel and Hamas have agreed in principle to a ceasefire deal that will end the war and release the hostages. US negotiators are working to close the final gaps between the two sides and end the war.

The Senate confirmed Nancy Maldonado to serve as a Judge on the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals. Judge Maldonado is the 202nd federal Judge appointed by President Biden to be confirmed. She will the first Latino judge to ever serve on the 7th Circuit which covers Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin.

Bonus: At the NATO summit in Washington DC President Biden joined 32 allies in the Ukraine compact. Allies from Japan to Iceland confirmed their support for Ukraine and deepening their commitments to building Ukraine's forces and keeping a free and Democratic Ukraine in the face of Russian aggression. World leaders such as British Prime Minster Keir Starmer, German Chancellor Olaf Scholz, French President Emmanuel Macron, and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, praised President Biden's experience and leadership during the NATO summit

[chaoticwriting]

WORLD CLASS HERO

Phantom is a world class hero that is often associated with the Justice League. Though he never officially joins them, Phantom is known enough that people will always treat him kindly.

His first major appearance is when a big tsunami about to hit Japan. All the other heroes can do is evacuate the civilian as they try their best to stop the tsunami. When all hope is lost, a figure with white hair and black and white jumpsuit appears out of thin air and releases an ice beam out of his hand. It takes less than a second for the tsunami that the whole Justice League struggles to stop to freeze and stop right then and there.

He doesn't stop there nor does someone get a picture of him as all his pictures are blurry at best. The only evidence that he is there is the eyewitness and the frozen tsunami that seems to melt slowly over time. After that, he is often seen in multiple parts of the world, mainly where there are no heroes based there. From the middle east, to south east Asian, all around the world he can be spotted stopping crimes and helping people.

It is not a whole year later that the Justice League finally got in contact with Phantom when a major attack by Darkseid almost killed all the heroes. Millions of his army swarm the earth from multiple portals around the world killing and slaughtering people left and right. It is also that night that the people figure out that so far they have only seen a fraction of Phantom's power.

A screech boom towards the whole world. To people of earth, it sounds like a cry of pain and despair, of sadness and suffering, sounds of their loved one asking for help but to Darkseid and his army it sounds like war cry, like deep anger and fury, like the cry of a warrior promising revenge. The results of the cry leave the people of Earth sobbing while simultaneously knocking down all of Darkseid's army.

Just as everyone thought it was over, hundreds of thousands of eldritch beings summoned from a giant green portal appear out of thin air. From the front a girl and a man leads the army.

The girl raises her hand and shouts "By the order of King Phantom, eliminates all the enemies." Multiple screeches and roars sound at the same time and those beings rush towards the Earth, slaughtering the unconscious parademons without hesitation. The Earth general population lets out a sigh of relief that it is not them that is the target and some sharp ones catch on the fact they receive order from someone named Phantom. Is it the same Phantom they know? That is later to be figured out.

At the same time the Justice League are watching as Phantom brawling against Darkseid and the man and the girl that came out of the portal fight against Darkseid's elites.

As time passes, lesser and lesser parademons are left on earth with all of them being dragged back into the green portal. When all the parademons are taken away, Phantom and the man and girl forms suddenly change into something more eldritch in nature.

The girl now looks more windy with her form still humanoid but a lot less solid than before. Her ears are pointy with like an elf and whenever someone looks at her, they feel free and unrestrained.

The man in comparison looks a lot more domineering. His fiery white hair and red eyes along with his buff figure gives off an oppressive feeling to people around him.

Compared to the other 2, Phantom form seems almost nonexistent. In fact the only reason people know he is there is because of the cold breeze that accompanied his surroundings. But to people that truly observe him, they feel like it is hard to focus on him. Like space itself warps light to make it hard to see him. His icy crown and golden ring makes it hard for people to stare too long at him. For if you stare too long into the abyss, the abyss will stare back at you. That quote comes to mind when someone wishes to describe Phantom.

After they transform, the remaining battle ends as if Darkseid and his elites are merely children throwing a tantrum. When Darkseid and his army are dragged back into the green portal and with that, the whole world falls silent.

For the world, it is only a year later that Phantom returns as a hero and continues helping people. But for those in the knows, they know that in the year Phantom is gone, the other realms are thrown into chaos as one after another, tyrants and evil gods are either captured, imprisoned or straight up killed.

The Justice League first gains the news when Raven informed them that his father and his army had been slayed with his realm under new authority. Later Dr. Fate informed them that Klarion has been partially sealed. Batman also received news that League of Assassin has been disbanded after the whole league just disappears.

The JL tries to contact Phantom but no one can get in contact with him. Even after Phantom comes back, no one receives any explanation except not to worry.

[factual-fantasy]

I've been thinking about adding Skywarp and Thundercracker to my AU for a while now. :0 I'm thinking the two of them and Screamer will be a set of triplets. Not clones or drones or whatever else they may be in other continuities. Any other "seekers" or "flight frames"...? Will not look identical to the trio.

(These are a little batch of test redesigns. I have a looot more passes to do before I'm satisfied! <XDD)

And then Jetfire... I've thought about adding him which is why I've drawn this scene for fun, buuuuuutt ultimately I don't think Jetfire has a place in my AU. It leaves too many plot holes and angst in its wake.

(A ramble on why Jetfire wont work is below! <XD)

The first reason why I don't think Jetfire (aka Skyfire) can exist in my AU, is because of this paragraph from his wiki:

"Millions of years ago on Cybertron, before the war, Skyfire and Starscream were good friends and fellow scientists. On a mission of exploration to prehistoric Earth, Skyfire was lost in a storm. Starscream searched, but there was no sign of his comrade. He returned home."

Now, Optimus does say that Earth and Cybertron have been intertwined for what seems like forever. But -unless there's something I don't know/remember- no living cybertronian ever set foot/made any contact with Earth in any way until AFTER the war began. So how and why did Starscream and Jetfire go to Earth before the war? It conflicts with canon.

The second reason is a simple one really. While it may have worked in G1, I cannot find a logical explanation as to HOW Jetfire was still alive and could be reactivated after crashing into the Arctic. It not like he was put into stasis on purpose and kept in a special pod in the warm desert, like Skyquake. He CRASHED into the ARCTIC. So not only was he wounded but there was literally a WHOLE EPISODE in Prime about how the cold has devastating effects on the cybertronian body. Within HOURS of being there, Optimus Prime and Arcee were literally about to die. There is just no way Jetfire logically survives in this continuity..

And lastly, there's where the story would go afterwards. And I don't like what I see. :(

You see, if I bring Jetfire into my AU, I want him to stay friends with Starscream and stay with him. But making that happen requires me to break at least something from canon.

Option 1: Jetfire stays with the Decepticons and supports their cause. Which wont work because his whole story arc is being an ex-con who doesn't agree with what their doing-

Option 2: Starscream has a redemption arc and joins the Autobots with Jetfire. This is a problem because I would want Thundercracker and Skywarp to go with them. And tbh I don't think any of the screamers can be redeemed. They're cons to their core. To make them switch sides would feel too forced. Plus I like the 3 idiots being cons and getting on Megs nerves XD

Option 3: The timeline is the same as G1. Jetfire splits from the cons and joins the Autobots, leaving the triplets behind. This is obviously sad and I don't want that. 🫸

So with that all laid out, I have Jetfire in the bleachers for now. If I can find a way to solve all 3 of these problems then I'll add him to my AU in a heart beat. And everyone is welcome to correct me on any of these if I got the facts wrong or if you have any ideas on how to bring him into my AU! :0 I want to add him I just don't see a satisfying way to do it yet.

Thank you for reading! :)))

[sagelasters]

barbados is a mindset

“Yes. You are now in Barbados. And so… you see Barbados, and you see America from Barbados, and you can smell the tropical land of Barbados, see only the little homes of Barbados, and that’s all you do. You just simply sleep this night in Barbados.” - Abdullah tells Neville.

Before Neville Goddard knew of the law and practiced it, his country was plunged in a state of instability. Poverty runs rampant as the global stock market crashes, sparking panic and leaving many penniless. Neville explained the vivid details of homeless people scattered all over tunnels and city square, eyes void of hope for the future. He was unemployed just like millions of others, his career as a dancer wasn’t enough to support his living. Neville lived in a basement for years with little to no income until one day, he met his friend, Abdullah. 

Abdullah was well-off and is the son of the US secretary of the Treasury, who served under the 32nd president. The differences between them were large and Neville was aware of it. He confided in his friend and told him that he has this haunting desire to visit Barbados again. The only thing that was stopping Neville though, was the lack of money. In which Abdullah says, 

“You are in Barbados.”

Of course, Neville thought he was nuts but the man decided to try and assume that he was in Barbados. That night, he went to sleep thinking that he would wake up in Barbados, only to be disappointed that he woke up in the cold basement he called his home. Neville would come back and tell Abdullah that it didn’t work, only for the latter to ignore him. Despite that Neville kept persisting and on the morning of December, he got a letter from his older brother asking him to visit his family in Barbados – his brother had paid a third class ticket. Excited, Neville told Abdullah that he is going to Barbados however, his friend was unimpressed. Abdullah told Neville that he wasn’t boarding a third class ticket, he was going to go there with a first class ticket. 

And guess what? When Neville gave his ticket to the clerk by the desk as they’re checking in passengers, they told him that someone canceled their first class ticket, therefore a spot was available for him. 

Abdullah ignored Neville when he said ‘it didn’t work’ because it did work, if Neville was assuming that he was in Barbados, they wouldn’t be having this discussion about him not being there. What can you take from this story? I would say that unfortunate circumstances don't matter, especially when we see how bad and dire Neville’s financial situation was. Come on, he was in a country torn apart by war and poverty, yet he was still able to visit Barbados. Neville didn’t think of how he’d get there, he just simply assumed that he was there, and his 3D reality follows right after. 

Barbados is a mindset. If you can imagine yourself having it and then accept that it is yours, you’re at the end. Your assumption is the fetus, continue nourishing it with beliefs and affirmations – let that child grow and become. If you drop your assumption that basically means you’re neglecting the fetus, and it will eventually die from starvation. 

It doesn't matter if you have no money, it doesn't matter if you're in an abusive situation, it doesn't matter that you barely have a roof over your head. You are already in Barbados, tune into your inner man and bask in that.

EDIT: My apologies for getting the information mixed up. Abdullah is not the son of US secretary, rather he lived in a house that was rented by the latter. Sorry for the confusion!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

All I've Wanted Was You

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v sex), angst, light fluff, humor, no use of y/n, friends with benefits, love confessions

Summary: You have an arrangement with Bucky. You sleep together, and nothing more. Every time is supposed to be the last time. You love him too much keep this up and pretend it's not killing you.

But it might be killing him too.

Author's Note: Request from @wintersoldierchronicles! I had SO much fun with it, and it got (as expected) emotional. I am what I am. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5.7k

He’s giving you the look again. The one that he’s promised not to give you anymore, because it makes you both break promises, and shatters your heart into a million little, glowing pieces every time. 

And Bucky always picks up the pieces, after. He doesn’t know what he’s doing—or that he’s the one who broke you in the first place—but he’s good at cleaning up after himself. He makes his bed every morning. His guns and knives are always polished and well-cared for, and his plates are cleaned with his hands before he puts them in the dishwasher, because that’s how his ma raised him. He folds all his laundry, never has dust on his floor, and never wears boxer two days in a row. All his trash finds it’s way into the can, and then the bag gets taken out over his shoulder because no matter how many times Tony tells him he has robots and people to do that instead, Bucky insists on doing it himself. 

It’s one of the reasons you love him. 

And that’s exactly why he can’t give you that look. He promised he’d stop it. You’d promised you’d stop indulging it.

But if Bucky’s good at cleaning up, you’re good at making messes. There’s always a little wrapper empty can on your desk—Bucky always throws it out for you—and you tend to wait until you can smell it to change your sheets. You’ve been wearing the same bra for two weeks, and you have one pair of heeled boots where the sole is coming apart, but they still work, so you’re still using them. You had to throw out your last laptop, because five coffee spills were apparently too much for it to handle. People don’t hand you weapons anymore, after Nat gave you a dart gun for safety and you ended up shooting yourself in the thigh. Tony has an extra robot for your apartment.

But Bucky cleans it anyway, whenever he gives you the look, and finds his way back into your bed.

“Don’t know how it’s this bad every time,” he’d muttered a few weeks back, folding your towels with a small frown.

He didn’t need to do that. You wish he wouldn’t. It’s domestic, and it makes this—you and Bucky, though there isn’t really a you and Bucky—feel far too real.

You’d shrugged, watching him move around from the bed. “I spend every day cleaning up your messes, Barnes. That’s where all the energy for this,” You’d mad a sweeping gesture around the room. “Goes.”

“Hey.” Bucky had given you a mockingly stern look and pointed finger. “I haven’t done anything, for like a month.”

“Steve hasn’t done anything in three years.”

“Yeah, but the last thing he did was become a war criminal, doll. That had you on overtime.”

“And who did he become a war criminal for?”

Bucky had rolled his eyes. “Shut up. And the last thing I did wasn’t even that bad.”

“You punched the governor.”

“He called you a whore.” Bucky had glared down at your trash. “I woulda done worse, if I didn’t know it would come back to bite your ass.”

You’d sighed. “Bucky-“

“And I never mean to make mess for you.” He’d muttered, giving you an almost puppy-like look, and you’d wanted to vault off the bed so you could wrap yourself around him and never let go. “Just happens. If I was in charge, we’d all be on perfect fuckin’ behavior, all the time.”

“Well, thank you.” You’d given him a soft, gentle smile, and he’d relaxed slightly. “And I’m not mad about it, Bucky. It’s my job. And I’m good at it.”

“You are.” He’d said under his breath, his tongue flicking out between his lips, and his words had sounded like they were mostly for himself. “Use a lot of pretty words, when you do it. Could make a man jump off a cliff just by asking him to believe the wind would catch him.”

You’d blinked at him, having no fucking idea what that meant, but Bucky just continued, his voice raising back up.

“But I make it harder-“

“No, you don’t. It’s not your fault people are dumb and don’t understand how brainwashing works.” You’d given him a pointed look. “And nothing you do could be worse than the Nat Burrito-Stripper-Arson incident. And she never cleans up my room for me.”

Bucky’s lip had twitched. You’d counted it as a victory. “I’m gonna do your laundry too.”

“What a gentleman.”

“Only for you, doll.” He’d shrugged, and gone back to his self-inflicted mission.

That was one of the ways he picks up the pieces. Even if he doesn’t love you, Bucky really does care about you. So much. It’s one of the reasons this can’t happen. You don’t know what you’ll do if you lose him forever. 

But the look is getting more pleading. Shining blue eyes on yours, raised brows that have a question and a promise, something dangerously close to hope all over his handsome features. 

You don’t know how to say no to him. You’ve been trying to get better at it, but you also love him, and want him always. So you’re not quite there yet. 

When you smile at him, the recognition flashes over Bucky as his jaw clenches, he blinks once—which, for Bucky, is basically jumping with joy—and turns back to his conversation with Steve and Sam. 

You both have to get through the rest of the night. One of Tony’s dumb little cocktail parties that’s mandatory, for a united front, and neither of you will be able to escape. You’d tried once, and that’s the only time you’d almost gotten caught. Steve had gone looking for Bucky because it was Steve, and Tony had gone looking for you because apparently the head of PR needed to be easily accessible.

You and Bucky had made promises that time, too.

“That was…” He’d looked at you over the kitchen counter that morning, his words slow and measured. “Close. Last night.”

You’d hummed, staring down at the coffee in your mug. It had long gone cold. You’d been clinging to it and pretending to drink it for an hour, because it gave you a good excuse to wait for Bucky. But it was bitter. And a little shitty, because Tony had been fucking with the machine again. 

“We shouldn’t do that again.” Bucky had muttered, and you’d only nodded. “I don’t want to get caught, and then have Steve and Stark down our necks-“

“I know.” You’d whispered, forcing your gaze onto his. And that was a different look, in his eyes. Further away. Untouchable.

Reminding you that, at the end of the day, Bucky’s not yours to touch or have or wait for. Just like you don’t have a good enough reason to be his.

“That was the last time.” You’d said it like it didn’t rip you in half, and Bucky had nodded.

“Alright. Good.” He hadn’t walked away. You’d wish he would. 

You could’ve fallen apart again in peace, if he had.

“Are we still good for the whole aquarium thing tomorrow?” He’d asked, and you’d shrugged.

“It’s a team event. I organized it. You have to be there.”

“Yeah, but, uh-“ Bucky had cleared his throat, his tongue flicking out between his lips, his gaze dropping to the kitchen counter. “I was kind of plannin’ on just following you around.”

God. He kept saying things like that. All the fucking time, and it was a little cruel, but you know he didn’t mean it be. He had—has—no idea that you dream about him and feel colder when he’s not there and look for him in every room, even when you know he’s not going to be there. Just in case, you always look.

He’d muttered your name, and you’d just given him a small smile.

“As long as we look at the jellyfish.”

Bucky had nodded slowly. “Jellyfish. Got it.” Then he’d smiled. A wide, toothy, real smile that so few people got to see. You don’t know how you earned Bucky’s smile-list. 

You know you’re never going to risk your spot on it. So you’d smiled back, and said nothing else because the words might transform into I love you.

After he’d left the kitchen, you’d dumped the coffee down the sink, and sworn to yourself that that, the close call, was really the last time.

It’s been six more last times since then. There had been the last time at the aquarium, and the last time after a meeting, three last times on random days where nothing had happened, but you’d caved anyway, and the last time when he’d shown up at your door after a mission, and you’d taken him in without a question.

And now it’s seven last times.

But this one, this one for certain, will be the real last time. To save yourself, this has to be the real last time. 

So you might as well make it count. 

You drift through the rest of the party, smiling at the people Tony tells you to smile at, shaking hands and making soft-edged jokes about your job, keeping Bucky in your periphery because you can’t fucking help yourself. You tell yourself it’s to see when he gives the signal, but in reality, it’s because you need to see him. Need to torture yourself every time a pretty woman glides over to his side and touches his arm—never the metal one, they never touch the metal arm and it makes you hate them—because maybe he’ll change his mind and want her instead. 

It would be a mercy, in a way. Take away the torment of knowing you’re going to have him, then need to leave before morning.

You always leave before morning. The only time you’re allowed to linger is when you’ve fucked in the daylight, and you start talking like nothing’s happened at all. It breaks you a little more every time.

But you still go. You love him, and you don’t have the strength of all the gods and heroes around you, so you always go.

The night starts to die down. Couples drift off with their hands tangled together, or they drop onto the couch and give each other little smiles—the kind that tells you that, to them, they’re the only two people into the world—and you stand in the corner, alone. 

Bucky gives you the signal, as he moves to the door. Two hands casually behind his back one gloved palm splayed open.

Five minutes, before you can follow him.

They’re the longest five minutes of your life. You chew on the ice at the bottom of your glass until your fingers are sort of numb, but you don’t really care.

Bucky will warm them up.

It’s hard not to run to his room, when you know he’s waiting. For you. 

Bucky’s waiting for you.

You’ve barely even knocked on the door when it swings open, and Bucky pulls you inside.

There’s no foreplay. There’s never foreplay, because that would imply something intimate and sacred. 

But this is sacred. Only to you, but all the same. Every single second Bucky offers you is holy. To him it’s just hunger. A god starved, asking you to leave him an offering while you’re still in his favor.

That’s what this is supposed to be. You’re supposed to kiss with teeth for a minute, then you’ll fall to your knees to please him. He’ll take a fist full of your hair and guide you up and down his cock, fucking your mouth until you’re choking on him and moaning, before he pulls almost all the way out, and cums.

He never settles for only cumming in your mouth or on your tits. He has a habit of angling himself perfectly so that you swallow half of it, and the rest spreads everywhere. Then he’s supposed to drag up into another violent kiss, and fuck you however he wants.

But that’s not what’s happening.

This kiss is longer. Deeper. Bucky’s mouth almost fully overtakes yours, his tongue pressing on you lower lip until you open for him, and then he’s running it over your teeth and down your throat, like he’s trying to plant himself into you. His hands are handling you softly. Holding you at the curve of your back and pressing your body right into his, until all you can sense is Bucky. All you can hear are his slow grunts rolling through you—born from only kissing you—and all you can taste is the whiskey on his breath, that he probably only drank because Nat handed it to him, and he’s scared of her. And you can smell his cologne, and when your eyes flutter open for half a second you can watch his nose bump yours, and feel-

You can feel Bucky everywhere. The hand that’s not holding you is starting to trail over your thighs, closer to where you’re aching for him, and-

This isn’t right. You’re supposed to get on your knees, and then earn him fingering you back. And you try to pull away and sink down, but Bucky just tugs you right back up, and slams his lips back over yours.

“Bucky,” you gasp, pushing a little on his chest because this isn’t supposed to be about you. “Wait-“

He stops immediately, his furrowing in concern. “Are you o-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, playing with the fabric of his shirt. “You didn’t do anything, Buck, I just- I’m-“ Supposed to isn’t right. That makes it sound like he makes you, and he doesn’t. “What about you?”

Bucky frowns, his hand still resting on your thigh. “What about me?”

“You’re- You know.” You flush, keeping your gaze firmly fixed on your hands as your voice drops to a whisper. “Blowjob.”

He relaxes against you immediately, and you don’t get it. You’ve done something wrong. You’re supposed to be serving him.

And you definitely don’t get his low chuckle, or why his expression is so soft when he tugs your hair back, forcing your gaze onto his.

“We can skip the blowjob tonight, babygirl.”

That’s not fair. He can’t babygirl you right now. “But-“

“Look, I-“ He sighs, shaking his head at something you don’t understand. “I know you wanna, and I don’t not want it, you’re- Jesus, you’re so fucking good at that, but tonight, lemme take care of you. Please.”

That’s not what this is about. And he said tonight like there will be more nights, and there will be, but you’re not supposed to acknowledge that. 

But he said please.  

And he pulled out the babygirl.

You nod, the movement smaller than you want it to be, and Bucky grins.

“Good. Alright- Yeah.” He presses another perfect, too-soft kiss to your lips. “Tell me what you want.”

Whatever he wants. As long as Bucky’s offering it, you want it.

You don’t think he’ll care for that answer. 

“I- I dunno-“

“Yeah, you do.” He’s kissing a line down your throat as he speaks. That’s not fair either, because it makes your head fuzzy, and you forget how to lie. “C’mon, doll. Tell me what you want.”

“You.” 

Your answer slips out without thought, and you’re lucky. Bucky doesn’t read into it. He just groans, and you feel his bulge twitch slightly against you. 

His hand slides up to cup your pussy, right over your underwear, and you moan lewdly into his ear.

“So fucking wet already.” He mutters against your neck, and you nod a little stupidly in agreement. “C’mon. Be creative. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

He slaps your cunt once, and your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to stay upright. “Bucky-“

“You can do it, babygirl. Anythin’ you want, just tell me and I’ll get it for you.” Bucky starts to rub his palm back and forth, and you might fly out of your skin. “Use all those pretty words you’ve got, tell me.”

That’s his Sargent voice. 

You don’t know how to disobey his Sargent voice.

“I want you to touch me.” You whisper, and Bucky’s eyes shoot back up to yours. “With the metal arm. Until I can’t fucking stand. Then toss me around. And catch me. And taste me, fuck-“ You’re turning yourself on, and Bucky’s blown-out, lustful gaze isn’t helping. “I want you to taste me, Bucky, you- you do this fucking thing with your tongue all the time and I love it and I want it on me and shit-“

Bucky mutters your name in a low warning, but you’re on a roll, and you don’t know how to stop.

“I was to cum on your face, because sometimes it- Fuck, it gets caught in your beard and that’s so hot, and then I was you to fuck me stupid and hard and rough, and keep touching me, don’t stop touching me, Bucky, please. I want to feel it, baby, I need to feel you tomorrow, please.”

You take a long, heavy breath, and maybe you pushed it too far. He’s just staring at you. What if he’d expected you to say something gentle, and you said that. What if that was a test, and you failed it. And Bucky wouldn’t test you like that, but he’s still staring at you, and it’s a hungry, borderline animalistic stare, but he’s not moving or speaking or-

“Tell me if it’s too much.” He mutters, and it’s almost a growl. “I need you to promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, trying not to show your eager desperation on your face. “I promise. Please, Bucky. Please.”

His throat bobs, his metal fingers slowly hooking around your panties. “Hold on.”

Your arms wrap around Bucky’s neck right as his fingers shove into your cunt, and he hadn’t lied.

He’s giving you exactly what you asked for.

Not a single part of your instructions gets neglected or ignore. Bucky seems to have given himself a mission to follow them, and he already knows what you like, and this might kill you.

He starts with the touching. Your underwear is ripped off with your entire dress, and tossed into a far, unimportant corner of the room. A metal finger pushes right into your cunt, pumping in and out, faster and faster until you’re moaning. His palm still rubbing right against your clit, his fingers never slowing, and you can feel it, already you can feel the pleasure in your core-

“Want more, doll?” 

You moan at Bucky’s voice, right in your ear, and grind down onto his hand. 

His chuckle is dark, and you know he understands. “Yes, ma’am.”

Two fingers. You’re so fucking full and it’s only two fingers, but he’s moving so fast and your knees feel weak, your nails scratching and clawing at Bucky’s neck to remain on your feet-

“Let go,” Bucky mutters your name in your ear, and you’re a little worried he can read your mind. “I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. Bucky’s got you.

Your orgasm hits you with a heady warmth that spreads everywhere, over your nerves and into your mouth as a you moan, right to your fingers as you cling to Bucky, and your legs give out. 

He catches you. He’s got you, and his touch is so gentle as he continues to roll your clit between his thumb and forefinger, pushing you right back up to the edge.

“Bucky,” you whine, shivering slightly as he kisses over your collarbone. “I- I’m gonna cum again-“

“Hold it.” He mutters, and you squeak as he fucking pinches your clit. “You’re cumming on my face next, babygirl, and you need to be ready-“

“I am ready-“

“Nah.” He draws back up, giving you a grin that can only be described as wicked. “Not for what I’m plannin’ with you.”

Your eyes widen, but Bucky’s already moving on. 

Tossing you down onto the bed, barely giving you a second to settle before he’s prowling over you, shoving your thighs apart and looking at your dripping pussy with something impossibly close to awe.

“So fucking wet for me, doll.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I can’t- You’re a damn angel, letting me taste you-“

“Bucky,” you whine again. It’s dangerous, how easy he does this to you. “Please-“

His grip on your thighs tightens, as you start to grind up into the air. “Need you to stay still. Can you be good for me and stay still?”

Oh, God. “Yes,” you whisper, and his grin is dangerous. 

“Yes, what?”

You hate it when he does that. There’s nothing in the world that’s going to stop you from giving him what he wants, and he fucking knows it, too. 

Asshole. Handsome, perfect, stupid James Barnes is an asshole, and you’re going to give him exactly what he wants. 

“Yes, sir.”

“There you go.” Bucky hums, running two fingers between the puffy lips of your cunt. “Good girl.”

He dives down before you can think of something smart to say. Then thinking flies out the window all together, because he’s going to make you fly out of your skin and fucking ascend. 

He’s doing the tongue thing. Bucky’s doing the tongue thing, right against you, over and over as he eats you out like it’s the end of the fucking world if he doesn’t. Working you into a frenzy on your clit before dropping to your cunt and tongue-fucking you until you’re humping his face. He’s not trying to restrain your movements. Given how he’s groaning, and his hips are jerking against the bed, he’s liking how your thighs are squeezing his head and you’re writhing below him.

And you’re so close. So fast, you’re right back on the edge, and the heat building is a little different, and fuck, he’s so fucking good at this, why is he so fucking good at this-

You make a high sound that’s supposed to be a warning, but just comes out a raw sound of need.

Bucky understands. 

And he doubles down. 

A new coil in your stomach snaps, when Bucky’s tongue presses flat on your clit, rolling it, and this orgasm is hot and wet. You’ve never been this wet in your fucking life, and never been the wet from before until you met Bucky, but this is different. This like a flood between your legs, and your back is arching off the bed as Bucky keeps his face pressed right against your sex, and you feel a little molten and gooey as it fades, and you’re not sure what just happened, but it felt good.

“You squirted.” Bucky’s voice is low as he rises back up, and he has to be reading your mind. “Shit, I fucking knew it- You’re always so wet, and- That was beautiful, babygirl, tasted to fucking good, wait-“

His lips crash right over yours, and you moan a little stupidly as you taste yourself on his tongue. You’re already limp on the bed, and it feels like heaven, but Bucky notices and draws away.

“You sure you want more?” His question is genuine. And if you tell him to stop there, he will.

But you can see your release, glinting on his dark stubble.

You’re this far gone anyway.

“More.” You whisper, and Bucky’s eyes flash. “Please, Bucky. Need more. I can take it, please-“

It’s a good thing he kisses you when he does. You were embarrassingly close to crying.

It’s another long, slow, fucking passionate kiss. You’re pretty sure this night is a dream. You don’t want to wake up.

“Still got you, babygirl.” He murmurs against your lips. “Gonna take good care of you. You still want it, uh, rough?”

You nod, your head already clear of all thoughts but Bucky, and he lets out a long breath, pressing one last kiss to the space between your eyes as he draws back up. 

You don’t know why, but you thought he’d flip you over. Maybe spank you a little before spreading your ass cheeks open and fucking you like an animal from behind.

He doesn’t move from about you. Bucky strokes himself a few times—his own clothing long joined yours in rags on the floor—lining up at your entrance with a deep breath.

You’re getting one last chance to push him away. 

You don’t want it.

And when he sees that, something in Bucky seems to snap. You ask for rough. He promised it.

Rough is what you get.

Bucky slams into you with one movement, not bothering to give you time to adjust before he’s fucking you at a brutal pace, his cock driving deep enough to hit your cervix and press right against your g-spot, setting you on fucking fire. He’s holding himself over you with the metal arm, his gaze locked on yours as he watches himself cleave you open, and you have to close your eyes, or you’ll lose your mind. There’s something too deep in his gaze, and it’s going to drive you insane. Being filled up and fucked until you’re drooling, all while Bucky groan pure filth above you, is more than enough.

“Taking my cock so fucking well, you were made for me, doll, made to be fucked so good- Look at me.” Bucky growls, grabbing your jaw, and there’s no more hiding. Bucky’s eyes are dark and hungry on yours, and you can feel him everywhere as he splits you open. “Open.”

It takes one squeeze of your jaw for you to understand, but then you’re obeying without thought. 

“Let me hear you.” Bucky groans, his dick slamming right into that deep part of you. “C’mon, make all your pretty fuckin’ sounds for me babydoll-“

You let out a high, loud whine, and Bucky grins, the bed squeaking as his pace picks up. 

“Good girl.”

You were already sensitive from his mouth and fingers. And that’s enough. You fly back over the edge with a weak sound, your pussy squeezing and fluttering around Bucky’s cock, and somewhere far in the distance you can hear him roar your name as he slams home. 

It sends another, smaller aftershock orgasm through you again. It’s going to hurt to sit tomorrow. 

Good.

Bucky has the same habit when he cums in your pussy that he does with your mouth. Pulling just far enough out that he’s still pumping you full of him, all while allowing the rest of it to dribble down your thighs and onto your ass. The only difference is that with this, he’ll roll his cock right back into you, letting out a long groan as his brow drops to your shoulder.

You don’t know how long you both lay there. Bucky’s cock still filling you up, everything about him everywhere around you, your head lost in a daze of Bucky. So fucking good, and warm, and—in this stolen moment—yours.

Bucky takes a long, ragged breath, and slowly pulls out, leaving you a little aching and empty.

“Stay here, baby.” He mutters, and you hum. You’ll have to go soon. 

For now, you’re indulging yourself. 

Bucky’s cleaning up after himself, just like he always does. A warm, wet washcloth between your legs, and a kiss to your inner thigh that’s far too gentle. A little water and chocolate that he sits you up to eat, holding it out and glaring until you take it.

You sigh. “Bucky-“

“You need it.” He grunts. “You know you need it.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’re still a little lightheaded, and he’s left bruises on your hips that you love, and you know Bucky hates. He thinks they’re hurting you. It doesn’t matter that you asked him for it, he’s still going to hate them. 

He doesn’t know you fucking cry, like some pathetic, lovesick idiot, whenever they fade. To you, they’re proof he touched you. 

But you still take the water and food. Bucky wants you to, and you’ll do anything for him.

You’ll even participate in the dance where he crawls back into bed, pulls you into his body with his arms around your stomach, and presses a kiss to your shoulder. The game you both play where you pretend this is really the last time, and that you’re not going to be gone the moment Bucky’s asleep. It’s an odd game. He’s holding you because he’s pretending he’ll care if you go. You’re letting him because you want him to make you stay. You leave because you have to, if you want to survive. Bucky doesn’t stop you, because right now—if you ask either of you—that was the last time.

It won’t be. You always say it is, and you both know you’re far from the last time, but you also know that one day, there will be a last time. And it will break you, and Bucky won’t clean you up, and then you’ll just have to… Keep going.

And this is the worst part.

Bucky’s breathing is even behind you, and his body is relaxed. He’s done his part, and fallen asleep. Now you have to do yours, and leave. This was the last time—and even as you think it, you know it’s not the truth, but you have to pretend it is—and now you have to leave.

You start by trying to squirm away from him, but Bucky’s muscles flex, and suddenly you’re pinned tighter to his chest. Then you try to roll, and his legs tangle into yours. Prying arms away just makes him drag you closer. Trying to scramble quickly ends with him half on top of you.

This isn’t how the dance is supposed to go. 

You’re supposed to just leave. Without a fight, or resistance. Bucky’s supposed to stay asleep as you gather your clothing and slip out the door. He’s supposed to bunch all the blankets in his arm to replace where you’d been, and breathe out a little sigh of your name that makes you cry in the shower a few hours later.

He’s not supposed to be looking at you, when you roll over in his arms. 

“What are you doing?” You whisper.

“Tried to fuck you good enough you couldn’t walk away.” He mutters, watching you so fucking carefully. Like he’s afraid you’ll turn into nothing but air if he says the wrong thing. “Guess I shoulda known better.”

“Bucky-“

“You never stay.” He scans over your face, something painful in his eyes you don’t want to stare at for too long, or you’ll start crying. “Nothin’ I do is ever enough to make you stop leaving.”

“I leave because you never ask me to stay.” You whisper, and Bucky sighs.

“I never ask you to stay cause I think you want to leave.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You’re staring at each other, and being the first one to move—away or deeper into Bucky—is the most terrifying thought in the world. You could leave, and this will be the last time. And you’ll lose him. You’ll stay, and he’ll want you now but not later, and you’ll lose him. You’re going to lose him, because there’s no world where something this good just happens, and you want to stay but the most important thing about this has been never losing Bucky-

“If I ask you to stay,” Bucky mutters, tracing metal fingers carefully over your cheekbone. “What would you say? And before you answer,” he adds in a rushed tone. “I want to tell you something.”

You frown at him, your confusion obviously written all over your face, and Bucky sighs. 

“I’m not telling you because I’m tryin’ to make you stay. If you wanna go, you’re free. Won’t drag you back, no matter how much I want to.”

“Bucky,” you whisper, and you’re lying down, but you’re still a little dizzy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I love you.” His words are soft, but firm. Certain. And the world might have stopped moving. “I don’t know a lot, you know I don’t, but I know I love you. I’d do anythin’ for you, and that includes letting you go. If that’s what you want.”

“Bu-“

“Wait,” he shakes his head, holding your gaze. “I do want you to stay. If that’s what you’ve been waiting for, if that’s all I’ve had to do, then I love you,” he says your name, and the world must have stopped. This can only have happened because the world stopped, and everything dies, and now you’re in heaven. 

But Bucky’s warm and strong around you. And he feels real. Looks real. Tastes real, still lingering on your tongue.

You swallow. You have to speak slowly, or this might all slip through your fingers. “Are asking me to stay?”

“Think so.” He gives you a small, slightly nervous grin. “And let me love you. Be my girl. You know, if you’ll have me-“

“Of course I’ll have you.” The words fall out of you like you’re a waterfall, spilling into the river, but that’s just how this is. There’s gravity, so of course the water goes down. You love Bucky, so there’s no world where you don’t have him. 

Bucky raises his brows. “Of course?”

You nod, trying to ride the wave of frantic confidence, not allowing yourself to look anywhere but Bucky. “Yeah. I- I love you too.”

It’s good to say. You’ve spent so long choking on it, and now it’s free, and you can breathe so easily. You’d forgotten what it was like, to not be strangling yourself with your own secret. It’s like having a fruit after years of only eating ash.

But Bucky’s just staring at you with wide, deep, blue eyes, his lips parted and fingers still so carefully on your cheek.

He looks a little like an angel.

“You sure?” His voice is hoarse, but there’s something soft under it, and it’s the same thing you can feel in your heart.

Fear. Of losing something you’ve barely even had. 

But you want it. And Bucky wants you. 

So there’s nowhere else to go. All you have to do is stay here.

“Yeah,” you give him a small smile, and his grin splits his face. “I’m sure.”

You’ll talk later. For now Bucky just pulls you further into his body, and kisses the top of your head. In a way, that was the last time. And the first. 

Because you stay.

All through the night, and a long, long, long while after, you stay.

End Note: how many times do I have to write something like this before it happens to me?

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[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[alpaca-clouds]

Some historical context for Olrox

Okay, let me prephase this with one important message: Castlevania Nocturne made me really happy by making the plot all about colonialism, as colonialism and its fallout and how it influences us to this day is a topic that I am very passionate about. We do not talk enough about it. The US does not talk enough about it because it could make white people feel uncomfortable. And here in Germany we do not talk about it, because we act as if this had nothing to do with us at all.

But the show talks about it and I love it.

And I honestly also gotta say that I love that the BI_PoC character have a concrete cultural heritage. Olrox is Aztec, Annette is Yoruba, and Drolta is Egyptian. Other shows: Please take notes!

But let's talk Olrox, because he is so fucking interesting and amazing!

We know about him that he is Aztec and also that he is 250 years old. Or roughly that old by the time he kills Julia. Which would put either his birth or his turning somewhere around 1530.

Now, the fall of the Aztec Empire has a very exact date: August 13th, 1521. But you should keep in mind that this does not mean that on that day the Aztec's are extinct. To this day there is still 1,5 million people speaking Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, and preserving some of the Aztec cultural traditions. It was just that on that day the empire construct fell to Cortez and the Spaniad conquistadors and a lot of Aztecs went into exile to flee the genocide that Cortez was bringing upon them.

The question of course is: Was Olrox still human at this time or was he already a vampire? From his dialogue it is clear that he was at least alive and grown enough to remember the fall of the empire and the distruction Cortez and his men brought upon them. But you can bet it was very traumatic.

I also am assuming he was turned by a white man. Because so far my assumption is that vampirism is an old world thing that got brought to the new world through colonialism. (Mostly because in Dracula's court we do not see any new world vampires.)

Now, the other interesting thing is what he says about his dead lover. The one Julia killed. So, first the "town in Massachusetts" he speaks about is clearly Stockbridge. Which was the town in which many Mohicans have settled during the colonial times, as well as other people from the Iroquois Nations. Now, it should be noted that the Mohicans were not part of the Iroquois alliance and in fact went to war with the Iroquois, but by the time colonialism really geared up there was some cooperation between the Mohicans and Iroquois.

Due to this they were in an alliance with the Oneida (who were part of the Iroquois) by the time of the Revolutionary war. Now, the Revolutionary War created a lot of conflict between the Iroquois nations, because they did not agree which side they should fight on. Of course both sides promised that they could keep their land, but the Mohawk, Onondaga, Cayuga, and Seneca did not trust the colonists and hence sided with the British, while the Oneida and Tuscarora (and through them also the Mohicans) sided with the Colonists.

And the dead lover clearly was among those siding with the colonists. Now, a quick refresher for the non-Americans (and the Americans who slept to history class, which is understandable). The Revolutionary War lasted from April 19, 1775 to September 3, 1783 (which, yes, also means that Julia and Richter probably were in the US during the war the entire time and the "evil" Julia was fighting probably was linked to it). And of course we all know how it ended for the Indigenous people: The colonists won, countless Indigenous folks died on both sides, only to get booted of their land soon after. The Oneida und Mohicans were made to move westwards not soon after the war ended. So, yes, Olrox would have seen that happen.

Now, an interesting thing in his dialogue was when Erzebet said: "We will create a new world." To which he replies: "I have heard that one before." And she says: "This time we are going to make it to last."

And the big question is to what this is refering. Is it refering to the colonialization or is it refering to the revolutionary war? Or something entirely different. In both cases it would be possible. And yes, the American Revolution definitely were claiming to create a new world. But was it that what he refered to or something else?

Well, never the less: Interesting character. Really good writing.

[avalon-stegodeus]

2005, North America, a man grows up an only child in the suburbs, he gets a cubicle job, he marries his highschool sweetheart, he dies leaving his regrets of a quiet life behind, he rots, and returns unto the earth.

1096, Jerusalem, a man is raised as a devout Christian, he is taught of sins ancient and unforgivable, because of a disagreement between people that he will never see, he is sent into a war for a land not his own, he dies in battle, praying to a God that will never answer, he rots, and returns unto the earth.

2,000,000 BCE, Eurasia, a neanderthal is hunting with his tribe, he maims a young mammoth, taking a mortal wound in the process, his tribe finishes the mammoth off as he bleeds out, he dies surrounded by his kin, knowing that his actions will feed them for days, he rots, and returns unto the earth.

65,000,000 years, continent of Laramidia, a mother Tyrannosaurus and her brood watch the sky turn red with fire, through random chance and blind luck, a disaster far beyond their comprehension ends all life larger than a common rabbit, their skin chars to glass within seconds, without them even knowing they were dying, they rot, and return unto the earth.

273 Million years ago, landmasses are unrecognizable, an amphibian lives its entire life in one pond, a many year long drought has dried it to a puddle, the amphibian looks beyond its shrinking home turned prison, to see nothing but the desert, it dies without finding a mate, never straying far from home even in death, it rots, and returns unto the earth.

400 Million years ago, plants have only just moved on to land, a primitive lobe finned fish stares at an early rooted plant from the shoreline, young and not affixed to the soil yet, the fish defies what it knows, what it has always known, and heaves itself onto dry land, and having consumed the sprout, it returns to the water, having experienced something no other lifeform has ever experienced before, it dies soon after mating, having unknowingly sown the way forward for all life to come, it rots, and returns unto the earth.

500 Million years ago, compound eyes have only just developed, a small trilobite coasts along the sand, searching for edible debris, as it has done for its entire life, a large ratiodont swims by, abducting the trilobite and snapping its exoskeleton open, as the ratiodont consumes its flesh, the trilobites last thoughts are of the shallow nursery it hatched in, and the warm rays of the sun, bringing nutrients of detritus down with it, it rots, and returns unto the earth, as the very detritus it once sought out.